Every year, I come closer and closer to running away.
There are days when I consider running off until I run out of breath. There are days when I think about just walking out the door and continuing until I can no longer move. There are days when I do not leave my house because I am afraid of where I will end up if I cannot control the urge to get the f* out of here.
I don't like noise. I don't like people. I don't like that my voice often likes to speak without the necessary brain approval.
I don't like myself outside of my bedroom. I don't like who I am around other people.
I'm slow and flustered. I'm embarrassed and wary. I can never think of any decent sort of comeback, but I will figure out at least five good ones three hours later.
I hate how exhausted I feel after being in public. I hate how frustrated I get with people around me. I hate being conscious.
I hate how they feel and how they sound and how they smell. I hate their mannerisms and their habits. I hate their interests and their discussions.
Everything is roughened meat sliding along a cheese grater.
The days that I think about leaving, the days I think about never speaking again, the days I think that sleeping for the rest of my life is the answer are coming closer and closer together.
I want to disappear for a while
There are days when I consider running off until I run out of breath. There are days when I think about just walking out the door and continuing until I can no longer move. There are days when I do not leave my house because I am afraid of where I will end up if I cannot control the urge to get the f* out of here.
I don't like noise. I don't like people. I don't like that my voice often likes to speak without the necessary brain approval.
I don't like myself outside of my bedroom. I don't like who I am around other people.
I'm slow and flustered. I'm embarrassed and wary. I can never think of any decent sort of comeback, but I will figure out at least five good ones three hours later.
I hate how exhausted I feel after being in public. I hate how frustrated I get with people around me. I hate being conscious.
I hate how they feel and how they sound and how they smell. I hate their mannerisms and their habits. I hate their interests and their discussions.
Everything is roughened meat sliding along a cheese grater.
The days that I think about leaving, the days I think about never speaking again, the days I think that sleeping for the rest of my life is the answer are coming closer and closer together.
I want to disappear for a while
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