The worst in me

6.34 PM, Borås, Sweden

Dear diary,

Time flies by. Every second that goes by is a countdown. T- your life, and still counting. You wish you could make every damn one of 'em worth it. Worth being alive. But you just can't, you can't make yourself feel alive any longer. Everything you do, from the smallest thing, makes you tired. Even getting out of bed in the morning is a hard task, and takes every inch of determination you can muster. It's safe to say that this - in the purest form of the word - is hell.

I feel like I am repeating myself. Like an old record skipping on a beat, over and over again.

I can't live like this. I need to get out of this.

Do I get out of it? No, fuck no, everything I do only takes me further down this spiraling hellhole that is my life. Everything's just dead inside, my creativity has since long fled the field, and took every little bit of vitality with it. I'm breathing, but I'm not alive. Time flies by.

6.52 PM

I can't handle people anymore. It has been getting far worse than any time before, and the bare thought of approaching someone, talking to someone I don't know throws me into an anxiety attack. Even speaking to people over the internet puts me on needles. And I don't know why, why the hell am I so afraid of contact? Why can't I handle being social and extrovert like everyone else? Imagine what a major fuckup it would be... I can see myself standing there on stage, freaking out because everyone is looking at me, and running away from there. Fleeing, like the useless coward I am. Useless. Fuckup.

7.53 PM

Well, what do you know. Anger turns to hate, hate turns to helplessness, and now I'm back to normal again. Still pissed off, at myself mostly, but looking forward to things again. So...what was it... like... 1 hour? Yeah, 1 hour. That's all it took for me to go straight from deep depression to feeling alright again. Fuck you, manic depressive disorder.