Things are going..

I'm still lingering in that place that has long abandoned me, even though i have not abandoned them. I still think about them occasioonally, but just on the surface. I don't want to delve too deeply into that pit of despair. I said bad things about them? never. and i could prove it to them, too, but who would believe me, the archiver? i could change it, they could say. cut out bits i didn't like. but still. i never thought ill of any of them. at least not aloud, to them. to my ginger, perhaps, but not to them, those that live in that community. not that i've ever hated any of them. and being mean to their characters is not the same as being mean to them themselves. i liked the people hiding behind the people. i really did.

but i think it's true that this summer has scarred me, a bit. i am going forward and yet back. frightened even more than before of being hated, of being despised, for a reason that i know not. and Rok, he and i are still fb friends. what does that even mean? is there hope for us yet? i don't know if i want to hope anymore on that end. and those that i have blocked, i have given up on. why defriend me? what did I do to you? what did i do? what did i do? if i cannot know, i can only question everything instead of something specific. assume that you merely grew to hate my essence, what made me me.

so now when i reach out on the internet, the silence is the thing that unnerves me the most. you aren't responding, not because you are busy, no, but because your heart has grown to despise me, as you will all inevitably do, and you do not wish to answer such garbage. my words that are garbage; me, that is garbage. all of you. that is how you think, or rather, how your silence thinks and is, in my mind. it is twisted, yes, and it isn't that i lack faith in you, rather, i lack faith in me to be liked.

pathetic little me. oh don't worry, i don't need love, nor seek it. i can pine after him, but it will never come to fruit, for i am too strange, not sweet enough, not likaeble enough to be liked. i have years of proof, after all. plenty of broken examples.

snakes feel like me, slithering through teh dry mud that was once a wet, high lake

and when i'm talking to those that i know like me for who i am, i can't help but feel like if i can't belittle myself then i am insufficient and imperfect. those mistakes eat at me, they do, for i remember them and how inadequate i was then, and my mind wanting to fix rthem, to polish them to perfection.

degradation, or is it decline of everything that is leading to this endless flow of incorrectness

it is to show you, or perhaps me, how wrong everything is right now

but really, i can suppress it all, i can get past it because i am strong and i need no one but myself. i know that you are there for me, and yet i feel reluctant to talk to you about anything significant. i feel like the words fall by the wayside, thus becoming meaningless