I know I’m writing a lot at night lately, I usually make a habit of posting earlier in the morning. But I’m having a rather hard time putting words into writing with anything less than 2 drinks in me.
I’m finding the fakeness, the false positivity, the false hope…rather detestable right now. I’m just not here for it. I feel how I feel…and I hide it. I mask it and I bury it and I try to pretend it doesn’t exist.
But I’m not going to sit here at this point in my life and act like things are good and fine and full of hope and sunshine and rainbows… when they’re just fucking not.
The things that are wrong in my life right now are currently completely out of my control. I can’t fix anything, I can’t change anything…I feel so fucking helpless.
I need people, I need support…I just fucking need love. But I know I’m unlovable. I usually try to sugar coat things when I’m blogging, and leave the more mess filled drama for pen and paper. But I’m so tired.
I’m tired of doing that.
Things have been wrong, been hurting, for a long time now. And all I ever do is hide it away and shove it down.
I’m reaching that point in my life where I truly believe that I’m not needed. Not only that, but I’m not wanted.
And at that point…..I honestly don’t know what the fuck I’m doing sticking around in a world that’s so full of torture. Every single direction I look in is more pain. I don’t want this.
It’s been a good while since I’ve this seriously considered having a night where tomorrow doesn’t come.
I keep trying and fighting and working on myself and trying to be better and stronger and just fucking…everything. And for what? All I ever feel is pain. And last night in therapy I fucked up pretty much the only chance I had at hopefulness. I’ve rarely hated myself more.
But I have rules. Never impulsive, never out of pure emotion…don’t do it unless you’re sure. Give yourself a date…reach it. Reevaluate then.
I’ve always said those “rules” have kept me alive. And they have, so many fucking times.
And they will once again. I will live to see my sons 3rd birthday. It’s on Monday. That’s my date. I’ll make it till then, and reevaluate. Then I’ll pick a new date…a new goal. And etc.
I hate this time of year. Filled with the fucking joy of “family”. I fucking hate my family. On one end you have my sister…the being who quite literally destroyed my life and any hope at a positive…or even neutral existence..from the moment I was born. And on the other you have the fucking “supportive” ones…or so I thought…but really he just turned out to be a fucking sexually abusive rapist. So….
Tis the season?
Every single time I actually desperately need people, I manage to fuck it up the the point where they probably hate me. I push them away and I ruin everything.
I’m sorry. I hate coming here with actual, raw emotion. But I am fucking struggling. I feel so broken and alone. And I just don’t see a way through it anymore.
No one wants to feel this heaviness. I get that. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be this way.
I’ll get over it, I’ll be fine. I always am.