Time to contribute

May 6th, 2010by _

I come here every day, oh for the last six months. Hearing other peoples stories and pain helps me in some sick way.

Well I’m sick of life and have been since I was 11 I am now 25, which means for more than half of my life I have wanted to be gone. My main problem is the world, America, the disgust and materialism, fake people, lack of connection. I just feel that any person who wakes up happy to participate in this disgusting charade of a society should be ashamed of themselves.

I’m also very lonely. I haven’t seriously dated someone for sixyears. And although it isn’t something i think about or talk allot I think it is somethin that makes me worse, like I’m not good enough to find love in a woman. I have like three close friends from high school but they aren’t around just talk to them on the phone. I have graduated college, but the degree has turned out to be worth less than the paper its printed on. Working full time in a menial ten dollar an hour labour position, living in my parents basement, I’m just so ashamedto even share this with total strangers even…. My other thing is my self-esteem issues. I hated the way I am as a person, like I’m bad and tainted and even if i found someone to get close with I wouldn’t want to bring them down with my glum and wrath. I feel very unattractive but people tell me I’m average, I think they just being nice. I’m just a loser, always hve been, always will be. I gave up along time ago I DON’T GIVE A FUCK about this life or my time in it.

Lastly, I am a pretty bad drug addict. For the past 8 years. I know everybody just wrote me off and stopped reading my post, I could care less if you label me a junkie I feel worse about myself than you could ever hope to make me feel I know those of you who aren’t are going to be like were there’s yer problem sonny, get clean. Well I did, went to inpatient rehab, a two month Intensive Outpatient Program three days a week, I went to NA AA meetings every day and met people. But I felt emotionally a thousand times worse than I have ever felt. All those sappy people who use the twelve steps as there way of life, it just make me sick. Thats why I started coming here. Started using here and there and really just started fantasizing and planning possible suicide scenarios. I mean in the last three years I’ve somewhat tried to possibly overdose, sat in my house with all the lights off, silent tears running down my dace, picking up my .45, cocking the hammer, then setting it back down in my lap. For hours I would do this. The drugs help me cope. Don’t they say that you should do what makes you happy in life? And just because this fucked up society, that I don’t support IN ANY WAY, makes it illegal and brainwashed everyone that its taboo. I get looked down upon and made to feel like even a bigger loser for using the one thing that gives me hope and happiness, I can’t try to eek through life using?

I don’t know I go to sleep ever night and hope I don’t wake up. I’m isolated and alone and have a negative repulsive personality that will never let me enjoy close relationships. I get to work the rest of my life unhappy and alone scraping by, and for what. I’ve shot heroin. I’ve exsperinced the greatest feeling that the human body can produce, what else could i look forward to that can top that, except another fix. . .

So … yeah..junky loser deadebeat loner, but too big of a women to pull the trigger so hopefully I will acediently OD or get killed in a car wreck. If this is life, you can keep it.

I thought this would make me feel better but I feel worse now cuze I finally orginized all the thoughts in my head and was honest.

“Because inside, inside dosen’t matter…There are no more barriers to cross. All I have in common with the uncontrollable and the insane, the vicious and the evil, all the mayhem I have caused and my utter indifference toward it I have now surpassed. My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others. I want no one to escape, but even after admitting this there is no catharsis, my punishment continues to elude me and I gain no deeper knowledge of myself; no new knowledge can be extracted from my telling. This confession has meant nothing.”
Patrick Baitman

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