The problem with escaping your life is that you must eventually return to deal with all the problems you�ve been avoiding. While your liver is rotting inside you with wave after wave of alcohol, your life becomes sticky and unpleasant.
I don�t like sticky. I don�t like unpleasant.
I like clean, easy, manageable.
I know that it�s a very selfish thought to have, but I�ll just put this out there for the world to digest: I don�t want anyone else to fall in love with me�ever again.
I want to exist alone for the rest of my days, as punishment for all that I am. I want to spend all of the rest of my nights alone in my bed. I want to be insignificantly small in this staggeringly large world.
I�m sick of being perfect in that way that exists only in the dreams of others. I want to be the flawed person I am, not the idol that some people make me out to be.
I�m sick of disappointment. I�m sick of emotionally numb men and narcissistic women. I�m sick of waiting for someone to notice me. I�m sick of having all the wrong people fall for me at all the wrong times. I�m sick of investing every inch of myself into a friendship, only to watch it fall apart because of some deluded notion of love. My love, their love, our love.
Love is a sham. A dime-store diet pill. We convince ourselves that it will cure all our problems and fill in all those tiny little holes inside ourselves that make us feel empty at night. But maybe what everyone refuses to recognize is that we are those tiny little holes.
