To Be or Not to Be

I was going to open this blog entry with the sentence "I feel homeless" but realise that the Dutch word I had in mind has so much more connotation than the translation 'homeless'. What I wanted to say was, that I feel without a place to call home, instead of not having a home. I feel as if the things that made anything home have gone and there is no retrieving, things have changed and have taken away the idea that there is such a place as home. I never regarded the house I lived in as my home, I still had this coloured and idealised idea of my old house as being home, but now that I am no longer living at that house I realise that I made it my home, a place to feel secure.
Now I don't have that place I feel secure, no place to lock myself in my room and be gone from the world. The world is pounding on my door, all day long and I got no place to block this out. You can tell me to go outside, but going outside is an entire hazard of its own that come with judgement of the city girl. I just want that room and a door and my own bed, some place I can lock myself into, to be with just myself so I can unjudgingly lie in bed at night and stare at the ceiling, or lie on the floor, or wrap myself into something. There is no privacy here, I sleep with my sister in one room, two beds and a wardrobe filled with my parents clothes. A bathroom that has the clear stamp of my brother on it, a living room where a voice never shuts up about cartoons and another living room where flies are torturing, a mother complaining, a study where the father figure is slamming away on his keyboard and listening to music over surround speakers.

Everything is wrong, everything is wrong.

There is no, on top of this, or, furthermore. My mind has this corner which a pile of things that make me unhappy along with general unhappiness. Then, I feel like a spoiled brat for having money, for being a twat for buying cheap things because others don't have the money for expensive things, for not having a job, for not having to do anything.
I have gotten to the point that my body is physically sick from the stress, from everything. I don't want to live like this, I don't believe that I want to live at all. There is no monologue of 'to be or not to be', the question I ask in my head are so much more banal than that. When you feel like shit and you are down you do not come up with elaborate ways to say that you are thinking of topping yourself off. I am not speaking for everything, but I just start hating myself so much more than I already do to the point when I start questioning my existence. Here is where I am stranded, on the shores of existentialism. I do not exist and when I kill myself, nothing will happen because I don't exist in the first place. My face is not a face and even when it is a face it shouldn't be a face. My body is not a body, it isn't supposed to be a body, it isn't supposed to be anything. I am not supposed to be anything, I am nothing and I will dissolve into nothing, be nothing and nothing is nothing even to you.

I dream of Nothing.