I can’t do this.

I don’t want a huge chorus of “Oh, you’ll make it through!  Life’s tough but it all works out!  You’re not in this alone!”

It’s all the same bullshit everyone has said forever, the same fucking lines that anyone gives when there’s trouble, the same lies behind grins and pats on the back.  Nobody believes any of it — or if they do, they’re in for a rude awakening when they go through shit.

I can’t do this.  I can’t be Sophia.  I can’t even stand to look in a mirror — because the beast staring back isn’t Phia, but is sure as fuck isn’t Scott either.  There’s just this freak that doesn’t know what it is or what it wants, and I can’t live that way.

Apparently Sophia can’t get enough of herself, can’t get enough attention, can’t help but make sure everybody everywhere gets a taste of “HEY!  LOOKIT ME!  I’M A REAL GIRL!  CAN’T YOU ALL TELL?  WOW, I AM SO FEMININE!”  Apparently she gets on everybody’s nerves because she can’t stop being a little gossiping bitch.  Apparently it’s not something she’s trying to do — she’s just that irritating and annoying naturally.

I suppose it was a lot better having Scott around — at least he didn’t have any opinions of his own, or if he did he was too afraid to make them known.  Scott must have been a great friend, because everyone just loves a yes-man — whether they admit it or not.

Guess what?  Scott is dead.  Scratch that — Scott was never really alive to begin with.  But you know what?  Phia isn’t doing much better.  There’s nothing here.  Nobody here to take the wheel and drive this “body” — if you can call it that — to drive it with any personality or being.  There’s just a mask, hollow inside… no voice, no role for the mask to play and nothing for the mask to cover and hide.

Yeah, you’ll all tell me you “have my back,” that you support me, that you’re happy for me and glad I’m making “the right decision.”  It’s not the right choice.  It’s a little hard for it to be right when every choice I could make is going to end up with my life totally fucked, with no chance to really be happy… it’s not even a “lesser of two evils” deal.

To paraphrase a line from a song, “Every day’s an endless stream of music clips and TV screens…” — that’s all I have to look forward to, any day and every day.  That’s been the case for almost ten years; it wouldn’t be the slightest surprise to find that fifteen or twenty years from now I’ll still be making zero impact on the world, that I’ll still be rotting away at a computer, passively being “entertained.”  When I don’t care enough to do anything else, when I can’t stand walking outside trying to look like a girl (and failing miserably) but going out as a stupid geeky ass-faced guy isn’t any better, when I am repulsive enough to myself, regardless, that anyone else who isn’t psycho would want nothing to do with me, let alone be romantically involved… there’s not much point in making the effort to change.

Let me say again: I can’t do this.  I don’t want to do this.  I don’t care who I am, who I was, who I want to be.  About all that’s worth doing is staying asleep — at least when I’m asleep I’m not dealing with “people” and I’m not wasting money I don’t have, on stupid toys I don’t need.  I can pay rent, pay utilities, and keep on wasting the time that my body is pumping blood, wasting the time not living.

Oh, and I hope everybody is having a beautiful time with their boyfriends, girlfriends, wives, husbands, short-term flings, fuck-buddies, horses, and dogs.  Party on.


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