I used to have a lot of trouble understanding why people would come here looking for p@rtners. But now I think I finally get it. The realization that I’m going to spend the last few moments of my life utterly alone is crushing me today.
whether it’s because the subject is just too shameful, or because talking about it here is like throwing a firecracker into a beehive.
I hate feeling so alone.
And I’m really, really sorry to anyone who believed in me and was hoping for my recovery. I really didn’t mean to disappoint anyone, but I guess that’s what I’m best at.
It’s something that I never wanted to become but did anyway.
Flunked out of college. Not in a job yet. Don’t even know how to fucking drive. Don’t know the first thing about being an adult. Loser loser loser.
One of my worst fears has always been ending up like my aunt. She just moved out of her parents’ house and she’s in her thirties. I don’t want to be like that. I don’t want to be the useless, disappointing dead weight of the family. But here I am. All of those things.
I know I can appeal to get my Financial Aid back so that […]
And because it’s Christmas Eve, a major trigger of mine is going to be basically ubiquitous today. I won’t be able to get away from it. So I’m going to spend most of tonight wanting to die. It’s already started.
My heart’s breaking. It’s a holy holiday. I shouldn’t be like this on a holy holiday. I should be at peace, and focused on my God, and my loved ones, and other good things. But instead I’ll be focused on that fucking gun, and it won’t stop.
Merry Christmas, Kat.
I’ve waited so long for a reliable m3thod to present itself. And then when it does— when it falls from the sky practically fucking gift wrapped to me— I’m too scared to use it.
It’s so easy that I’m worried it’s some kind of trap.
Ive been laughing and pacing around the house for a while now. It’s shit like this that makes you look like a faker, Kat.
Unless you’ve experienced it, it’s hard to understand what it’s like. It’s a kind of guilt, but the word “guilt” doesn’t do it any justice.
The closest thing I can compare it to is a constant, unreachable itch. I can’t sleep, I can’t sit still, I can’t think straight. I’m constantly restless.
Or maybe an itch isn’t exactly right. It isn’t just an itch. Have you ever been covered in mud? It sort of feels like that. Like you’re covered in thick, itchy, heavy mud, and there’s nothing you can do to wash it off. You scrub and you scrub but you never get clean. […]
Why do I hate nearly everyone and everything? Why am I always so angry and afraid and constantly fucking brimming with hatred? Why?
I am completely and utterly alone. I don’t have a single person on this earth that I would call a friend. Not one person I can confide in. No one who’ll give a shit. No one who’ll listen to me.
I can’t even really speak my mind on here. I have no outlet anymore. I’ve gone back to bottling it all up and trying not to wince too hard while it hollows me out from the inside.
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard those words, and I can’t tell you how much I hate them.
Self-love is stupid and I want no part of it. I will never, ever love Katrina, because loving her would mean accepting all of the bad parts of her. All of her flaws, all of the awful things she’s done (and will do), all of the pain she’s caused, all of her mistakes, all of her vices, every disgusting and evil little piece of her.
And I can’t do that. I just fucking can’t. It would be wrong, wrong, wrong.
Humans are naturally tribalistic. We need to belong to a tribe. It’s vital to our mental health.
As for me, I don’t have one. I’ve never really belonged anywhere. Maybe that explains a few things.
I wish self harm wasn’t forbidden in my religion.
Sometimes I feel like everything would be a lot better if I could just carve myself up once in a while, y’know?
I mean, I beat and scald myself sometimes, but that’s only because it doesn’t leave any marks, so I figure it’s not technically wrong (or at least not as bad). But that’s not enough for me anymore. I really wish I was allowed to bleed.
I’m already not allowed to kill myself. He’s forcing me to live. Why can’t He allow me this little concession that would make my forced life a lot easier? […]
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
More than anything, I sincerely wish I’d never been born.
I want to die tonight. I want it more than I’ve ever wanted it, I think. But I’m also more afraid of death right now than I’ve ever been.
I’m in more pain than I can even hope to handle, and I have no way out of it.
It’s nice having suicide as an option. It’s nice to know that I’ll always have a little escape hatch that I can open whenever I want. Just knowing that it’s there is a huge comfort.
But what if someone takes that escape hatch away from you completely? What do you do then? What do I do?
I’m really alone tonight, and (other than hurting myself) I don’t know how to handle it. I can’t take this silence. I wish I was unconscious. Or loved. Either of the two.
It would be nice to love and be loved by someone. Not even in a romantic way, necessarily. Just, y’know…a friend. A good, close friend would be enough. But I’ve never really had that. I’ve always been alone.
I’m not a person. I’m only an empty body. People have souls in them, but inside of my body is nothing. The nothing is only an impersonator. It wants to be a real person so badly that it tries to mimic real people. I’m just a shell that imitates what it sees, and nothing more. Don’t be fooled. I’m not a person. I’m an anti-person.
If you look me in the eye, you can see it. When I look in the mirror, I can see it too. There’s something wrong about it. My mind sees the wrongness and says, “There’s no person in there.”
If reincarnation is real then I’m going to be pissed.
I don’t even want to live one entire life, let alone several. Fuck that noise. Give me Heaven or give me an eternal dreamless sleep. Just don’t make me ride this carousel of bullshit a second time.
Everyone hates you, Katrina. They all hate your fucking guts and they would hurt you if they could. Every one of them. The only people who don’t hate you don’t know you, and anyone who says that they don’t hate you is lying to you.
Am I just projecting? Maybe I’m just projecting. Maybe I just hate myself so much that I can’t help but think that everyone else does too.
How do I make it stop?
Yesterday, someone told me that I reminded him of his mother. He then went on to explain that his mother was a psychotic, religious lunatic who tortured him as a child because she thought he was “unclean.”
Well, shit. Uh, I’m sorry…?
What am I supposed to say to something like that? “Don’t worry, I don’t plan on reproducing”?