I was supposed to go to yoga tonight. I didn't want to go, because it was dark and I didn't feel so great - I feel leaden and thick and slow, like it takes an immense amount of energy to do the simplest of tasks - but I felt like one, I spent the money already for the class, and two, I knew it would make me feel better. So I dragged myself to the train platform (not even five minutes to get there - it seemed like an eternity) and waited. And waited. And waited some more. I must have waited almost 1/2 hour for the downtown train, at which point, it was pointless, I would never have gotten to yoga on time. So I went home.

So I've been home this whole time. I've done nothing, nothing of value, nothing at all. I turned on the computer when I got home because I figure this is all I've got to rely on, that when I feel this bad I need to put it on paper. I hate my life sometimes, I really do. I feel in this constant state of decline, of entropy, of worthlessness and uselessness. I think of all the people in my life I care about and I don't want to taint them with my presence. I don't want to deal with the pain of being around such lovely, lively people and their vibrancy mocking my tarnish. So fucking melodramatic, no? I think back to the summer and I loved my life and I had so many interests and so many passions and all of that seems remote and drained of color. I live a monochromatic life. There is so little I look forward to, there is so little that motivates me. I want to feel like I did in the summer again - I suppose that's why I'm in fucking therapy again - but that seems so long ago and faint and unreal, that I feel it is completely out of my grasp. All I want to do is slip under the waves into a warm dark oblivion, that I might be capable of doing.

And I hate myself so much when I feel like this. I feel absolutely unloveable, unbearable, I want to squirrel myself away and numb out the searing pain I suspect is buried in me, under a thin layer of skin. I just want to throw more layers over it, bury it, instead of exposing it. I just want a new life, but I feel paralyzed to make even the smallest steps.

Enough of this. I'm making myself even sicker of myself than I was before. I hate to see the ugliest of me on paper.

(If you haven't heard from me in a while, this is why.)