No title today

I’m scared. I sit here and wonder what the point is in living. Sometimes I think my whole purpose of being alive on Earth is just to be watched being tortured by some horrible person in charge of the whole world. No one cares if I live or die. No one cares if I show up to work tomorrow or hell if I wake up alive tomorrow. I want everything to stop so bad. I want life to stop.

I’m tired of being told things will get better – because they won’t. Things will keep on just like they are. Forever. Or at least until I give up. Giving up would be nice. Pain stops. Life stops. But what happens if that isn’t what happens?  What happens if things get worse. I keep telling myself the intensity of the feelings will lessen but they haven’t. Everything is so intense and I can’t comprehend them being worse. I can’t keep this up. I can’t deal with the feelings. I can’t deal with life anymore.  I have to trust that death will stop everything.

I know I’m a no good wimp, but I can’t do this anymore. The only purpose I seem to serve is being yelled at. I can screw up enough to get yelled at quite well. But when it comes down to it no one seems to really care whether or not I’m around. I matter to no one. No matter how much I try my presence matters none.

My birthday is coming up soon. I really don’t want to live through it. I don’t want to wake up alive on the next day. I want to die that day, preferably not by my own hands.  It’s one of the few things I’ve asked God that’s for me. So far I’m still here. I’m still suffering. I’ve given up on wondering when/if life will get better. Now I just want to know when life will end. 

I want to cut again. It’s the closest thing to being able to die. The pain from the knife numbs me.  It gives me something else to focus on. It punishes me for being so stupid as to not be able to beat the feelings myself.  It gives me yet another thing to be yelled at for.

I’m scared and alone and want everything to end.

Way too stressed

I’m exhausted.  That’s an understatement.  I get through the day, just barely.  I wonder if the next day will be any easier to get through than the day I’m going through now.  I know it won’t be.  But I make it through anyways.  It’s hard to concentrate.  Hard to not cry.  Hard to live. 

My birthday is coming up soon.  I will be 31.  What do I have to show for my life?  Not much.  Right now I’m trying to rebuild my house that got flooded.  No kids.  No accomplishments.  No nothing.  I still am deeply depressed.  I don’t know how – or better yet – why I go on to the next day.  It’s a scary feeling wondering if the next day I will be alive for.  But at the same rate, it is a peaceful feeling.  I am at peace with dying.  I know that might not make sense to some people; or downright scare them, but it is a peaceful feeling knowing that if things got so bad that I didn’t feel like I could make it through the day, that I have a way out. 

The stress is starting to get to me.  I have to be strong though.  You know, I’m me, and “me” is supposed to be strong.  No matter what I go through, I have to be very strong.  I don’t want to be strong anymore.  I want someone to be there for me.  I want someone to hold me when I cry and not judge.  Maybe that is too hard of a request.  I don’t want them to tell me everything is going to be ok, because, well, it’s not.  Maybe that is too pessimistic of a viewpoint, but why should I be optimistic?  What “proof” do I have that life will get better.  Yeah, we will recover from this; the house will be done, everything paid off.  But how do I know something worse isn’t going to come along? 

All I want to do anymore is cry.  Life is stressful.  And hard.  People tell me that God won’t give me more than I can handle.  That’s hogwash.  I can’t handle this.  The flood.  The feelings.  The wanting to die.  I can’t do it anymore.  I wonder what God does to failures like me.