Fuck it all
Fuck the mere fact that I'm still up, this late, 02.55. (It's sunday, damn it.) The day were I (and everyone else of you, you fucking twats) am suppose to be studying in panic for the upcoming week; sparkling, all new and reinvented shit in the form of activities and grand delusions of change - like, I really wished this shit would be different.
...While I'm still on it, I might as well say:
Fuck sundays and the nerve wracking deadlines - time's catching up with you. You have to do this, you have to do that. Why...? (Considering that many of us wants an education of some sort, so yes, there's this whole bunch of idiot-labeled assignments they demand for us to finish. Yes, you guessed it, in time.)
Fuck them: The higher-ups, the people that shout out commands, the damn attorities watching our backs; with those beady little eyes, gleaming with the satisfaction of (for once in their pitiful, meaningless life) getting a few minutes to control other people, but just for a little while. The ones who enjoy telling us what to do, those bitches and pigs that, in fact hates their job and want nothing more then to return to their tiny apartments that reak of old tobacco and worn down carpets, because, for example, teaching teenagers lettering, sentences and numbers from government controlled papers is just to much for the to handle.
Fuck mondays and all the fake "Good morning!"'s. It's fucking impossible to be like that... cheerful, no worries; a smile covering your face, plastered on your lips with superglue on a monday morning, for fuck's sake; it's monday. It's the beginning of another week of identical people and situations, nothing you haven't seen before, same ol', same ol'. You might as well stay in bed, you damn prick.
To hell with tuesdays, that day that doesn't really have a meaning whatsover, it's just there to fill in the blanks. It's that kind of day that almost makes you wish it were monday again, although you know it isn't and so, you shuffle around in the same old clothes again, with the same old company around you (nothing wrong with those people, right? They're just as bored as you are. Maybe even a bit more... panicky, even), the exact time, similiar content being forced into you, once again.
And I could actually smile if someone would do me the favour of erasing wednesdays "of the map". Good riddance. Wednesdays are far to depressing, I always get this intense urge to crawl back under the covers and fucking stay there; go into hibernation or something.
And I fucking hate thursdays. They're simply just a reminder of that friday, saturday and sunday's coming up and you only have a set amount of hours to finally relax and enjoy your solitude, to let of some steam; to practice another look on life for a bit.
But, yet again, another week has to come, and that annoys the shit out of me.
What further annoys me is people.
Those wide, forced smiles, their breathing that tells me the "panic bath" is still drowning them from the inside. Hard to breath when you're constantly under water, right? Black tar of depression, haha. Swimming around in your own filth... well, we're probably (very) used to it by now.
And their believes that one day, something's going to change.
Maybe.
But you're still going to work yourself to death. That's just how it is, learn to accept this fact and you can play fair and square, and... you might actually score. Hey, what the fuck do I know?
Speaking of that...
Speaking of me!
Fuck me and my depressive tiny novels; those attempts I do to try to "reach out" to the ones who might feel the same as myself.
Fuck my problems, the shit everyone's heard before, so many times already, (just shut up, will you?)
Fuck it; that I feel the need to control what I eat in order to control what's going on in my life. Who the fuck am I trying to fool, huh?!
Eventhough my whole life this far seems to be based on my want to be in control all the fucking time... Where has that led me? Into a warm and nize environment or place? No fucking way, I'm more messed up then I were years ago.
And the person I have to blame for all my damn scars is myself.
Me, myself and I.
Why does everything have to be about me when I write?
Fuck that too.
I'm so tired of sundays, mondays, PEOPLE, and not to mention myself.
I'm so fucking tired and it doesn't even surprise me anymore that I'll keep going on and on about this again and again until I feel so sick of myself that I have to throw up on the floor or something, right here and now.
It's me, and it's annoying.
I'm me, and I'm hateful.
I'm angry.
I'm furious.
I'm extremely depressed.
I'm even suicidal at times.
I'm haunted by imaginary "personal" ghosts.
I'm a walking, anorexic living dead corpse.
I'm (excessively) self absorbed, and highly pessimistic of everything and everyone in my surroundings.
I'm an asshole that thinks I know it all, I'm a fucking Wikipedia, walking on two legs.
AND I'M A COMPLETE "RUNDOWN BITCH" WITH SERIOUS MENTAL ISSUES AND I FUCKING HATE THE FACT THAT I'M QUITE PROUD OF IT TOO.
