old habits die hard. fuck, i hate clichés.

Jumping from one addiction to another. Food is a given. Cigarettes. Alcohol. Television. Drugs. Oddly enough, human contact never stuck. Why is that? Obssessive. Systematic. Anything compulsive that gives the illusion of continuity. Sure, i can scrutinize over whether "x" or "y" likes me as well as the next person but there is nothing i tire so easily of as potential long-term company. A rather unfair exception to my inherent life-code. I'd trade my talent for bingeing any day to feel passionate about another human being. If only it were that simple. Here; take my cigarettes, give me romance. It could be argued that i sabotage any situation that could be considered healthy, if only to maintain a plausible excuse for not getting on with my life. I feel old. Surely, i shouldn't feel this old. I postponed emotional maturity in detriment of the intellectual variety. Post-mental breakdown i am perplexed by the former and incapable of the latter. I missed the window. Stopping to enjoy life's necessary futility was too high a price to pay. I didn't need beauty or popularity or crushes, i was on my way to academic superiority. If it turns out i wasn't meant for that either, i'm not quite sure what i'm left with. The only relevant concern is, of course, personal defeat. Who will have me when i won't even have myself? I refuse to believe i just haven't met anyone i could fall head over heels for in the last 5 years, you were there, i was simply too busy striving for world domination. Honourable motives perhaps, but such a sad story to witness. I wonder if i could've been stopped. If anyone realised i was headed for uncontrollable caos. Ah. There's the irony. I was looking for you. For someone so intent on controlling everything, i certainly let my every move control me. I can see it happening all over again. Taking a step back, running away and putting everything on hold to fix something i can't quite decipher, getting caught up in the satisfactory progress, allowing myself the belief that i am in fact on the right path, not knowing when to quit and watching the finish line grow distant behind me and oh so suddenly, like i hadn't been ignoring my conscious ever so swiftly the whole time, i am breaking again and i'm right back where i started. They say third time's the charm.. i know what i'm doing, transparently, painfully so. Yet i can't bring myself to admit it, should someone try to stop me. So i let out these tiny cryptic cries, i hint at my desperation in the hopes of finding the one soul that has figured out how to deal. Like the phoenix, my ascent from the ashes is the beginning of my downfall. Another addiction, i suppose. Intent on crushing every last piece of my wanning soul until i bring about its stubborn death. Finally defying my childish conviction of immortality. Maybe then i will get my peace. Pity it'll be too late.

No one is more exhausted and bored of my persisting self-deprecation than myself, i promise. I find hope in provoking any kind of reaction, one of these days it'll be my turn to wake up and realise what i have to do. My endurance is my worst enemy. I hold my breath every morning for the provocative "I can't take it anymore". Trouble is.. I can. Relentlessly. I no longer remember the relief when suffering takes a break - it doesn't - so i am immune. Stuck in limbo between life and death and too familiar with it to be pushed one way or the other. The only choice i have is to be entertained by my own bleak outlook. The girl whose glass can never be half-full. Better to just knock it over and use the shards as weapons.