I don't know what's wrong with me.

There's something incredibly messed up about me.

I don't live. I shouldn't be living.

That's just the way it's supposed to be for me I suppose.

Before you ask, no, I'm not about to kill myself, but maybe one day in the future I actually will because I want to go out to my own hands, I want to enjoy it in the most twisted way. Which I can do. I can make bleach become addictive to me, I can make the feeling of a sharp blade across cold skin feel nice. I can make a knife to the gut enjoyable to me.

I'm not entirely here. There's somewhere beyond wherever the hell I am that I just can't reach, Just like there's a place beyond where my mind can think that's enormous, but I can't reach it.

I swear one of these days I'm going to see something no one else can, I already try to make myself but I haven't reached that far into my mind yet. There's something more to this life, another layer and I swear I can feel it.

I'm just trapped. Even now as I type this I'm automatically writing and rewriting these words in my head as i mindlessly punch the keys to catch up with my brain. I'm staring at the screen, mechanically checking the words.

But I'm not reading into them as they are, which brings up the question.

How can you enjoy something if you aren't thinking, Can you live if you aren't thinking. Every moment you have to process and think about and pick apart in order to be truly living it, or else it's worthless. That's why I don't want to change, to get "better."

I don't want to be happy, mindlessly laughing and smiling if it isn't real.

Am I real? Is pain real? I swear I'm here but I'm already somewhere else.