Today, I played the role of my mother’s therapist. It’s not a new concept – me and somebody else, talking through their issues for a few hours until they feel better. But today, it took everything out of me, and I didn’t realize it until just now.
Up until, like, two minutes ago, I was wondering where the hell this came from. I’m normally depressed, but this is way worse than the usual. This is like my worst couple of years came racing back out of nowhere all at once.
The only thing that usually sucks about playing therapist for someone is that nobody really asks about me and my life, but it’s okay because at least I’m having a conversation with someone and making them feel better. Maybe it’s because my mother didn’t feel any better after, or just the fact that it was my mother, but I feel like complete dogshit.
Not only that, but I’m reading a book that I don’t think I like, and the characters all have really shitty lives. That, combined with my own ideas about myself and horrible mindset today, have me thinking that I’ll never amount to anything. I’ll never amount to anything.
On a normal day, I’d plan for a future with a shitty job and apartment, being a social recluse and splurging on small joys while I maybe save enough for a better future even further down the road. After all, when you don’t expect anything, it’s hard to be dissapointed.
Today, though, I can’t even think that I’ll be able to do that. Today I think that I’ll let myself wither away, that I’ll end up dissapointing everyone even more than my usual plan would, and that I’ll be miserable. Even those first two things aren’t that bad, but I don’t want to be miserable.
I don’t want to live my life and be miserable. I don’t care if I’m not remembered. I want to be liked, but it’s not the end of the world if I’m not. I don’t want to be homeless and hungry and not have my books or my stupid little indulgences. Those are the things that I connect to best in this world, and I’m terrified by the idea of losing them.
I don’t want to be a burden on anyone. I don’t want anyone to get so sick of me that they stop talking to me, even if the only reason they respond is to vent or work through their issues with me. There’s something about me that’s gotta be off-putting, but as long as they stick around for just that, then I can be okay. I might not be happy, but I can create my own happiness as long as I have those stupid little indulgences. I just don’t want to be miserable and all alone.
Please don’t let me be all alone.