ArchBook, Pt 2

Previous Entry: ArchBook, Pt 1

I’m labeling this old diary “ArchBook” because it has architectural diagrams on the outside of it. It’s a really ugly book. Over the next [unspecified time period] I will post entries from it. The entry below is undated but precedes an entry dated October 1996. 

 

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I don’t feel valuable – I don’t feel valued. I don’t even know what it feels like anymore —
I don’t feel love.      or Loved.
At times when I did –     – OR.
Well, I had to distance myself from those feelings afterwards, so . . .
They feel wrong. mistaken anyway.

(1) is that it would never be enough anyway
No wonder people do all sorts of crazy or stupid things. to find some momentary bit of happiness – – –
OR Love from some source — for some period of time. Well, it makes Life bearable.
And to me it’s only wrong + bad.
+ not enough.

I died over + over again these last few years.
I don’t believe I can ever be reborn — to feel good? satisfied? happy? loved?
I don’t think that’s possible again.
I don’t feel right from my family. They say love but I don’t feel it the right way.
I just feel tortured.

What is worth anything?
Why do we have to have thoughts?

I’ve had to kill myself, my feelings, my caring about feeling good or getting hurt or liking someone or being liked . . . I let that part of me die — it was finally necessary.
I don’t feel anything right.
Or, the same as others do.
I’m broken.
And I believe un-fix-able.

DRUGS are the only thing that can help, perhaps.
Isn’t that so sad?
I hate life.