For a while, I was becoming something. I was becoming somebody that my Mother could be proud of.
For a while.
Now I am working towards nothing. I have become a fucking loser, a waste of fucking space, a fucking burden. And I have nothing to fucking live for, yet I have convinced myself that I do not want to kill myself. I spend all fucking day at home shooting the shit, pitying myself for what I have fucking become. I have become fucking worthless.
I want to just go. I want to go as far away as possible and keep fucking going until I find the farthest corner away from home to continue rotting.
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I always hoped that I would buy a shotgun and drive away in my mommy’s car into the woods, plug my throat with the gun and spill my brains into the forest. I had planned for at least 7 years to kill myself this way on my 18th birthday. I really planned on this and it was my last hope. Now, I am, 25 and, as you put it simply rotting in my mom’s basement. I never wanted nothing, not a thing more than to kill myself this way at that time. I am very afraid that I am still alive and the longer I am alive the less able I feel I will be to actually ever be able to have the courage to commit, so I will meaninglessly just be suffering bed-ridden and unable to commit. … . . ..