Even though it starts again. i wont fucking let it.

I wont let it happen this year. Nor the next. I cant say itll end now. Maybe itll never end.

But not this year, fuck depression and depressive episodes.

I can feel it coming. Like fucking flu season. It feels like a heavy weight, vacumming any sense of joy from the inside. Like my heart was replaced with glue. Like anything bright and beautiful looked better in black.

No.

Not this year. Im going to fight it and fight it and fight it.

Im going to take my vaccines and my chill pills and my fucking lovable dog poppy.

 

Dissillusioned hobbies.

When i quit gaming for several months, i didnt feel different. In fact i felt a little lost.

I get the impression that whatever i do is just for my own self gatification.

Its like i need to set my mind on something to escape in or else i go crazy.

right now I realise that i have been wasting a lot of time trying to find a new hobby.

 

And when i look at everyong else, its kinda the same thing. Everyone i know either has a passion in, music, reading, running, exercising, photos,  posting on social networks, etc etc etc.

 

Im not exactly sure what im gong to decide to do from here out really.

The long weekend has given me a lot of introspection about the future. And im just realising that ive wasted a lot of time doing things that arent worth my time.

 

Remember my last post how i said books are a waste of time?

Well i guess i have an answer for myself. Do something that you think is worth your time.

Do something that brings out your humanity, that marks you as a person. We shouldn’t worry about temporary things. Books crumble, keepsakes rust, love letters fade over time. But in some sense, these useless things leave a permanent echo in your soul. It ripples across time and space.

Just like when one drops a stone in a lake. After a period of time, the water appears to fall still. When we look closer, or even on the horizon, one can see tiny miniscule waves that reflect off the amber lights. The ripples might appear to have stopped. But we just can’t see it. Only visible to those who look closely enough.

 

 

 

Lost and losing.

Books make me feel a certain way.

For some reason i remember going to an old ladys house as a child and looking at all the dusty books she had on her shelves.

In my mind i wondered, why read all these books all your life and keep them when you are going to return to the ground in the end?

Books almost seem, like a waste of your time. You read them, and your memories of them will fade with age. Theres almost no point to reading.

 

When im alone and bored, i browse things i did in the past. Things i wrote, embarassing things. This i shouldnt say to public, music, videos things i made as a human being that doesnt really matter in the end.

We try to preserve ourselves and form a vision of our being that we can feel content with, to kind of escape the reality of how banal these sorts of efforts are.

 

I dont know why i really stopped reading books, but i feel like. Even if its true. Even if im escaping from myself. I still want to read boring, useless texts.

I want to write, and preseve everything that i do, embarassing or not.

 

Id rather be unfiltered than try and turn my work into poetry.

I felt petty.

Well to add on, I felt petty today.

Today i was returning a book at the library and i wanted to buy some stuff while i was out at the city.

We ended up eating and i went along with my sister to do stuff. Next thing, shops are all closing cause we wasted time in H&M.

I didnt get to buy what i wanted and we spent like 3 hours in the city for jack fucking squat.

It made me so angry and she just says, its only because i wanted to buy something.

Of fucking course i wanted to buy something.

If i knew that i would travel fuck all to the city to return a book, id have driven out to the city and throw the book in and drive home.

Im not the kind of person who likes their time wasted. I dont like returning a fucking book and try to go shopping only to find that i just ended up doing a fucking trip out to the city to return a book and fuck around in the cbd for 3 hours looking at shit.

FUUUCK.

OF FUCKING COURSE I WANT TO BUY SOMETHING BY THAT POINT. DOING NOTHING IS NOT WORTH MY TIME. I HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN THIS.

I know its PETTY. But i was looking fucking forward to having time to myself to do something i wanted…instead of wasting my time waiting for my sister to do window fucking shopping.