Wolves Riding Bears.

I constantly feel, in many aspects of my life, that I am lowering myself in several aspects of my life, and when I say several, I more specifically mean, too many. It is like I am making do with what I have, despite the clear lack in quality; eventually, after being acustom to that kind of low quality, you eventually misremember what certain feelings and brilliances actually are and you begin to think you feel certain emotions for certain things, because you try and remind yourself that where the bad lies, the good must too somewhere, and you modestly convince yourself that it's you and not the world. But the reality is that you are surrounded by less than brilliant products of reality and you are merely stooping; stooping to exist.
What can you do; opt out of life and not participate? People would think things if you were to do that. Besides, we all have commitments we've constrained ourselves to, each as listless as everything else. To not continue with them would be seen as ridiculous. They are like ongoing train rides; eventually you might end up at a stop that shows promise, but that is a rarity. So you stay on, holding the strap coming from the roof. Eventually, it gets a bit too much and you sit down and immerse yourself in your own self pity, before resigning to rise again. Occasionally you might throw yourself at the door and bang on it and scream "LET ME OUT! PLEASE! I HAVE SO MUCH TO GAIN FROM LIFE!" But the train can do nothing but carry you along and you've got to hope that some day, it'll stop at a stop that you want to go to and you know that you will benefit from. Until then, you will stay on the train.
Stooping. And making do.

I don't know what is wrong with me, or how to fix it. I feel incased in a feeling, a feeling that has knocked me into a state of disorientation so I can't find my way out. Every sentence I write feels like a page long. And yet I can't do anything else. I want to get it out, maybe express how I'm feeling fully, but whenever I try to, I feel so unable and put on the spot. It's terrible.

It's bonfire night. And I didn't do anything. I could've taken photos. What a dullard I am.

Is it pathetic that I'm writing this for no one to read? It never seems to help me any. I just remain the same. Empty, and whining. It makes me sick. Why am I like this? What have I done to end up in this state? covered in grime and depression. I don't understand it. I can't get my head around why my life seems to suck so badly. And compared to others, it probably is quite stupid to even contemplate what I am feeling, but I wish I could drill that into my head. I've tried, but it doesn't seem to work.
I hate my mind. Its weight is huge. It eats away at me, my self esteem, my logic. It feels almost faulty. Like certain aspects aren't on or functioning properly.
I can't have fun.
I can't enjoy sex.
I can't think clearly.
I can't make proper conversation.
I can't decide how I feel about people.
Etc, etc.

What the fuck is doing this to me? I used to think it was fate, pushing down on me. I don't even think that now. I don't even know what I think.

And I have no conclusion.
I hate this. I HATE THIS. I just want to scream at the walls at the top of my lungs with my eyes closed for the longest time possible and I don't want anyone to notice or to worry or anything. I don't want to think.
I don't want to think anymore.