It seems I only come back to this journal in rock bottom moments of boredom and desperation. The thing is, as I sit here at quarter after 5 in the morning writing this sentence, as i have many times in the past, I have nothing of value to say. I only have complaints and self loathing to give to my dear reader. And I suppose it shouldn't matter. I suppose that a journal is a journal and it's chronicling of my life should be accurate whether it be public or not. I should not alter my account of the goings on in my mind simply because I'm sick of how they are progressing. The irrelevance of this is, of course, within my mind as it is being written simply because there really is no one who still reads this episodic terror that is the journal of Nicholas Abel Glauser. But here it is for you, dear reader. Dear internet. Dear boundless void.
I have taken my introspective nature and begun to share it with a semi-professional therapist. Despite my singular efforts to put my over-analytical tendencies to a proactive use over the many years since my induction into this world I still find myself detached from this world completely. This has brought me to the conclusion that perhaps it may be clinical in some regards. Pills are taken in the morning when I remember to get up and i suppose i felt a difference when they were taken with some regularity.
I tell myself that it's a process. It makes sense that it would be. However, I find it difficult to put day to day events on emotional hold while I wait to be a functional human being. "Even though I am no more than a monster-don't I too, have the right to live?" Do I not have the right to companionship just because I hate myself? Is this truly the way the world works? Again, it makes sense I suppose. I know all there is to know on why I should be healthy before I can have someone to call my own. But I'll be damned if I still won't seize an opportunity if it presents itself. Or would I? It would seem that I would not as I had one recently. As you can probably guess from the tone of this entry, I did not seize it. Extenuating circumstances aside I now only seek not to make an ass of myself. A skill I haven't quite gotten the hang of.
Can I stop ruining my own life without removing myself from it? And I mean that in the least suicidal light. Do I stop talking to a friend because I don't know how to talk to them without being a blubbering fool? Do I stay away from another simply because their happiness is built unwittingly on my despair? It would seem that this is all my burden and no one else's and yet I feel like no one should eb suffering at all.

Ps. I'm sabotaging my own education and I doubt I'll bounce back this time.