I am fifty-one. I can’t believe I am still here because I never wanted to live. I want to die. I feel badly when I hear about people dying when they wanted to live and had a lot to live for because I continue on with almost no will to live. I will probably live to be ninety unless I intervene. I’ve wondered if living is my punishment.
Nobody gives a shit. I hear about people who drop dead, and nobody notices for weeks, months, and even years. I worry about that happening to me. Luckily I don’t have any pets.
I must be a terrible person because nobody has really ever cared about me. My mom did when I was a baby, but not after around my seventh birthday. My father never did care. He recently passed away. I tried to help him. Nothing was ever good enough for those two. Nothing.
I don’t have any friends. My boyfriend died in my home last year. A few people helped at first, but I spent two weeks alone in the house with almost zero support from anyone. Not even phone calls. That is when it dawned on me that I must be a very unlikeable person nobody wants to be around.
So every night I hope that I will not wake up the next day. I’ve told a few people I feel like offing myself…nobody cares. I am tired and really have no reason to keep struggling.