i feel useless.

i feel unmotivated to live. unmotivated to do something productive with myself. i know i have a lot of people in my life who care about me. people who are genuinely concerned with my well-being but the bigger parts of me would rather not be bothered. i don't care what happens to me. i don't know where i'm going. i can feel my self crashing & burning & the truer, more beautiful me trying to espace -- but i'm lazy. my resilience has diminished & the people who love me dearly can see the sadness in my eyes. i'm an open book. with tattered, missing pages. lacking a table of contents. unfinished. i lie too much. i lie so much about things that happen to me or what people do/say to me that i have trouble distinguishing reality from fantasy. it's dangerous. & it's fucking depressing. everyone i know around me has something going for themselves. i feel like i have nothing to show for my life @ 20. what a crock. maybe that's why i lie so much. no, i know that's why i lie so much. i lie to make my life seem more interesting so that people will think i am just as busy as them. when in reality -- i am doing nothing. going nowhere. at the forefront of a steep, craggy path i feel (i know, actually) i've been down before. i'm right back where i started.

i don't want to go down that path again.
i hate the dark.
but a dark sky means seeing the stars.