(no subject)
No one reads these things anymore, so I feel very free to write, finally, something of what is on my mind. For some reason, writing anything in my real journal feels so impossible these days, like I think too much of all the ugliness I have been feeling will rush out all at once, because it feels so bottled up inside of me.
I only want to say that life is so lonely. And it has been so long since I have had the privilege to walk around without a dark cloud over my head. People are untrustworthy. Idealized love is not real. I cannot see a point to anything anymore. I have lived in pain too long. And ever since July, the pain has not stopped. It's a near constant, every day thing. I'm a horrible person, a person undeserving of good things and therefore I will never have good things. I think I was supposed to die at childbirth, and the fact that they saved me was a fluke. My life feels like one big mistake.
I have had momentary outbursts of suicidal ideations, comes with having depression, but never before have I wanted to die everyday. I fantasize about not being alive, not thinking, not feeling, every fucking day. I wake up and my loneliness, grief, and lack of love and life is staring me in the face, screaming. I'm a throw away person, a person you won't miss once I'm gone. That's what life has taught me. And the more you'd get to know me, the less you'd want me around.
If I die, I suppose this will be found at some point by someone. Let it be known that I did love, tremendously I did. I loved my family, my parents have tried so hard to help me, and my true friends. I love them so much.
And I do really need help. I don't know what kind of help but I really do. Or did. I don't know. What the fuck is life.
I only want to say that life is so lonely. And it has been so long since I have had the privilege to walk around without a dark cloud over my head. People are untrustworthy. Idealized love is not real. I cannot see a point to anything anymore. I have lived in pain too long. And ever since July, the pain has not stopped. It's a near constant, every day thing. I'm a horrible person, a person undeserving of good things and therefore I will never have good things. I think I was supposed to die at childbirth, and the fact that they saved me was a fluke. My life feels like one big mistake.
I have had momentary outbursts of suicidal ideations, comes with having depression, but never before have I wanted to die everyday. I fantasize about not being alive, not thinking, not feeling, every fucking day. I wake up and my loneliness, grief, and lack of love and life is staring me in the face, screaming. I'm a throw away person, a person you won't miss once I'm gone. That's what life has taught me. And the more you'd get to know me, the less you'd want me around.
If I die, I suppose this will be found at some point by someone. Let it be known that I did love, tremendously I did. I loved my family, my parents have tried so hard to help me, and my true friends. I love them so much.
And I do really need help. I don't know what kind of help but I really do. Or did. I don't know. What the fuck is life.