NerdSandwich

I look in the mirror, and I don't know who stares back. I'm a passenger, a spectator, in a life that isn't mine. I'm a crude drawing of what I used to be, and I don't remember who I was then anyway. I've forgotten, and some of that I've tried to forget. It's all just...gone. Taken somewhere I don't understand. I don't know how to act, or what to say, because I don't know who I am or what I want. I don't know how to fake the person I'm supposed to be.

I'm awake, but it's growing harder to distinguish nightmares from reality. I'll do things and not remember why I'm doing them. I'll dream, and wake up. And realize that the world is a terrible place meant to torture me.

Who am I? Am I what they say I am? Probably not. Am I what I say I am? Definitely not. I wonder if I ever existed at all, because it feels like a dream. A dream of color, of emotion, of things that don't seem real.

It doesn't feel like that anymore. I've grown numb. Sorrow doesn't break me, but joy doesn't come either. I've created a monster that consumes me. It takes the darkness, but it takes everything else too. I don't feel like I used to. I just exist. And I'm too cowardly to not exist anyway. I look in vain for the 'why', the passion I used to know so well. But it's just gone. Just me and the endless void remains.

And storms I hate myself. For being so...me. So tactless, bratty, arrogant, judgmental, procrastinating, impatient, stubborn, careless, cowardly, irresponsible, resentful, obnoxious, ungrateful, manipulative, greedy, selfish, cruel, disrespectful, rude, ruthless idiot!

I stare off into the distance, as I spend so much time doing these days. And I realize I'm completely alone. It's the hopeless, absolute silence of knowing you'll never be enough for anyone, especially yourself. They all abandon me in the end. I'm so alone, I'm even abandoned by myself.

There isn't anything to fight the voices with. I tear myself apart and they do, too. I don't know who I am anymore. Or maybe I never did. I hate myself. I hate that I can't feel. I hate being alone, but I ignore it, hiding it all behind the mask of being just another insufferable child.

And it will crumble, and it will be my fault. 

Deep down I know the truth: I deserve to be alone. I deserve to hurt. I deserve to be a broken vengeful being beyond repair. I brought this upon myself.