You Nervous Wreck, You Clumsy Doll

The following is an example of the voices in my head, when I feel another down coming over me.

"Not now... not again... think happy thoughts!"
"Happy? Do you really think there's such a thing as happy?"
"If I think happy, I'll feel happy."
"Bullshit. You can't make yourself feel anything. You can't honestly believe that's gonna help you. You're beyond help my dear, take another pink happy pill and imagine there's some good in the world, and that there's some good in you, it doesn't matter like shit anyway; it's just one big illusion."
"I think you are an illusion."
"No one gives a shit what you think. Your every thought is worthless. Of all people in the entire world, why would anyone care more for you?"
"I don't think for the world, I don't write for the world; I write for myself, I gotta get it out of my system. And just maybe someday someone will see it. Will see me."
"No one will see you. You're invisible. And whatever crap words you put on paper might outlive your pathetic short life, but what will that matter, they will be forgotten just as you; and then there'll be nothing left. No one will remember you. You won't matter. You'll be invisible after you die, just as you were invisible all awhile you lived."
"I'm not invisible."
"No one sees you."
"I'm not invisible."
"You have no friends."
"I do!"
"You don't."
"I do..."
"You don't. How could you? No one puts up with you, you nervous wreck, you clumsy doll; you are just taking people's time, no wonder they won't call you or text you, no wonder they sleep with you and dump you. You scare them away, though that would be to flatter you, to make you something more than you ever were..."
"I'm not invisible..."
"Everything you do is a waste, no one notices you, no one thanks you, you are in people's way, you believe you were actually meant for something. Pathetic! There is no meaning to anything, especially nothing that you do, you only dream and imagine it in your head, get real! You're too dreamy, you could live forever inside your poems and words, you're probably gonna die with a one-liner rolling off your tongue, yet none of that is meaningful, it's a waste of time. You wasted time with every breath you took, wasted love with every beat of your ridiculous heart, wasted tears instead of doing something, instead of accomplishing something."
"I have accomplished things."
"Only in your head. That's what they are, and all they'll ever be. Things inside your head. You're pathetic, you're nothing, you're no one. Happy thoughts! How silly. Nothing can save you. Your grand plans, they're nothing but ashes. You're worthless, good for nothing, no one ever wanted you, even when you had the chance you blew it away, you can't even grasp luck if it walzed right in front of you. Admit it, you belong with sadness, you belong with melancholy, you tell yourself you're too damn intelligent for your own good. Bullshit! Were you ever intelligent? You just focus on the wrong things, you do the wrong things at the wrong times, meet the wrong people. You are wrong, you're a nothing, no one will notice you when you finally die, it's gonna be a relief for the people left to be rid of you so you won't try and make them feel, or stop and see, you're wasting their time. Let them live their lives and be happy and you just settle for what you got, paranoia and misery, someone's gotta do that part too..."

The voices die away.
Only silence left.
Fuck.
POET in the Delicate Glass JAR