"Perhaps it is true that we do not really exist untill there is someone to see us existing, we cannot properly speak untill there is someone there who can understand what we are saying, in essance, we are now wholly alive untill we are loved. "
-Alain deBotton.

i am so sick of being alone.
of being empty.
emptiness inside, emptiness without. being so makes the world without promise, without the meaning that used to be just under the surface. maybe the surface is thicker, maybe i have lost the ability to scratch, who knows. all these faces are blank, all words the same, even friends once so treasured are like strangers to me now, eyes unfamillier, turns of phrase obscure. discomfort and hollowness, and akward conversations.

tomorrow, i AM making an appointment to get better. to deal with my shit. to </i>something.</i>
im scared, i dont want to face my demons, but if i fall any further i wont be able to get back up. ive already failed this semester, reclused myself in a messy dusty house from sheer paranoia, infected my body with some kind of cold virus, and cant be enthused about work so its going nowhere. what else must i destroy before i can climb the piles of rubble?
WHY MUST I BE SO MELODRAMATIC?? lol.

it just feels like theres so much nothing, theres no point, you know?
textbook exitential crisis. unfortunatey, the book doesnt give me the motivation to get the hell out. gah.

ummmmmmmmmm...
yes.
i dearly longing for my studio, but im still working out where in this empty old house to put it. the garage is just useless. am using the loungeroom floor atm. not really comfy. i think once i get my easle inside, things will start looking up. im also longing for soup, so im going home now.