What’s the point anymore? It seems like I feel so alone and tired all the time. I don’t think anyone cares whether or not I live or die. No one. I just want to sleep all the time. Sleeping would be nice. Sleep and never wake up. The only good I produce in this house is money. I’m sure everyone can get by with out my money.
I’ve thought about going back to counseling but what’s the point? What’s the point in trying to feel better; I’m just spinning my wheels anyways. No matter how hard I try, I figure life is always going to feel like this, a constant struggle to figure out why – or how – I’m going to get through the next day alive. I’m alone in this fight. That I know.
The bad thing about it – I want so desperately for someone just to hold me. To let me know everything is going to be ok. I don’t think I can believe them though. I have no question in my mind things are not going to be ok. I’m not going to get better. That just living will be a constant struggle for the rest of my life.
I can’t do this alone. And I can’t open myself up to help from someone else. It’s a hellish limbo I live. Wondering what lie I’m going to tell myself today to calm my wanting to give up. Life might work out for others, but not me. I don’t think my parents would care, no friends, and well, I don’t think my counselor remembers me.
I’m tired of crying. But at the same time I’m tired of hiding the tears behind a smile and a laugh. No one wants to get close to me; and a part of me is ok with that. I’m ugly. I’m fat. I understand. I’m starting to think that the only thing I’m good for is to be yelled at; to be the screw up.
I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired for fighting so long, with nothing to show. I’m tired of wondering how many days I would have to go without eating before it will be over. I’m tired of wondering how deep the cut would have to be before I don’t have to fight any longer. I’m tired.