I need to try harder.

  To try to be human.

  To belong here.

  A monster.

  What do humans do? What bonds them together? Fun, pain, misery, pleasure? Lust? Drugs? Something that makes them forget their pain. I wonder if drugs are stronger than my lust.

  My lust was certainly weak. Maybe drugs will indeed make me feel better, more natural into humans, more connected to them through a shared experience of intoxication. But where can you find them when they are so often closed off by law?

  For that, I have an idea. My uncle is a doctor, I will go by him, pretend off some symptoms of pain and he should give me a receipt for painkillers.

  Said and done. A few days later on a Saturday I go by him, pretend some symptoms and he hands me the receipt. Success.

  I go by a pharmacy that is further away from all that knows me and buy some decent painkillers according to the receipt.

  I move myself to a secluded place, an abandoned warehouse, perfect to be alone.

  According to the label of the container I should take a pill twice a day, but obviously you don't do shit with such stuff.

  I take 7 pills at once and shove them into my mouth, a certain overdose but I am not sure if they would kill me or not but it certainly get- to me-.

  And fuck it feels so unique, so intoxicating, I can't describe it.

  The dizzyness comes in to play and I slowly lose my balance, my feet wobble and collapse with my knees into the hard concrete.

  I don't feel the pain but I see how the skin is scraped, and blood is slowly coming down my foot.

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  I try to stand up to check it better but lose my footing and fall sidewards, hitting my head against the wall and scraping my scalp against it's filthy brick layering.

  I can't even react, my head feels like it's about to explode, my body is numb and I don't feel any pain at all.

  Good thing my hair is long, I can use it to hide the blood.

  As I lay down on the ground, with my back onto the cold concrete I glance at the container, now standing sideways on the dirty flooring of the building, the pills spilled all over the place, it makes me wonder if I should take more.

  I don't know how I should feel right? Is it good? Is it bad? No, I know for sure it's not enough. I need more.

  I hardly move my body to search with my hand onto the floor for my pills.

  They are scrambled around the container. Dirty as they were, grabbing 3 pills from the floor and taking them to my mouth was something I managed to do.

  Their voices called for me. I heard them!

  "Ah- the feeling is awesome."

  I say scraping my fingers against the concrete, crunching some pills with them until the skin of my fingertips starts tearing off and sticking to the concrete.

  My fingers now rendered into a bloody mess, imbued with the painkillers and dirt. It makes me want to lick it. To drug myself some more.

  So I gladly open my mouth and lick all the powder that I am able to from my blood, all the chunks of painkillers, all of the full sized pills I didn't manage to break up against the concrete.

  I couldn't resist doing so. The pills took down the pain, the sense of survival, I was able to hurt myself-, no, I was able to destroy this wretched body without any cowardice in my actions.

  I enjoyed destroying my own body for the fuck's of it.

  It's addicting enough it will probably become permanent.

  ...

  That was 3 weeks ago, and I still didn't feel anything else like that.

  I wasn't caught drugging myself and I managed to lie about my whereabouts.

  It wasn't disgusting. I didn't dirty anyone else with my presence.

  I caught a glimpse of self destruction. Something that made me feel good. Not having to touch someone else through lust, not having to deceive others either. Just pure solitude and loneliness brought by isolation and self drugging.

  I can't do much right now. Drugging wasn't enough either. Whatever I felt there I couldn't feel again now.

  I took 15 pills at once 3 days ago, and I felt nothing, I took 5 more and felt nothing. I took 6 more and I ended up collapsing from overdose and stayed unconscious into the same warehouse for a few good hours.

  Drugs can't do it anymore, alcohol can't do it anymore, smoking can't do it anymore. There is nothing I can do to lay down the displeasure.

  My hobbies are useless to what they are supposed to do to my happiness.

  Drugs became useless, sex became useless, smoking became useless, alcohol became useless.

  At this point, I am becoming unsure of what brings me happiness.

  Ah...I could hurt mutilate myself even more.