Ever since June 9, 2008…. I am embarrassed to admit that it may be June 8th of that year, but that day was probably the worst day of my life. A lot of shit went down, that day was like a fucking movie it was so unreal. Some days I tell myself it never happened, as for that is the only way I can cope with it. This world is simply a ball of shit. Hypocrites living out their every day contradictions. Those claiming to be “real” but whose lives are built up on lie after lie, after lie, after lie…. People claiming they love you, but they dont. People = shit. I = shit. Everything through my eyes is shit. Happiness is something that is so rare for me…. Even when it does come into my life, it is there for not even a mere second…. sometimes I forget that I had a flicker of it because I have sunken into my grief to such an extent, that I think I forgot how to make myself happy.
I’m jealous of him. He actually had the balls to do it. Of course, I had my attempts, and was even hospitalized for 8 days…. Ironically right before his death. Right when I obtained one tiny shred of hope that I was meant to make the most of my life, he finally gets the confidence to leave this hell hole. It really should have been me to step in front of that train. It really should have.
I don’t understand people. People who I once considered friends, actually had the odascity to tell me to shut the fuck up about this while I was in serious grieving about his death, and that I was talking about it too much. Can’t really talk to anyone about this. When I tell my Mom I’m depressed, she tells me to “quit being a fucking *****, life is hard, just fucking deal with it”. Everyone is just annoyed with me anyway. It’s always been that way…. Try to be true to myself, and at one point in my life actually considered myself a “fighter”, and would “fight” my way through any shitball life had to throw my way. I should know too, I was a huge ass dork in public school, and handled a lotta tormenting for just being myself. I suppose I just got tired at some point…. I am 24 years old, and honestly feel ready to die.  There is what feels like a 90-year old, tortured soul that just wants to go home…. But hasn’t been able to figure out where home is during the entirety of their life.