It's like a never ending droll of uncertainty and unhappiness. Never fulfilled, but not actually giving a f***.
I almost want to care, but my inability to enjoy or loathe things makes it difficult.
The excitement factor of my life has diminished greatly the past few months. Laying in the comforts of my own bed seems like the only solace. I try to do things. Go outside, make dinner, even showering. All the while I am counting down the longest minutes of my life until I return to the only thing that doesn't actually make me happy, it just makes me feel, well...nothing.
I like feeling nothing sometimes. Most times. All of the time.
Being outside surrounded by people of all walks of life makes me feel somewhat emotionally inadequate.
I see people happy, I see people sad. It both makes me question life and think "what is the point in all of this?"
What am I actually achieving? Even going to the toilet I contemplate the same thing. Everything seems...pointless?
Why is that person buying jeans? Why is that person having dinner? Why is that person walking their dog?
Everything lacks meaning, and I sit back, ponder and try to make sense as to why they are living life. When I sit here and wonder why everything just is.
I stare, people watch, creep. I look at people and think "what does this person do to make them just, carry on with life?" Do they have a job? What kind of job? I want that job if it makes them happy. Are they married? Are they happy being married? I want to be married and be like them.
It most certainly is me. I can't understand my reasoning. I don't want to understand my reasoning. A small part of me wants to feel something. I want to feel excitement, I want to look forward to going out and socialising. But I can't.
Staying at home, staring at a rectangular box with colourful imagery and sounds doesn't exactly make me feel any sort of happiness. But the alternative is being outside with those people who seem to enjoy life, and it seems like the better option.
