Harriet is currently sitting on my lap and my laptop is sitting on my shin as my legs are outstretched in front of me. I am trying to finish watching 'Going Clear: Scientology and The Prison of Belief' but it keeps buffering from time to time, which makes it annoying as I can't really concentrate on what is actually going on. Bae's brother is configuring his newly bought tv in front of me while Bae just switched from playing Overwatch to Rocket League. I hate using the word Bae, but I guess that's an easier word to tell you that it is him. I am of course hunched back, leaning forward to type this.

I really am just wasting time waiting for that documentary to load. It's a good documentary. For the life of me, I feel like I am always getting the short end of the internet in this house somehow. It doesn't work for my phone and now it's slow on my laptop too. I do not know what is up. I only know I am annoyed.

The zoo is hiring a new set of volunteers for the coming summer. Looking back, I was absolutely thrilled to get this 'highly coveted' position. Well I mean, it was after all a step into a potential industry I would be interested in working. Not now of course. Too much ugly truth that didn't allow any light moments to overcome them. I really shouldn't be saying this, but I am not exactly writing to condemn the zoo or anything. It's just me and my opinions do not matter.

Okay.

I hate life when I have to deal with it. Even if you reach your dreams, life is still a thing.

Wouldn't it be easier if you just end your life right there and then? What's the point going through crap just to fall upon another piece of shit? Why can't I just stay here and be plain and happy?

Let's just be clear that I like spending my time typing or writing. Not so much of actual reading, but more of just having the chance to actually vomit my thoughts out into words. However though, I just need substances to type with. Instead of just mindless babbles that nobody would read. To be honest, it's not even for anyone to read. It's just a way for me to have an excuse to type/write something. I do not expect anyone to be reading what I have to say. I don't even read what I write sometimes. I do remember however, when I was younger, I wanted approval from people to say that it was worth for me to write or type something down. I guess I am just looking for a reason to write.

I used to be good at writing stories. That was great when writing was actually compulsory and I almost never had enough time to finish my stories. I remember going through my pile of high school essays and honestly get blown away by my own stories that I have written. I also remember how I used to plant my essays/stories in a "dream" scenario, just so I could put an end to the story in time for submission. Sadly though, I don't think I can be anywhere as good as I used to be. All those free time spent daydreaming and trying to figure out 'what is more to life' than just plain high school, seeing the same faces day in and day out.

Life was much simpler back then, everything had already been pre-planned ahead of time for me. Wearing the same type of clothes everyday, leaving my textbooks under my desk in school saved me heaps from being unnecessarily punished, extra curricular activities after school, night tuition classes so I don't fall back on studies, food did not have to be made and laundry was not a thing. Time spent daydreaming and dreaming of a different world was the best. I made friends there and it made me happy and kept me company.

I've lost all my dream friends when I left high school. I think I was 18 when I started living in the world, trying to be surrounded by real people and real friends. "Friends". Maybe that's why I never really had lasting friends, they just never seem to match up with my dream friends. Of course, things are just too difficult now. I can't even remember my dream friends anymore. Which is sad, considering I feel lonelier than ever. I am currently struggling to find my presence in this world. I just feel absolutely isolated, it feels as though I am not living. Rather, I am living in an empty shell, completely disconnected with every part of my body.

Okay. I have probably gotten in too deep there.

I really am just letting my mind control what I am writing right now. This is absolutely true and I am not writing anything to sway things one way or another.

I do not feel too great about myself now.

Maybe that's why I try not to write, because I know what my mind is capable of doing. It is almost like a toxic little thing, trying to break my sanity into pieces.

Anybody willing to pay for a psychiatrist session for me?
I think I really need one.