Hate It When My Coworkers Ask Me How Im Doing. Like, Fuck Off. You Dont Want An Answer. You Want An Im

Hate it when my coworkers ask me how I’m doing. Like, fuck off. You don’t want an answer. You want an “I’m doing alright, how are you?” which is a fucking lie and makes me feel bad for being a liar. But you don’t want the truth. And when I tell you, you look at me like I’m the crazy one here for… *checks notes* being honest? If you didn’t want me to say, “I can’t tell if I wanna die, cut myself, try to get high off my meds, quit this job and disappear, or just go to sleep,” then you shouldn’t have fucking asked.

Also, loving how whenever my mood gets bad, my pain gets worse, and the other way around. It’s a cycle that I can’t escape from and all I wanna do is sleep all day. But I have fucking insomnia.

This would work on me. Not even gonna lie

How to catch me

Stuff I wanna do before I die (I will update this)

- ride a motorcycle

- publish my novella

- have a good day

- know what it’s like to not be in pain

- transition

I feel like there are two types of people I could theoretically be in a relationship with. Someone who’s emotionally stable would be ideal, but let’s face it, such a person doesn’t exist. So I need someone who’s just as fucked up as me. Sure, it would be a nightmare and we’d kill each other, but it would be fun for like a week, and I already feel like I’m dying all the time.

My schedule:

Wake up.

Choke down breakfast.

Go to work, kill my body while at work.

Go home.

Dissociate (listen to “Life Waster” by CORPSE on repeat for a few hours).

Sleep (optional, probably cry self to sleep).

Repeat until inevitable death.