I don't want to do anything today. I just want my brain to shut off for a while. No thinking, no effort, nothing. I feel lazy in a way that doesn't feel like laziness—it feels like my whole system is down. I just want to lie down and disappear into sleep.
The only things that tempt me right now are porn, masturbation, or maybe some romance story—anything that gives a quick dopamine hit. I'm avoiding it, but it's there like a dangling shortcut. A cheap escape.
I don't know if screaming would help or make me feel stupid. I'm writing this because something feels off. Not normal. I'll probably forget this day in a week, but maybe writing keeps me from sinking.
Yesterday mom asked me to study and I snapped. I said studying is useless because I don't see results. But that's bullshit—I'm not even trying. I keep distracting myself with pointless things instead of the things I claim to care about.
The drawing course? Three months. I haven't practiced even one proper week. I call myself pathetic and that only pushes me deeper. Self-pity is like drowning yourself on purpose.
Mom's words hurt, even when she says nothing. Even when she just asks me to eat. It feels like she has given up on me, even if she hasn't. I feel judged by her silence. I want to cry but I don't. I just stay stuck.
My brain keeps pushing me to avoid effort, avoid joy, avoid everything. It's like I'm trapped between "work hard" and "shut down," so I do neither. I'm wasting time and I know it. Every second feels pointless.
I haven't eaten. I feel ashamed to eat like I haven't earned it. As if food needs permission.
And here's the part I'm scared to write—I keep thinking about dying. It's not strong, not dramatic, but it's the first thought that pops up when I ask myself what to do. Like a default setting. I want to scream "I WANT TO DIE," and that scares me because the feeling grows a little each time.
In the evening I went for a walk, thinking fresh air might switch my brain back on. It didn't fix anything, but it slowed the noise for a bit. I passed a barber shop and suddenly thought — maybe I should shave my head. Completely. No hair, no style, just bare.
I imagined the shock on people's faces. They would finally look at me, notice me, ask what happened. And I would stay quiet like a monk, because I don't want to sit and explain what's happening inside me to people I know. I don't want pity. I don't want someone patting my shoulder like I'm broken glass. I want to be understood without talking. Stupid thought, but it felt real in that moment. Loud.
It's funny — I say I don't want attention and I still rant here, online, where strangers might read it. Maybe I do want to be seen but not recognized. I want someone to know I'm struggling without having to confess it face-to-face like a sinner. Writing this out feels like letting some poison leak instead of holding it in.
I know typing this instead of actually working is basically performance. Drama. But what else do I have right now? Speaking to myself in my head wasn't enough anymore. Putting it here makes it feel like someone might hear me, even if no one responds.
Maybe that's pathetic. Maybe it's a step. I can't tell.