Joanna Jeanine’s Diary Entry #14
I know my self-esteem has been low for as long as I can remember. Looking back, I don’t recall many happy or carefree times. My memories are often clouded by discomfort, insecurity, or moments when I felt small or inadequate. Even now, when I try to remember something positive, it’s overshadowed by that persistent doubt that I’m flawed or not enough.
Lately, I feel overwhelmed by a persistent sense of hopelessness and helplessness, as if no matter what I do, nothing will truly change. This heaviness stays with me almost constantly—I wake up feeling it, carry it through my day, and it lingers even during quiet moments. It’s not just sadness; it’s a deep, lasting emptiness—a hollow feeling I can’t seem to fill. Sometimes I wonder if I’m just drifting through life, invisible and pointless, simply occupying space rather than truly living. The thoughts keep returning: that I’m wasted or that I have nothing good to offer. It’s tiring, and I can’t even remember when it started—these feelings seem woven into my earliest memories. I know my self-esteem has been low for as long as I can remember. Looking back, I don’t recall many happy or carefree times. My memories are often clouded by discomfort, insecurity, or moments when I felt small or inadequate. Even now, when I try to remember something positive, it’s overshadowed by that persistent doubt that I’m flawed or not enough. Sometimes I feel an urge to scream or just let everything out, to find relief from what I’m feeling so intensely. There are times when nothing feels worth it—when I’m so tired of battling the same thoughts that it seems pointless to keep going. But deep down, I know that’s not true. Logically, I understand that things can be meaningful, that there are reasons to hope or try. But actually feeling it—believing it—right now, that’s the hardest part. I don’t know what the future holds. Sometimes I just wish I could quiet the noise in my head, or believe—even for a moment—that things could be better. Maybe writing this down is something. Maybe it helps, even a little, just to admit how heavy all of this feels.
Joanna Jeanine’s Diary Entry #11
Endless rooms, doors, and hallways stretching out with no way to escape. It’s as if I’m wandering through it, searching for meaning or just someone to say hello to, but mostly finding emptiness. It gets lonely.
I feel so tired today, more than usual. I know I function best at night—there's something about the quiet, the calm darkness that lets me think clearly and feel at ease. But despite that, I can't shake this growing sense of loneliness. I miss talking to people, sharing moments and conversations, even the little bits of interaction that make up our days. Sometimes, this place feels like a labyrinth. Endless rooms, doors, and hallways stretching out with no way to escape. It’s as if I’m wandering through it, searching for meaning or just someone to say hello to, but mostly finding emptiness. It gets lonely. I feel alone a lot. I’ve been thinking about Nietzsche’s theory of Eternal Recurrence. The idea that everything repeats itself endlessly, every joy, every sorrow, every mistake, all looping back in an infinite cycle. I wonder if it’s true. And if it is, what does that mean for me? I hope not—that I wouldn’t want to be trapped reliving this same existence again and again. But at the same time, I wonder if maybe I’d like a chance to move on from here—or maybe to stay, to fix the things I messed up the first time around. Perhaps that’s the hope beneath the exhaustion: if I could do it all over again, maybe this time I’d get it right. But for now, I’m just here, tired, alone, waiting for the night to come again.