i'm hungry.

there is a small amount of edible food in my house.
all of it would need to be prepared in some fashion.
but i can't really get to the stove or well, anything else in the kitchen right now.
i'm tired of living in a crackhouse minus the drugs.
unless you count prescription, then the minus is unnecessary.

i need to get out of here.
but i don't know if i ever will.

i decided i'm going to kill myself if i still live with my parents when i'm 30.
not in an "i'm so sad, you should feel bad for me" sort of way

but really more like, wow you failed.
you're no better than your mother.
just off yourself before it gets worse.

i need to get out of debt.
i don't know how.
i'm this close to filing for bankruptcy.

that scares me.
a lot.

i'm fucking hungry.
and broke.
and tired of being in this shithole.

and the weird part is, i'm seriously not a miserable person.
i don't really go around moping all the time, at all.
i find humor in everything.
even if it's my life falling apart.

which is great for the people around me.
but i'm starting to wonder if it's actually making things worse for me.
and slowly eating away at me.

i don't know what to do about it.
i tried being honest about my feelings.
but then i felt like i came across as needy and boring.
and really, i'm more comfortable with my macho, jerky self than my actual self.

how did i get here?

i seriously used to cry all the time.
and now i hardly feel anything.
sometimes i wonder if i'm faking it.

i mean, it's possible that i've built a wall so huge even i can't get behind it.
but maybe i didn't.
maybe i just killed off all those icky, nasty, feeling inhabitants.
maybe there's no wall, no fortress, just rotting buildings and dead bodies that represent every emotion i've ever felt.  aside from anger and amusement.
though even those are fading.

i don't even get mad anymore.
and sometimes i wonder if i laugh more out of habit than out of genuine amusement.

and i like to think i'm a happy person.
but it's really not true.
not being a sad person doesn't make you a happy one.
it's not that black and white.

i'm just... mellow.
i hate that word.
but it fits.
i just exist, i'm fucking easy-going.
and boring.

i mean, i'm still witty.
but even robots can be programmed to deliver clever one-liners.
there's no feeling behind it.
just snarky words laced together in an attempt to be admired for my wit.

i'm a fucking shell of a person.
i really am.

and the strange thing is, i'm actually very secure.
self-assured.
confident.
i like me.

but i don't think i love me.
or anyone else for that matter.
i don't think i'm capable of it anymore.

i wonder if i can get it back.
i wonder if i want to.

this post really did just start out as me whining about how hungry i am.
and in a way i guess it ended that way too.

ugh.