The energy is weird

I kind of feel like I’ve been skating through life. I have been for a while, and it feels as though everyday isn’t a new day, rather, just another day – a continuation of …days. I mean, everything’s fine. Everything’s super not fine. But we’re alive. And the ones who aren’t, aren’t. That’s what I know. 

What’s my motivation to get up and go everyday? I haven’t got it. And I don’t mean to be depressing at all. It is what it is. I’m not sad. I’m not that sad. I’m only sad sometimes.

It’s all black and white. My mind has found a way to make it so that everything is black and white. Except me, I’m transparent. I can’t be sad because I can’t be happy. I don’t think one exists without the other. So therefore I simply am. Void. Null.

I can’t tell if life is the program or the main function. Are you a variable or conditional statement? Or are you a separate function that feeds data into main. It doesn’t matter. 

 It’s not that I have a blockage, it’s that I don’t care enough. I’ve wanted to write, but I haven’t wanted to write enough to actually write until now. And to be honest, it’s because I thought of a sentence that sounded good. I already used it.

 Up the meds? Lower them? It’s all the same. Maybe life is just too much. Maybe God gave me what I can handle. Maybe Frank Ocean was right. Maybe the person who watches my Instagram story daily and thinks, “what a life,” was right, too. Maybe.

I’m drifting. Shifting, contradicting. Yet stagnant. People do really cool things. I wonder what it’s like to feel like you’re doing cool things. I wonder what it’s like to feel like you’re doing. I forgot.

I wonder what it’d be like if I stopped talking to you forever. I think I could do it. But there’s no point, really. Life is tragic and so am I and as long as I’m alive I’ll continue to do things there’s no point in doing because if you don’t what’s the point? What is the point?