February

I woke up and try to pick up all the pieces of myself which are lying on the floor. The same facts sequence, the same regrets, the same bullshit. I have lived this for so many years I feel I cannot stand it anymore. Like when I am cycling to work, going up the hill, and I know I have to get off the bike. It is not unhappiness or sadness. It is just the completely lose of hope. It is this spiral, fucking endless spiral. It is my empty stomach, my sore stomach.

I am not writing anymore, I do not have anything to say. There are not funny stories, not sex, not friendship, not drunk stuff. I am still pretending I am funny and excited about silly things; I am still fucking, hanging out with friends, drinking like a bloody Irish. But I am just super bored. I am lost; I am tired, tired everyday because every day is a fucking fight. I am losing the battles and definitely losing the war. I did not want to be in that war anyway, I am not a warrior. I am just a really fucking tiny woman who looks like a teenager and feels like a teenager. I do not have any faith that one day I will be an adult. I am just crawling through this crappy life, crappy existence, thinking that if I would have a tighter bum or my English would be better or my laptop faster my life will be worthy.

And I miss my mother. And my eyes get wet when I am thinking what the fuck I am doing here, where the fuck is my home, why my soul looks so dark. What I did wrong, why everybody looks they understand something that I am not fucking able to make out.

There are not tricks or plans. Just going on with this massive nothingness.