See my blood so now you know I really am hurting

So it was like, the part few days had sort of disappeared from my life. Gone, vapourised, annihilated. It's so depressing I choose to forget.

It was school. It was knowing that everyone around me was feeling crap. Was it the pathetic world that made everyone down?

Or maybe it's just me, polluting the existence of my friends with my toxic pessimism. It might be my fault.

So what happened exactly? I recall snippets. Saved like being in school, trying to perk myself up by acting like a perky, jovial version of me. It sort of works. People are nicer to me when they think I won't bite. Hell, maybe they even want a piece of the humour that they think i have.

Actually it's kinda sad, for if I did actually act the way I feel, I might at least got some reaffirmation that the demons in my head do actually exist, that a little understanding or even help would be great.

I keep on trying to be the guy who's always there for the friends I have. But sometimes it can be bloody hard. I'm their listener. I try to be happy for them. But where do i find my very own listener?

Screw it. I don't deserve any love or concern. I'm Superman. I'm EXPECTED to give and not take.

==

There have been snippets of happiness.



Being out with friends who matter. Having heart to heart talks. Trying to come to terms with old unresolved issues. Walking a hell while yakking it out. While watching the cars crest the hill in the silent night.

Realising that I'm a cynical bastard yet again. Realising that everything's sorta pointless if you think into it. I don't even know who I am any more. I act so hard to be happy and pleasant and to fall within the limits of normal for human behaviour. Is that my persona or is that already part of me? No one would ever believe I'm one of those who are about to tip themselves off the cliff at any time.

Just making other people feel better. But deep down, when they pour out their insides to me, I wish I could have someone listen, understand, get me through my crappy life.

I'm not worth it though.

==



There's shallow consumerism that I feel absolutely guilty for. Caving in and buying a really expensive bag I've been coveting for years.



Consumerism is shallow pleasure.

==



Even reading the final instalment of Harry Potter on release date doesn't cheer me up.



==



Pain and blood, they make me feel real again. At least people are more concerned about a superficial bloody toe than a dying soul deep in me.