I'm waiting. Doing nothing. Waiting for something. The sweet kiss of death, maybe. Why do we keep making new people? Life is problematic. Specially if you don't get all the good stuff out of it. Then you're just an outsider, nihilist, pessimist, mass shooter, etc.
There's not much.. I am in a mental dead end. I can't function. I don't think I ever did function properly. There's a lot of mental illness in my family. And I had a terrible childhood. I have lots of reasons to cease my being. It's just.. being. Staying. Keeping. Being. Breathing. Sleeping. Eating. Crying. Smoking. Breathing. Burning. Fucking. Cutting. Cutting. I miss the smell of blood. The metallic taste in my mouth. Punching. I used to punch myself in the face, as a form of replacing cutting myself in noticable areas of my body. I greatly miss the feeling of embodied self-destruction. The physical manifestation of the internal hell. That's all it is for me. All there ever was. Pain. And not just pain. Normally we suffer for a reason. We sacrifice ourselves in the present to have a less painful future. That's reasonable. But a pain without purpose. Stupid suffering. That's me. Dumb fucking pain. All my life. I need help. I woke up today. And I'm sleeping now. I fed the cat and myself and lied on this bed and I'm waiting.
I still entertain the possibility of this being a nightmare. I still some times hope and wait to wake up, in a country that's not in middle east. Being an Iranian citizen is the equivalent of depression. There's these chains that enslave you. The way out is so fucking hard you honestly consider suicide. I hate this. Life. I hate myself, with all my heart. 
My hands are tired. My whole body is in agony. I'm still In opium withdrawal from my latest heroin relapse a week ago. My skin.. shards of glass under it. Tingling in unison. Awful. And if I wasn't in physical pain a worse kind of pain would take over me. It still is. My soul. I don't feel any part of it. The shadow is coming to the surface. I want to escape. But everywhere is just another cell in a prison in the size of a country. I don't talk. I don't remember the last time I smiled out of real joy and not faking it for the social situation I was. I really don't feel anything but grief. For myself. What is lost. Me. Lost and not found. Gone. I wish my shadow takes over me. At least it won't feel pain. It will most definitely destroy everything I care about. But that's a reasonable price to pay for being without being terrified of this fucking pain lasting untill the moment my heart stops beating. My heart is pounding. Everyday it hurts. Arrhythmia. I can't get help. I wont. I can't. I don't want to.
It's like a child screaming in the far distance. But you can hear it. You are the only one that hears it. Please stop. Just for one second be quiet. I miss it. I'm starting to hear and see stuff that aren't real again. I know how it goes. Starts slow. Random noises and shadows in you peripheral vision. Then they come to focus. Noises turn into syllables and then words and then sentences and then personalities with voices. Shadows become ghosts and monsters and dead bodies. A constant state of panic. My body is always in a fight or flight state. The adrenaline. It's burning me out. My heart. And I'm 21 so you can imagine the stress and torture I'm under. No, in fact, you can't imagine. No one can imagine another one. We just pretend and lie and lie to ourselves and believe it because the alternative is just too fucking much.
You are alone. There's no one. Nobody will hear your screams. No one.
No one.