it feels somewhat juvenile to be back here again. but somehow it feels that I'm supposed to be here. be here because it echoes of a time where this was the place to be - the place where sadness was allowed. and I'm here again because I feel all the feelings and I hate the world for making me feel this way. and I hate myself for feeling this way. maybe I'm here because writing in my journal means I have to have perfect handwriting. and having perfect handwriting means my hands begin to hurt. and this time I'm feeling so much that I have to write more than usual and I can't write all that much because my hands will start to hurt. which is a sign of weakness. I feel weak and I feel like a failure. I feel all the pressure in the world to be perfect. to have the perfect nose and the perfect face. the perfect hair and the perfect silhouette. the perfect instagram with the perfect outfits. with film edits and an artistic aesthetic unique to me. an aesthetic no one has. just me. just me the perfect human that everyone wishes to be. I'm older now. and I've grown. so I wonder why I'm here again. and hate that I'm here again. because it means it'll take 10 years of healing just to be back here again. and I don't have that kind of time. I need to be perfect now. because other people are perfect now. and I am not. and there's noise all around me. telling me to be positive. not to compare myself. that I just shouldn't tell myself that I'm pathetic and a failure. that I just shouldn't feel these things. and I just need to tell myself. like it's easy. and then that noise will tell you it's not easy. so don't expect it to be. and then again you're weak because you can't do the hard thing. you can't do the hard thing of not feeling this way. it's an endless cycle of negativity. and the noise tells us not to be negative. but I can't get it out of my brain. I just can't can't can't get it out of my brain. so what do you do then? what do I do to get out of my brain? go on a walk. get on the treadmill. eat a healthy meal. wake up on time. make yourself get ready (in the perfect outfit of course). make yourself go outside where all the germs will infect you and make you feel dirty. when you already feel so dirty for being the person that you can't help to be. and it's exhausting this cycle and you get out of it by distracting yourself. distracting yourself with the very same things that make you feel this way. and then when you say enough, enough. let me get up and do the things I'm supposed to do. then your brain goes off and makes you feel this way. so the cycle goes on and the tears flow and they won't stop. then your face is puffy and you're uglier than you were. the ugly you that's not perfect. and never will be. so I ask myself how did I get to be here again? and let out a sigh and a breath. my throat is dry and my eyes are tired. and then I must gulp down the water that presses on my bladder. so I need to get up and pee but what an effort that is. because then I must wash my hands because I'm dirty again. and my hands are dry from washing off all the dirtiness. washing over and over again. washing off the dirt that will never come off because you're you and you're dirt and you're dirt and you're dirt. and then I'll read this back and feel unintelligent. because this writing isn't eloquent and it won't win an oscar. hell it won't ever become a script because you're too lazy to write it. and because the writing will never be worthy of the world that drains you anyways. so why do it at all and why be here at all? why live this life that's so dark and imperfect. so sad and so unchangeable. so unforgiving and so harsh. my throat is dry and my eyes are tired. my face is puffy and I have to pee.

so the cycle continues

and it won't end

won't end

it'll never end

never end

so end your life, end your life

and then you won't be back

you won't be back