My Shitposts

A lot of people don’t realize that I’m very insecure about everything I do. Every thing I do, say, or anything. I’m ugly. I’m fat. I’m talentless. I’m just nothing. I can’t do anything right and even when I try so hard, I fail. Fake smiles and laughs behind an emotionless face. I can’t do anything, nobody trusts me with anything important. I think of myself of a leader. Nobody else thinks so. I doubt myself everyday if I’m still breathing, if I’m a mask. Crying in the shower and once I’m out put a smile on my face and die inside once again. I feel small. Smaller than everyone, figuratively. A lot of times I feel like I don’t belong. I want to feel needed and wanted in school but how can I feel that when I can’t find that place. I don’t think I’m being overdramatic. Because I’ve been feeling like this for a while, it’s just today that I feel less together. I feel empty. I feel like I’m in another world. I feel like Marie Antoinette and her little sister. Her head in another world. I’ve had other people tell me the same thing. Do I even belong here? Why am I here? The universal question. Do people even care about me? If so, who cares? I don’t have that many close friends. The only people I’ll ever truly love is my family. My insecurities are endless. As endless as the universe. What am I doing here? I truly don’t know. Things never go the way I want them. Happiness leaves as leaves falls during the fall and winter. It dies off and temporarily comes back just to leave again. I can never be someone I want to be. I want to start over and be the person I’ve always wanted to be. I like me, not. I want to be a talented, beautiful, me. I can never be alone to cry to myself. Others are moving on, being happy, and talented and nice, wonderful people and are actually happy. Meanwhile, I’m being a nuisance to the world and others. I’m a disgusting person that doesn’t deserve to live or love or do anything. I read to keep my mind off these things, to entertain me, and to keep me distracted from the nuisance I am. Why is it so hard to be happy with yourself? I am nothing. And I’ll never be something or someone.