I don’t have an anchor

I am everyone’s ground wire. I’m the person they bring their problems to. I’m the person with the steel spine and all the answers. But I’m so alone. I don’t have anyone. When I go to tell someone what’s going on with me, they instantly swing the conversation back around to them. Even my husband, when I tell him that there is something bothering me, he launches into a stupid irrelevant story, or starts pointing out meaningless things that are on tv, in the room, in the streets. Anything for me to shut my face.

The easy answer for everyone is, “Well, go find other people.” But I have discovered that no one really cares. Even this selfish effort to set up this website is nothing more than a vain attempt to say someone has done something for someone else.

If I slit my wrist in the bathtub today, no one would care. If I told people right now that I think about blowing my brains out everyday, they wouldn’t care. Sure, they would say they do, but that’s because it’s rude to spit apathy in someone’s face. Instead, they turn and talk about themselves.

Why won’t anyone help me? Why won’t anyone listen to me? Why am I so expendable that when people want to go out and want to hang out, they have other people to do that. I used to think I was likable, but I’m not anyone’s best friend.

I don’t even know why I continue to exist. Or why I bothered to write this. No one is going to read it. No one fucking cares about me, who I am, or whether or not I live through the night.

Don’t bother trying to console me (as if). I’m not coming back here. Who gives two fucks? I’m going to go buy sleeping pills and wine now, and hopefully go to sleep and never wake up.