it's been a shitty week for me. i've had a hard week at work. i've been feeling like shit and i don't know what to do anymore. i am lost. and lost more then i have been. i can't find any use to live. i just wake up make my meager wages and come home and cook after working nine hours. i honestly don't see why i should just keep on the way i am. sometimes the depression is so bad i feel like i can't even get out of bed. like i just want to shoot myself in the face. like i want to just jump from the balcony with a rope tied to it so i'll break my neck on the way down. i've been to therapist after therapist. i've tried everything. meditation, herbs, dancing, playing instruments, talking about it, and talking, and talking. i am tired of talking. tired of throwing my money away at a therapist who doesn't fucking know or cares. i would like out. now.not tomorrow. tomorrow we'll go to the beach. next month we'll relax. next year we'll take a break. fuck that. fuck this life. and fuck that shit. i've had it. i'm done. i dunno. i just want a break, i need a break. i can't do this anymore. when i was younger. i saw how miserable adulthood was. and i prayed that i'd get cancer, get in a crash, get tb, break my neck falling out of a tree, snap my neck. something. anything to avoid that drudgry called adulthood. that pathetic excuse of an existence called adulthood. that pack of lies called adulthood. my folks use to say adulthood is fun. yeah sure. is what i'd say. "between bills, taxes, raising brats that hate you, working 40plus hours, and lousy meaningless relationships. i don't see how i want to be a kid." that is exactly what i'd tell them. and my mom would call me a drama queen and my dad would remain silent or chuckle quietly.
yeah. i'm the crazy one. adulthood is a 70 year bane. it is a 70 year curse. and i hope to fucking god i fall down the stairs and break my neck or get killed in a sidedoor car crash. because i'm not looking forward to 70 more years of this bs. if my life could be david, and being able to live completely off the earth and build our own home. i would. i won't be telling my family when i move. i'm writing a will so as that they will NOT be notified of my death. i am fucking spent and need my boxcutter. i hid one in the cabinet where it's in plain sight. i sit there in the bathroom playing with it. slicing little random tiny scratches on my legs. i want a dremel so i can slice my thighs and shoulders wide open. so i can feel the gaping wound so i could cake shirts and pants with my blood.
sometimes.
people don't think before they talk. things that get said and misunderstood. and sometimes words can kill.
and
sometimes.
all
i
need
is to feel safe.
to be held.
nobody knows me. they can't assume that.
i don't assume i know anyone. not even dave
for sometimes he says or looks at me in a way that
i'm fairly sure says- i hate you. get away.
sometimes when he says mean things to me. i want to cut him. make him hurt back. i'm not psycho for thinking that. i just don't like being kicked when i'm vulnerable.
and something about him.
makes me so
very
vulnerable.
and i hate it. it scares the living shit out of me.
but it's so comforting.
like a cold moth needing the flame. knowing it's doom but unable to steer itself away from it.
night.
work awaits me when i open my eyes next.
take care of yourself.
don't worry about me.
you know who you are.
night.
