I sit down and try to write a poem and can’t think of anything. I get too distracted by thoughts and worries about school and everything else. There’s no point in me worrying about anything, because I don’t do anything to solve my problems anyway, because I’m stupid. And I’m not saying I’m stupid because I want people to tell me I’m not. I make stupid decisions, and my actions are what define me—as stupid. It’s really hard to write a poem when you’re stupid.
I’ve been thinking about autonihilism—the idea that life in general may have a purpose, but yours doesn’t. I may be the only one who subscribes to this philosophy. Actually I may have even made up the word, because when I tried to find out if it was a real philosophy, I couldn’t find anything online.
Up until last year I really thought I had an amazing future ahead of me. I had fantastic grades and had just gotten my first job writing, I was a moderately successful blogger, and I had lots of interests and hobbies. Then I hit a turning point. My depression got worse and invited over a new friend, anxiety. Over time—one, maybe a couple years—I stopped doing everything and caring about anything.
My dad has taken away my computer (bad grades) so I’m writing on paper. My handwriting is messy and slow and doesn’t make sense. I have no ideas, no inspiration. My life is useless and I am accomplishing nothing. I am working hard at literally zero things: not school, relationships with people, music, writing. Rookie is an amazing opportunity for me, but what about when I’m not a teenager anymore?
“The boy walks like a cat,” I write. What does that even mean? I have nothing meaningful to reflect on besides Mom, and I’m not writing about her unless I can write well (which I obviously can’t do right now). I’m still distracted by worries: What college will I get into with my grades? Probably a shitty or nonexistent one.
I am the biggest underachiever in the history of the world. My life serves no purpose. I don’t even want to go to college because I can barely see that far ahead. I can barely see what’s going on in the present; my life is a blur because all I do is nothing.
What do I like about myself? Not much, honestly. I am going to amount to nothing, because I suck. I could amount to something if I tried, but I won’t try, because I don’t know how. How do you learn to care about yourself?
I am so lonely and sad all of the time. I have no reason and no right to be either of those things. I wish nobody cared. ♦