There is this feeling, this realization.. that I wake up every day into a dream that I don't want to be having. No that the actual dreams in my sleep are any comforting, no. They are mostly distressing and anxiety inducing. More often than not catastrophic on grand scale, scope of which is far beyond just ones personal tragedy. My role in them is literally just that of noone experiencing existential dread and complete powerlessness in face of something that is beyond me. I can never do anything in them but run, or give up and accept my fate, I can never win. 

I hate waking up from those dreams shaken with a sinking feeling, and yet I hate the fact that I woke up at all even more. But at least they drown out everything else, all the other noise  and in a way it can be comforting to just give in to the inevitable like that. 

Meanwhile I am awake...minutes melt into hours, hours melt into days and days into weeks. Time flows at some odd warped pace that adjusts to whatever degree I am able to focus on things at hand. It's not that there is not much to do, on the contrary...there is so much I have to do. But it's all so familiar, I can engage very little of me and just set my trajectory on autopilot. I have been here before, many times. It comes easy to me nowadays. What isn't easy however is being this painfully aware of it happening.

I liked to think I've been worse and I worked my ass off to crawl out of that bleak pit years ago. But it only truly dawned on me recently that it felt worse simply because I actually **felt something**, I felt a lot. While I was genuinely at the end of my rope, it was also extremely emotional. I had a lot to come to terms with. I loathed and hurt myself, because it was the only way I could release the repressed pain. It was incredibly draining, but I still felt human and real and deep down I still cared. About myself, about others. At least in the beginning.

The difference is that now I am numb. There is nothing to have feelings about. And I do not care. I may seem warm and inviting and give a false sense of care. At times even I can can briefly feel as if I cared about something or someone. I feel the fire ignite for second or two, before it dies out and I am left with nothing. It's hollow...like an old habit that no longer carries any meaning, or memory that slips away just as you are about to conjure it. I go through the motions, but it's empty.

Deep down I really truly don't care about anything. 

And it has been like this for a long time now, I just didn't want to fully accept it. Always trying to find ways around the truth.

Nothing good, kind, loving or stable moves me. Something that I would have wanted in my life in the past only exhausts me now and eventually leads to boredom. I have tried to push myself past the disinterest, but it only leads to more frustration and resentment. Toxic, hurtful, humiliating, violent are the only things that makes me feel any sort of rush.

And so I feel myself throwing my life, safety, or any remaining sanity on a line just to feel something, anything. Briefly. Because I am self-destructive and I don't see myself as being  worthy of anything more. It is as if I was second-handedly punishing myself through expectations about how I should be treated by others. For what even? I hardly remember.  
 I don't even recognize myself anymore. All I want is to leave