Everyday is Nothing but Another Day

This is how it usually is.
My mind is whirling; an endless buzzing that steadily grows louder.
Yet when I try to talk to someone, when I try to express or explain what’s going on inside
I freeze up.
I blank out.
All I  feel like I can manage to say is “I don’t know”

Just like now.
I want to get out the parasitic thoughts but when I put my fingers to this keyboard I can’t get anything to come out.
And as I reread this to myself I can’t help but laugh because of how artificial the words appear.
That they don’t do justice for what I mean to say.
It is what it is.
Here I go

I never grew up in a traditional sense of the word ‘family’
Until the age of 13, I lived with my mother and older half-brother
However, those 13 years damaged me in a way that I don’t know if I will ever be able to get past
My mother, though I love her (when she is her) was (and has been since I can remember) and alcoholic.
It’s hard to explain to people what that disease actually entailed for me. For those who don’t know what it is like, they shrug their shoulders and think, “So they had a couple of beers, big deal. So they acted goofy and maybe got a bit annoying, so what?”

But it wasn’t like that. Ha, no, not even close.
I sit here now, 7 years later thinking back to all the shit I went through, and I can’t imagine how a child can handle that. I can assure you that I would handle it with less grace now than I did back then; that I would be much more of a wreck.
Growing up, I switched schools a lot. I watched my mother get into relationships with awful guys, or just see guys come in and out of the house at all hours of the night. I remember getting off the school bus and praying that I would have a mother that night. I prayed I would open the door and get to talk to the person I resembled, but often I got an aggressive stranger that made my life hell.
The emotional abuse was the worst of it I would say. The occasional punch or kick wasn’t anything to what I saw, and had to do.
I loved learning and was good at school, but I was a pudgy kid then and was picked on often. Even if I lived in a rich-like city, I lived in poverty, wearing clothes from the salvation army, and often being made fun of because of that as well.

But what drove me on was my education. I believed that as long as I did well, I can choose how my life turned out. I could be the person I wanted to be, and give back to the community.
I went through high school and had about a good 2 years of depression in that time-frame. My best friend had tried to kill herself twice, but it has still never registered with me how close she got.
I went on though, did the hs thing. Had a sweetheart, graduated with top marks and standardized scores.

Finally, I could go on and make my life the way I wanted it to. I got accepted into one of the best engineering programs in my state. But, I had no money. Gritting my teeth, I spent 9000 going to a community college my first year (what bull shit right? 9000 fucking dollars for a COMMUNITY COLLEGE), not saving any money. Because of the parents I lived with, they made great money, so I did not get a dime of financial aid, even though I was receiving no help AT ALL.
So I worked and went to school full time, but I did it.
One year down. Now I can finally go to my school and do what I need to do.

But what’s this? I still have no money, and still have no way to go on with my life.
I quit going to school to save up, but even working full time I don’t make 1000 a month. I could work all year long and barely have enough to make it 1-2 semesters at a university.
I dated this guy in the summer, after being best friends with him for about 2 years. He lived about 2 hours away and we only saw each other on the weekends, but he insisted that this is what he wanted.
The same time I found out I couldn’t afford to go to college however, he breaks up with me because of his ex. They had dated years ago, and had a thing right before him and I did, but the first time she cheated on him, and the second time she flat out told him that she didn’t want to be with him. His brother had died from cancer in February so she checked on him occasionally.
She messaged him and he asked if I wanted him to stop talking to her. I told him I trusted him. That I was not going to tell him who he could and couldn’t talk to, because I wouldn’t expect that kind of treatment.

She effectively took my best friend from me while I was dealing with the fact that I couldn’t continue my education.

Typing this all out, I still feel like the words don’t express the pain I feel. I feel like I have no control with what is happening in my life.
I know that I will never be able to graduate college, because a white middle class chick doesn’t get shit thrown at them.
That’s probably the worst part. Not having hope. I honestly, truly don’t believe I will live the life I have the mental capacity to that I want.
Instead I work as a janitor at a University.
What a kick in the balls eh? I go 5 days a week and see everyone else living the life that I was told I could have. As long as I did well in school, was smart and got good grades, I could do whatever I want. But such lies
These past 2 months my depression from years past has returned, and is worse than I can remember it being. I wake up and the first thing I think about it ways I could just stop it all.
And I would too. I would have years ago if it wasn’t for the thought of what I would be doing to those around me. I imagine ending it, but then the look and screams of horror the those who would find the body.
And It’s not fair to them
So instead I wake up every day. I cry when I can’t be seen, and keep my head down.
I used to have a lot of friends, but it’s funny how fast they disappear when you stop being smiles all the time. You try and explain how sad you are and how hard it is to even get out of bed, and they turn from you.
A few have stayed by, but not enough to fill this gaping whole of loneliness. The people I live with, my ‘family’, has never felt like one to me. I am an intruder in the 4 people that live here, my personality a complete 180 from theirs.

I wish I was more of a writer, because it would be nice to convey my thoughts with my effectiveness. I talked about my past to show that I persevered through a lot of shit, and that I was a hopeful kid, and I tried.
And I have continued and continued to try, and I just don’t want to anymore, you know?
It’s sad that when you’re driving home, all you do is hope that something happens, a car accident, and that would be the end.
Or that you could give your life in exchange for someone else’s.
GOD.
I hate feeling so worthless and pathetic when I know there is a sick little boy or girl out there, fighting so hard, wishing that they weren’t dying, and yet here I am hoping it happens.
That’s why I am still here. The ripple effect of a suicide to those around and also for all the people out there that want the life that I am so ungrateful for.
So here I am, another day
And another day
And another day

I am trapped in my own head and i am trapped in the reality of the world.
Oh well

It is what it is