I am not okay

There’s not a single day that has gone by in the last six years where I didn’t think about killing myself. How I would do it. Where I’d go. What would I do to prevent anyone from getting to me. It’s scary, because I’ve been thinking about it for so long now, I’ve gotten good at it. I know what would kill me, it’s so easy. I don’t want to share it because of how readily available it is. But I’ve run the scenario through my head over, and over, and over. I can’t get it out.

I don’t talk about these feelings with anyone. Partly because they never help me anyways. And partly because I was conditioned not to talk about my feelings. Don’t want to be a “Drama Queen” after all. And, although I don’t want to sound rude, strangers on the internet don’t help me either. A stranger can’t be there for me when I can’t even see their face or hear their voice. I wouldn’t trust a stranger in person either actually. But it’s not as if someone posting a bunch of text is going to change my life or anything. I’ve spent so much of my life disassociating from people and shutting out their opinions, that it doesn’t matter if what they say is supportive or abusive. It all just means nothing to me.

For SO long I blamed my depression and bad days on hormones. It seemed easier to think that it’s just the chemicals in my brain malfunctioning temporarily. That it’ll be over in a week and then I’ll feel fine again. But, it’s not that. Sure, depression IS a physical, chemical imbalance but… it’s not because of what I was hoping it was. I can’t just pin this on something that will go away. Pretend like it’s not really there. Because it’s THERE. And it’s overwhelming me. Yeah, not getting enough sleep, not eating right, and the fact that I work nights doesn’t help. But I know that the foundation of this problem isn’t as shaky as I thought it was.

I feel like I’m one minor disaster away from tipping over the edge. A few weeks ago, I spilled tea on my keyboard, ruining it. I missed two days of work because of how much I stressed about it. It’s not even an expensive keyboard, I had it replaced in a matter of days. But it left me feeling so torn. I can feel myself getting angrier at work too. I f*cking HATE my co-workers, but they’re not even bad people! They say hello to me every day, they’re friendly, and I f*cking hate them for that. My sister has been doing incredible things. Graduating with perfect grades, becoming a nurse, and she’s even been thinking about becoming a 911 operator. She’s everything that I fantasize about being myself. But I know I’ll never do what she does. I can’t, I’m not her. I don’t have her obsession for perfection or retention for details. I’m stupid and slow, and nothing compared to her. I work a full time retail job. Easily replaceable. Fitting for a loser like me. It’s only a matter of time before she sees the sh*t person I am and throws me away. Leaves me behind because I do NOTHING for her. I can’t even cook. I’m a leech. A burden. A tumor. She still p*sses me off too though. I can’t help but envy her life, not that she’s had it easy. But maybe if she wasn’t so f*cking oblivious to how stressed I am. To how much I hurt… Whatever.

I’ve never had support from anyone close to me. I’ve always had to be the support. I’ll try to vent. I’ll try to open up and get something off my chest, but those greedy f*cks always just talk over me about themselves. I’ll be lucky if they could even be bothered to put down their f*cking phones to listen to me. If I had the money, I’d just up and leave everything. That’s another one of my fantasies. That idea feels so freeing. I could happily live in a f*cking van for a while. That’d be awesome! To just, roam around until I find somewhere comfortable and affordable to live. My own small, but cozy personal space. No one to scream at me for not taking out the garbage or, b*tch about how they do all of the cooking and cleaning. My space. My home. But I’ll never have the money. And, a part of me knows that wouldn’t help anything.

I don’t know what it is I’m lacking in my life that makes me feel this way. I should be happy, but I’m not. I haven’t been for so long. So, SO long. I just don’t have the mental strength to change anything. I know I can if I could just… f*ck. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s stopping me, and that doesn’t help. Maybe I’m scared things will only change for the worse, seeing as they usually do. Maybe if I wasn’t so f*cking awkward around people, I could find one’s who’d actually support me. But I don’t go anywhere, and I don’t talk to people. I just don’t want to anymore. No one really gives a f*ck.