with·drawn

Journal

One of my earliest memories is laying in bed, dark room, on the bottom bunk. Dark outside, parents sent me to sleep without food, and they were in the kitchen. Just outside my bedroom door. I could see the light spilling in through the crack under the door. That house wasn’t more than 800 square foot. They were right there. Yelling about money for groceries. I felt guilty because I ate food. I felt guilty for needing things. Like the blankets on my bed. I was ashamed because it felt like I was the reason they were arguing. If I didn’t exist then they wouldn’t need as much money, all the money that they didn’t have. That was the first time I thought I was a burden for existing.

I wasn’t older than four.

That thought hasn’t gone away. It doesn’t matter how much I rely on myself, I will always feel like I’m a burden. I can never do enough.

I can’t blame leo for not wanting me, I’m so fucked up. Nobody should be with a suicidal wreck. I would eventually hurt him and I know it. I have hurt everybody. I’m better off alone, I can’t inflict as much pain on others like that.

It’s no wonder I have no one in my life. No one wants to stick around in this mess.

They all deserve better than this. They deserve the poised, refined girl who doesn’t try to kill herself or get jealous. They deserve the girl who is tall and skinny and doesn’t need to wear makeup to feel pretty. The girl who takes care of herself.

Not me.

I might never be those things.

My parents don’t even want me. They passed me on to my grandparents. They didn’t either. Then my aunt. And she didn’t. Moved back in my mom and Bryan and I just couldn’t make any of them happy. I was a burden everywhere I went. I was so over it. But it’s not just housing. It’s relationships. I’m abusive. Manipulative. A fucking ticking time bomb.

I’ll never be enough, will I? I’ll always be a little bit wrong. Why do I fight it? I should just give in. I don’t know if that means dying my hair blue or killing my self. Getting the tattoos I want or overdosing. I fucking hate myself. I don’t want anyone to get to know me because deep down I’m just bad. There isn’t a good thing about me.

People know I’m depressed too, but no one bothers to even ask. I’m exhausted from living this life. Why can’t I try someone else’s on? A life where I don’t have to be depressed and exhausted from school and work and one where my parents love me. Why do I even bother letting myself imagine what that’d be like?

I will always be alone, imagining anything else is just torturing myself.

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