Still desperate to die.
Why won’t they take pity on me? Oh god please do one good thing for me and kill me.
The site says no hate, but there’s plenty of hate.
I hate being me. I hate existing. I hate living in this world. This trap.
I hate being alone, rejected, unable to live.
I hate that anyone pretends that things get better.
I hate that suicide is never an option.
I hate being forced to live when I know full well it is hopeless.
I don’t want this. I don’t want to sit here and struggle any longer. I don’t want to have to struggle my entire life. I just want to sit back and fade away.
I go to martial arts and I practice, fine. An hour of distractions while standing […]
I wish someone, something would kill me immediately.
Alas, no one cares enough to do that. Â It is nice that no one cares to pretend, but that would be the clincher. Â If no one will let you escape pain, they’d rather have you suffer for their own sake, they don’t truly care. Â They cannot truly care.
I don’t want to hear about plans or whatever God has to say. Â None of it matters in the slightest.
Is death.
So why can’t I be done with it now instead of being me? Â The hollow thing I am is that of a failure. Â Loneliness has been my sole companion for as long as I can remember.
There’s no future for me, not even entering the rat race for the green god known as money because I am incapable of working, let alone having the enjoyment and success precious few people ever experience.
And I sit here alone piddling away the days because I can do nothing better.
Why was I not put down in the womb? Â Why did the car stop before it hit me?
Why can no […]
Isn’t it fun when you see someone you used to know, get a glimpse of how successful and fruitful their life has been, and meanwhile the only thing you can hope to do is die.
Because you’re such a fucking failure and your life is nonexistent, all you can hope to do is die.
Some spark of the old competition flares up in you, but it’s silly because you fail so hard at life.
Does that even make sense?
My life has been fraught with death. Â Now it’s all around me, like a heavy curse
And it’s only going to keep happening. Â It’s only going to get worse. Â How can this be tolerable?
I was thinking that it’s one more reason to get out of here. Â By dying, you beat the others to the punch. Â You don’t have to watch a presumably healthy person vanish before your eyes.
I don’t really think I’m equipped to deal with it, considering. Â Just like I’m not equipped to deal with life in general.
Why sit around and watch the horrible parts of life happen? Â Especially when that’s […]
My counselor asks me what I’m going to do when my mother is gone. Â Then I’ll be on my own and I’ll be forced to learn how to be viable outside the womb… haha.
I make hints at my true intentions, but she doesn’t seem to pick up on them. Â All she knows is that it will be tough. Â I told her that there would be nothing, but perhaps I think differently than other people. Â Nothing to me signifies blackness. Â I will neither see nor feel.
It’s the only choice given the circumstances. Â Nobody can spare me from being stuck here the rest of my life. Â So […]
How do other people manage? Â Going about the mindlessness of life. Â I guess they drink themselves silly and distract themselves with other meaningless things. Â Squabbles over stupid crap or finding something they can say serves as an interest or something they can tell an interviewer they do in their free time. Â Even though all of this essentially serves no purpose, at least they have other people and money and can put aside for a moment the general zombification of being a wage slave, the growing dissatisfaction with Western life.
I can feel the pain building inside me, even though they’ve tried to numb me to it. […]
Do you get that?
Because you think everything is “boring and a waste of time.” Â You can’t actually believe it… it must be an excuse to justify you doing nothing to change your life and start living on your own terms.
They know nothing of how hard exactly you’ve worked to change it and they assume that it is indeed possible to change. Â Knowing nothing about you, this is the pure assumption they cling to to discredit how you really feel. Â That it must be impossible for someone to take no pleasure in doing anything and find that the mere act of existing is the waste of […]
So I got this worksheet thrust at me today (and she even compared it to school homework) about “my intended change.” Â Hmm, somehow I think this is going to be harder than writing an analysis of some uncommon piece of Victorian literature. Â And far less interesting. Â Thing is, I’m not sure how I’m supposed to do this on my own. Â What else is new.
My intended change: Â I told her pointlessness. Â Also in the running were boredom and loneliness.
My main goals for myself in making this change: Â Um… I don’t know. Â To make life not suck?
I plan to do these things…
Other people could help me with […]
I almost said dying, but on its own we’re all dying, life slowly committing its own sort of suicide, the organs beating valiantly against the unstoppable force of death.
I laugh because I see my niece and nephew, and they’re so light and carefree. Â They can’t yet know any of this, be tainted by any part of this world.
And then, while my sister and my mother are fighting, I dream of doing it tonight, lying in the living room between the tv and the couch where I rot, blood spilling everywhere into a red memory. Â Let them slip on it. Â Then maybe someone will hear me.
And […]
I hardly even wake up today without my mother asking me stupid questions.
I was already on edge from yesterday and she keeps pushing me with her stupid question. Â She always gets angry at me but she can’t realize what she did to me all these years. Â I never wanted to blame her, only myself, but she hurt me too, I realize. Â Held me back, made me dependent. Â Sabotaged me unwittingly.
I feel the need to cry, but I can’t. Â Not anymore. Â Not in a long time.
I had a dream that I married a nice girl who seemed somewhat relatable to me. Â Deep down I knew I’d […]
So my therapist asks me today what I’m going to do when my mom is gone. Â I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I am counting on the end. Â When that happens, with any luck, I’ll be dead too. Â How cowardly, though, to not be able to say what I’m thinking. Â A boy ought to take pride in his plan if he indeed is dead-set on it… right?
That’s the problem; I’m not sure enough. Â After suffering for many more years, I could be too weak to do it. Â After all, I’ve been too weak up to this point. Â I should explain my story. […]
It’s a Monday night and I’m sitting here staring at this page. Â Thinking where to begin. Â Thinking how to start. Â What have I done today? Â The same thing it feels like I do every day. Â Nothing.
I don’t know why I’m doing this. Â It isn’t anything I’d normally do. Â The truth is, I’ve always been content to sit back and absorb whatever came to me. Â Bottling up my own problems to avoid burdening others. Â It wasn’t like anyone ever wanted to listen, anyway. Â So I throw myself upon the anonymity of the Internet in the vain hope that I don’t burst.
Maybe I should start at the […]