I didn’t ask to be here. None of us really did. Some are able to make the best out of it. They find something they enjoy or are passionate about. They connect with people and build heathy and lasting relationships. 

I have no passion. I have no hobbies. No interests. I grew up drawing a lot. People call me an artist. But I’m not particularly interested in it. It’s just something I do a couple times a year, really. It passes the time. 

I hate the way I look and even more the way I act. I constantly trap myself in this. woe is me mindset. My room is a mess and it’s suffocating me but I do nothing to make it better. I just lay in bed all day. And I just found out that the boy I like found me irritating.. so I’ve been fighting off thoughts of relapse. I tend to want to do drugs at small inconveniences in life—habitually; it was my coping mechanism when I was seventeen. I’m twenty now. The cravings never left I just know how to control it better now. 

But I often think about suicide. Not that I’d ever have the balls to seriously do it. I just think about different ways to do it a lot. I’ve thought about crashing my car at full speed, jumping off a building, overdosing on depressants.. I snap out of it but once I do I’m still left to live through my insufferably numb and monotonous lifestyle.