So on the one hand, I have a really good friend now. He says he loves me, and this is the closest I've been to saying it back. He's taught me that I'm actually not dead inside; which is good. On the other hand, I'm in mourning. Cancer, May 7th. I never even knew she was sick.
It's been one hell of a month. My brother ran over my toes and possibly broke them, my uncle survived a chain of heart attacks, and...oh, yeah, I lost an aunt to cancer, too. Not to mention my mother seemed more upset by her dream than the loss of her sister, but it's probably none of my business.
All I know is that between everybody dropping dead in my life, and in Ukraine, and because of Covid, and because of astronomically retarded fuckheads like Kim Jong Un; this has been the fucking worst two fucking years of my fucking life. Worst part is, I have all these people telling me to smile, and cheer up; even the people who know that my friend is dead, who know that she is not the first friend I've lost recently. They want me to fucking smile. I think they're the ones who are dead inside.
I think I've slept fives times since the 7th. Three consecutive dreams involving my (living) friend, and two nightmares on the same night. I feel like I should go back to bed, but I don't really see the point. I can do anything to try and induce sleep. Anything. But none of those things work. I honestly feel like resorting to violence just so I can be sedated. I have actually gone 11 days without sleep before, and on the fourth or fifth day, you kind of stop giving a damn. You kind of get numb to it.
I miss being numb. Now I know this person, who's the only one I even like; and of course, he has to be an American. I'm never going to meet him. Not that long ago, talking to him always relaxed me, just as well as going to the river. But now it makes no difference, because all he is, all he can be, is an online-offline status.
This sucks. The more people I meet, the more alone I am.
I'm going to go now. I don't know where, but the blog has to end sometime.
