part of me wants to curl up, hide in here, never having to see or talk to anybody again.
part of me wants - desperately - someone to hug me, hold me, tell me that it's going to be alright, i'm going to be alright. that my life has not been wasted, that i'm still *worth* something. worth liking, worth loving maybe.
because right now, i can't convince myself of that, and, strangely enough, i *do* care. last year's *it doesn't matter* mantra doesn't work, and maybe i don't really want it to, either...
it would be so much easier if i could still say with conviction that i wanted to die - i can't; i don't. but i can't bear to look at my life, my future, either, because i see NOTHING there. blankness, endless repetition. solitude.