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I read all the old posts I’ve written over time, last night. Didn’t realize I sounded so whiny. So childlike. It makes me cringe even now. Don’t know how anyone read them and took them seriously, including myself.

I’m sitting here. Again. Sitting and rotting as usual. My leg’s still throbbing from what I did a bit ago. I try to focus on that instead of what I’m feeling now, which is just… not well. I can’t even put it into words. Came here thinking I had a lot to say but I just don’t. It all just… stings I guess. My worth or lack thereof as a person. The state of things both in my life and just life in general. I play the part I’m given fairly enough. But it’s just numb. I feel more unstable than I used to be. Or perhaps that’s just me trying to over-validate things. In my head. I feel like I do that a lot. Over-validate. Trying to justify being aggravated at being left behind or lied to or just… abandoned again. I know I have to forgive and let go. And for most things, I have. I try to over-validate wanting someone to care, really care you know. But it’s not something I’ve earned or deserve in any way. Perhaps with time, but perhaps not. Over-validating what I’m feeling, I think, though part of me, the selfish part, still tries to say things are only getting worse.

It’s suffocating. I feel like I’m suffocating. The thoughts never go away, and they’re always god awfully loud. I’m waiting to just shut down. Waiting for this sleeping pill to kick in. Waiting for it all to end. It’s all I do, really. Wait around, sit and rot. Nothing would change if I were to go away for good. The world certainly wouldn’t go up in flames. My family and friend would be fine, I’m certain of it. They don’t deserve to have to drag around this lump of rot anyway. That shit gets old after awhile, or so I’d imagine. I love them all dearly. I really do. It’s hard to know what to do. Most times I genuinely believe it would be better for them, for everyone, even myself, if I were gone. The other part of me, the selfish part, just wants it all to stop anyway. And then, another part, feels… obligated? To live. It’s a constant tug of war with a variety of thoughts/stances and it gets exhausting.

Haha… to think, that I could be worthy of love. Such a funny idea. When I’m not being a burdensome individual, I’m hardly even interesting. What would anyone miss out on? Can’t help but wonder. I wonder about a lot of things. It’s part of why I find it so damn hard to sleep.

But then I remember. My thoughts and feelings don’t even matter- they never did. And they’re burdensome at most. At least to the people around me. I wish I could make someone happy. It means a lot to me, making sure the people I love are happy. Starting to think or perhaps realize, the only way I can contribute to that is by… leaving.

I’m sure I’ll look at this post later on, if I’m still alive, and cringe at this too. I’m so whiny. A dumbass. Acting like any of this matters, like anything I have to say genuinely matters. I don’t deserve to be here. I never did.

I’m sorry.