You Don’t Even Know…

I read on another blog about how we’re all stronger than we think.

I guess.  Maybe we are.

I don’t find those words encouraging or helpful.  They fill me with distaste and a feeling that they could never understand.  I underestimate how many people feel like I do.

Do you know why I haven’t killed myself yet?

I’m afraid of being embarrassed after I die.

I won’t even be here to feel the feeling.  Just the idea of it gives me a bit of anxiety.  That and I don’t want to drop my finances off at my Dad’s door.

I have my belongings in storage.  Other than bills, I have nothing really.

I just need to bite the bullet (literally?) and get it over with.


I saw another girl who writes about her depression.  She’s young and gorgeous.  Married to a just as gorgeous man.  They have a house filled with their precious, beautiful babies.  And I hated her.  I hated how she could have everything and still not be happy.  How dare she?  I got the cesspool of genes, no one wants me, I can’t have children.  Yet her life is just so fucking terrible.  Fuck you and your perfect fucking life that you can’t even appreciate.  Do you know how many people out there would die to have what you have? I fucking would.

Seeing people talk about how shitty their lives are when on the outside, they have everything I wish I could have had seriously makes me angry and even more depressed.  Now, I’m old and I’ve got nothing.

Fuck this.  Fuck it all.  I’m so over this.