New Records

I won’t lie - I can’t fucking describe how awful this feels. I find absolutely no fulfillment in anything I do. Even basic tasks are nightmares. My only real activity? Beating myself up for doing nothing. The guilt eats me alive all the time, yet it seems I can’t do a damn thing about it.

Lately, writing in this diary takes war-level effort. My thoughts won’t stream into text anymore. They’re a tangled mess. Converting them into anything coherent feels simply unfeasible. I literally stare at the screen for five minutes per sentence, feeling extreme strain, trying to somehow shove my emotions into words.

This state? No name for it. Can’t work. Can’t rest. Can’t even breathe right. I’m trying my best, yet I know I can do better. I’ve become more self-aware, but what’s the point? My emotions still flatline.

I have this huge urge to just cry to someone about how everything’s broken, how I’m drowning in fear and disappointment, how I keep failing every tiny expectation, and how miserable I often feel. Then I think: It’s not that bad. You’ve survived worse. But that’s the trap, isn’t it? I always manage to hit the deeper bottoms.