I can't appreciate good things. I can only look a the negative.

Previous Posts: Scared to be myself – Everyone is better than me – Update to "Scared to be myself" – I'm craving for attention

Here I am again. Just like everyday. It gets kinda embarassing. But since I have literally no one to talk to anymore, I have to go here. It's kinda sad, really. Always writing down this wall of text, hoping for a response, and then, after a few hours, it's all gone. It's all gray again. But enough of that.

Today, I'm going to talk about a general problem. Something, that probably is just part of my depression, but it remained even after being on antidepressants for a considerable time. Those just stabilize my mood, they don't work wonders. Today's problem of the day is my perpective on the world.

I can always ever see the negative. Let's start with myself. This alone is negative again, because I feel egoistic for doing that. But this post is about me, and this is MLSG, so I guess no one really minds if I'm egoistic. If that even is egoistic. Maybe I'm just overthinking it. If I had to describe myself – I would have a real problem. I'm really bad at describing myself. I'm not special. I can't really do anything particularly well, and I am insignificant in any imaginable way. If I was told to split it up in negatives and positives, it would make things easier. There's a lot of negative things I know of myself. First of all, I'm useless in a lot of ways. I can't do things right, I don't contribute anything to anything. I'm egoistic and sometimes greedy. I am self-pitying. I am annoying. I can't socialize. The list just goes on and on. I could fill a page like this, probably several. Now the positive... I got nothing. I will die some day and the world will finally get rid of me. That's something to look forward to. At least for the rest of the world. And that's something, right? It's not like my opinion had ever counted for anything anyway.

I always only keep in mind the negative things, and I don't even notice the positive things anymore. If they exist. Maybe it's just a conspiracy of the whole world against me. Unlikely, though. No, I'm not paranoid at all. I'm just frustrated.

I played a fuckton of bad matches in SMNC recently. My team would've been off much better with pretty much any other player. Playing one good match just doesn't make up the other 20 bad ones I had. It's like a metaphor for life. No one needs me, and they would probably be better off without me. In fact, there's probably someone out there who could do everything I do much better. Who fits my spot much better. But what is that spot anyway? It's not like I'm contributing anyway. I don't think anyone would remember me when I'm gone. Maybe some would be relieved. I don't know. No worries, I won't suicide, I'm over that by far. That doesn't mean that I'm happy to live, though.

Art. Why am I even doing art. Or did I do art. It's not like I'm doing it anymore. At least at the moment. It's just so frustrating. Yes, I drew picture. Yes, someone did look at it. Yes, they did find it okay. Did it have any impact? Did it awake any emotions? Was it worth looking at for more than 1 second? No, no, no. Art is worthless if you can't get lost in it. And you just can't in mine. You wouldn't get lost in a pile of shit, would you? Although most shit piles with their spirals and sponge-like textures are still more artistic than my stuff. No, I don't look at shit as a hobby.

I think there are positive things in the world. From time to time I get to see them myself. I probably don't derserve it, though. If my life has feelings, it hates me. And I hate it right back. I don't even know why I am alive, what purpose I serve, but from what I can see, I'm here to suffer. To suffer and spread pain. And whatever this ... infection of life is, it works, and it is spreading. This text is proof enough.

It used to be better when I had people to talk to. But the one person, which I consider my best friend, I have been talking to almost everyday, is studying all day now, so I can only talk to him once every two weeks or something. I'm alone a lot, and lonely, and I don't have anyone to talk to. I feel like all the people I could ever talk to leave me, abandon me. They told me they'd never do it, but they did. I knew it, I told them. They said it was never going to happen. I was right. I hate always being right in such things.