This Life

So many times that I wish I could be positive. 

So many wasted opportunities. 

Welcome to the book of my life.

A sad novel about the should-haves, could-haves, would-haves, and what-the-fuck-was-she-doing-haves.

Because seriously….

I think in the past 48 hours, the sole reason why I haven’t cut is due to a lack of razor blades.

Also, I bought a new knife set and I want to keep them clean.

Reasons why my love of cooking is beneficial to my health: keeps me from purposefully opening my own skin to release endorphins. 

Reasons why my love of cooking is harmful to my health: brownies.

I was definitely drunk this evening. Not quite so much any more. I just feel… like I always do. Everything is just intensified. Well, not really even that. My “super anxiety” meds aren’t even really doing that much. Yeah, they kind of calm me down and make me feel a little tiny bit drowsy, but they don’t sedate me.

I berate myself constantly. I hate myself constantly. I’m ready to give up constantly.

I am disturbed and horrified.

My image and my carriage is a disgrace. 

I can’t even take care of a god damned kitten.

I don’t have an inkling of “faith” anymore.

Awkward as hell when people ask me of my “religious preference”. Lol, recently agnostic? Maybe? I don’t even know if there’s a word for what I “believe” in.

That’s part of a large problem.

Who the hell am I and what the hell am I doing? Why can’t I do this one fucking thing right? My problems are internal and hardly visible externally. When I reach out for help, I don’t directly ask for help because I’m a god damned idiot who for some fucking reason can’t do that.

I’m too subtle for the rest of the world. 

But death is a strong calling that will shock the world.

Shock isn’t my strong point.

Being blunt about my needs isn’t my strong point.

Suffering silently because people don’t understand mental illness and write it off as something they don’t have to deal with?

I’m a professional.

I just. I don’t want to do this anymore. How can I live in a world in which one out of 20+ people will take me aside and calm me down from a panic attack because they are the one person willing to do so? How can I live in a world in which confiding into people about mental illness is written off again and totally tossed aside? I don’t want to live in a world like this. I don’t want to keep pretending to be enthusiastic about mundane things like marching band and classes when I can barely motivate myself to brush my teeth and wash my hair. 

My mind lives in a world in which self-deprivation and self-loathing are the norm. I project the love I should have towards myself to others because I truly believe that I don’t deserve any of it. If I did, I would be a different person and much better off I guess.

I can’t keep living like this.

I don’t want to keep pretending. 

I purely and truly hate my life.

The extent is reaching a point where I’m close to obtaining the means to do it.

And no one will ever stop me because no one is man enough to do it.

That’s alright.

I’ll be another soul lost to time, taken “too early” because mental illness is something taken too lightly.

Welcome to reality, bitches.


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