Near vermilion, near ink, and I am obviously the latter. Perhaps unintentionally, but wearing a sour face is not likable. I feel that most of the time when I am awake, it is painful and boring, and this thought naturally leads me to be in a gloomy mood every day. It is quite a coincidence that the few sharp words I occasionally spit out also make people around me uncomfortable. It is indeed difficult to have fun, and my approach is mostly sarcasm. This also leads to my sharp and sarcastic language. At the same time, I am also a very troublesome person. I spent a meaningless meeting with another person before, and then lost internet connection, so I spent the whole day complaining to him. This constant complaining made me hysterical. Later, I laughed like crazy, probably in the eyes of others, I did go crazy. And I may indeed have some problem with my brain. In fact, such intense emotional transitions do not happen occasionally. Although most of the time I have a stern face, there are times when I become extremely excited for no reason, although it is also very strange. It's as if my mood has no middle ground.
I actually know that I am not suitable for socializing with people. But I have no choice. I long for connections between people, but I am afraid of destroying friendships unintentionally. I am always too self-centered. Only by repeatedly reminding myself that I am garbage, an organic matter that no one cares about, can I temporarily abandon this idea. I know that the earth does not revolve around me, but I am often troubled by various external reasons. I know "Don't compare," but my brain can't stop. It can't stop. Why does a brain that is so useless, lazy, and willingly indulgent have to be paired with a brain that is willing to compare, envy, and be jealous? It must be because it's so much fun. It has a dark humor flavor. I know that immersing myself in sadness will not bring positive effects, but I still can't stop the daily cycle of self-pity. Perhaps for someone wearing black and white filters, even a colorful world is lifeless. I can't understand the meaning of the brain I was given, I can't understand the meaning of being born, I can't understand what purpose my existence serves other than not disappointing people, and I can't understand what positive impact my existence can bring to others. But I don't have the courage to die, and death is also a losing deal. Perhaps it is a cowardly act, perhaps.
Sometimes I want to shed a few tears to relieve myself. But no matter how much I want to cry, I don't feel like crying. It's as if I have forgotten how to cry. Maybe it's because I already have a high threshold. I dislike thinking, but I can't stop creating pressure and mental garbage for myself. Whenever I have free time, I think about meaningless things. Unless I let information overwhelm me. I continue to breathe, continue to consume, continue to suck blood, just because there is still a possibility of a turning point. But when and if it will happen, I don't know. I also have hobbies, things I want to do, but there haven't been many attempts. I hope to do so after getting rid of errands. Suddenly, the sour and sweet taste of eating pineapple comes to mind. But who can I live up to?