Musing, Writing, Living.

Lately all I do is be sad and make lists of people I miss and what I would say to them in a world where I could be completely tactless and socially awkward and still have friends.

At least I'm not as sad as I used to be.

But it sucks being sad without a reason. I don't even have sympathy for myself, because I know I'm being illogical--I just don't know how to fix myself. Sometimes I wish I'd get hit by a car or something and die instantly so I don't have to deal with anything anymore.

I try to reach out to people, but it is unbelievably difficult. I'm introverted on the best of days, and when I'm sad and feeling worthless, I'm typically not inclined to call up friends to talk about my emotions. There's a part of me that fervently wishes someone would contact me in some way, but the rest of me just wants to wallow in solitude and misery.

So I sit at home, alone in my apartment. I stare at the walls, I sleep, I cry. I write dozens of blogposts that don't get published because I feel they're too pathetic. I hope that somebody will give heed to one of my cries for help.

I really just need hugs right now, the kind of hugs that let you know that somebody actually cares. When I'm with people, it's better. Some individuals can make me happy, help me forget about everything else.

Inevitably, though, I go home. By myself. Once I go into my room where nobody can see me, I'm unable to stop the tears from coming out.