(no subject)
You know, half the time I don’t know why I’m still here. Yes I have my family and a few people I would consider friends. But what am I doing with my life? Nothing. Sure the doctors say that I’m unable to work but honestly, sitting here day after day just makes me realize how much of a failure I truly am. I add nothing to society or even that much to my family. I’m bringing them down with me and that is the last thing I ever wanted. I have lost every ounce I had of motivation. I worry that I’ll never get better and I’ll have to depend on others for the rest of my life. I’ve said this time and time again, as soon as my dad, mom and grandma pass away I’m going myself. Unless something magical happens I know I won’t be here.
I feel like I shouldn’t feel bad for myself, like it makes me that much more of a bad person if I do get down like that. I hate feeling that way. What should I feel bad about? Sure my mom abused me day after day growing up. Sure my dad had a huge alcohol problem that almost lost us everything. Sure I’ve lost two people who mean the world to me. I wish everyday that you were here, keeping me going like you always did. But none of that should matter. I’m suppose to be grown up. I’m suppose to be on my way to making something with my life. But I’m not. I’m an epic failure. There’s no one to blame but myself. I should be able to get over this, that’s what some people tell me. But I can’t. Every time I think about these things it’s still fresh in my mind.
My therapist asked me yesterday if I liked hurting myself. And honestly, I do. I guess part of me is hoping I’ll go so deep one time that I won’t wake up. The other part of me hopes someone will finally see just how bad I’m hurt. Even my therapist wonders if therapy is a waste of time. Way to encourage me doc. Am I that hopeless? Am I that big of a fuck up, that you can’t take an hour out of your week to talk to me? Everyone has their opinions about me. My dad worries constantly. My grandma doesn’t say anything. And mom just makes jokes about it. I’m wondering just how far I have to sink before someone notices that I’m not really here. How many pills and cuts will it take?
You know, the voice in my head, it eggs me on and keeps me doing a lot of this stupid shit. It tells me how worthless I am, how no one really gives a damn, how I’m a little shit who has nothing to live for. And to be honest I try not to let it get to me to much, but somewhere along the line I figured what’s the point? If you aren’t going to help me then why should I?
Without My family and Britt, who might as well be family, I know I wouldn’t be here. I feel silly not talking to people when I know they care but just because I don’t always say something it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for everything you say and do. The little stuff means more than I can say.
I just wish I could finally be the person I’ve wanted to be.
I feel like I shouldn’t feel bad for myself, like it makes me that much more of a bad person if I do get down like that. I hate feeling that way. What should I feel bad about? Sure my mom abused me day after day growing up. Sure my dad had a huge alcohol problem that almost lost us everything. Sure I’ve lost two people who mean the world to me. I wish everyday that you were here, keeping me going like you always did. But none of that should matter. I’m suppose to be grown up. I’m suppose to be on my way to making something with my life. But I’m not. I’m an epic failure. There’s no one to blame but myself. I should be able to get over this, that’s what some people tell me. But I can’t. Every time I think about these things it’s still fresh in my mind.
My therapist asked me yesterday if I liked hurting myself. And honestly, I do. I guess part of me is hoping I’ll go so deep one time that I won’t wake up. The other part of me hopes someone will finally see just how bad I’m hurt. Even my therapist wonders if therapy is a waste of time. Way to encourage me doc. Am I that hopeless? Am I that big of a fuck up, that you can’t take an hour out of your week to talk to me? Everyone has their opinions about me. My dad worries constantly. My grandma doesn’t say anything. And mom just makes jokes about it. I’m wondering just how far I have to sink before someone notices that I’m not really here. How many pills and cuts will it take?
You know, the voice in my head, it eggs me on and keeps me doing a lot of this stupid shit. It tells me how worthless I am, how no one really gives a damn, how I’m a little shit who has nothing to live for. And to be honest I try not to let it get to me to much, but somewhere along the line I figured what’s the point? If you aren’t going to help me then why should I?
Without My family and Britt, who might as well be family, I know I wouldn’t be here. I feel silly not talking to people when I know they care but just because I don’t always say something it doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for everything you say and do. The little stuff means more than I can say.
I just wish I could finally be the person I’ve wanted to be.