That shocked me. I’m not really suicidal, not really. I’m not brave enough to try. But my whole life, I’ve just been waiting to die. Because I don’t feel loveable. I feel like I exist just to bring misery to others, and that it’s my only purpose. My brothers called me Burden when I was little. I never wanted to be that. All I have ever wanted, my whole life, was for someone to look at me, and know me, from my charmingly crafted outer-persona to how I really feel, and just… Still like me. Still care about me. Every single person who I ever cared about has dropped me after I let them in. I am not worthy of another person’s love. And that stings. I try really hard to accept it, because the world isn’t equal and some people just aren’t destined for it. I’m one of them. My own mother hates me. The first time she told me that, I was thirteen. It was Mother’s Day, and I was so excited because she let me have money to buy her a mother’s day gift. I chose this awful pink purse, because she was always saying she wanted a summer purse (she has always loved purses and pink, so to a kid, it made sense), and after I bought it for it, she was OK until we got home and then she ranted outside of my bedroom for hours that she hated me, that I was stupid, that I pressured her into getting it, etc. And I just sat on my bed and cried silently while her deepest thoughts came out. Over a stupid purse. And I think that was when it hit me that I was truly not a loveable person.
Growing up, my siblings had been in and out of YDC and on probation all the time. I became my mom’s sound board from as early at two or three. I can remember being very, very little and sitting in the backseat of the car when she would tell me that on my eighteenth birthday, she was going to kill herself. I’m twenty one, so obviously that never happened, but I guess you can imagine how hearing that for eighteen years can be a bit of a downer.
I don’t really know where I’m going with this, other than… I know that I will never have a boyfriend or a husband, that I’ll never get to be a mom. I’ll never get to experience someone that really loves me, no holds barred. I’ll probably die a virgin. Hell, I’ll probably die without ever really being kissed. And I’ve accepted that. But now I’m just…. Going through life waiting to die. But how do I explain that the reason I don’t bother trying to succeed at anything is because I already know I’m a failure, and I just don’t care anymore? If you’re just waiting for death, what’s the point??