Friday, January 15, 2010

Don't read this.

No, really.  Don't read this.  I'm not writing this for you.  Or you.  I'm writing this for me.  And I promise you don't want to read what it says.  This is not a punishment for anyone but myself.  Please look away while I cut deep.  I am the only one that needs to see this blood; this is not your train wreck but my own.  Please let me crash alone.

Herein will contain the most vile, self indulgent, abusive, self loathing narcissism I can put into words.  I don't want to hear any arguments; I'm not looking for pity, shock or disgust; I just have to spit some of this venom out because if I keep swallowing the anger and misery that I feel I'll poison myself.  Don't think this is about you.  Or you.  If you're looking for your name you're not going to find it.  I'm sure you may have contributed in your own little way to my state of unrest, but in the end, it's all me, and there's nothing you can do about it.  Go ahead and tell me I'm hormonal.  I am.  But this is always inside me, whether I'm sober or not.  Everyone causes me pain, so in the end all I should realize is that it's not them it's me.  I'm the only one hurting myself.  So fuck me.  If that's not a reason to feel self loathing I don't know what is.

Suicide should not be a word that raises red flags in my opinion.  All it should mean to everyone else is this person has a more thorough understanding of their situation than most people do.  If someone can see patterns in their life, and can predict no future release from these patterns of misery, including seeking help that will inevitably not help in the ways it should, then why shouldn't they be allowed to get off at the next stop?  I'm sorry, this train isn't heading where I thought it would, can I please get off?  Why is that such a horrible, terrible thing?  Why does that cause no, my god, stop her at any cost?  A permanent solution to a temporary problem - what a load of bullshit.  What if the problem is permanent?  Shouldn't a permanent solution be employed?  What if something is broken inside that can't be fixed, that has never been fixed, that has ALWAYS been broken - why should that broken little thing be forced to hobble along, suffering and making everyone else uncomfortable?  Fuck all of you that wouldn't let me die four years ago.  I was promised something better than this if I just kept going, and that was a lie.  Nothing ever changes.  And fuck me for being too weak, for being convinced that I might just make it through, that things might just get better for me, like they never have before.  Fuck me.

No one will ever want to be with me as much as I want to be with them.  No one ever will.  It has never happened.  Not my parents when I was little, not my best friends when I was growing up, no one that I've ever dated, no one that I've slept with - no one has the ability to need as deeply as I need or to desire as deeply as I desire.  I will always be alone for that reason.  Even when I'm with someone I will always be alone.  Even when ten or twenty or fifty people tell me I am loved, it means nothing because in the end they will always leave me alone when I find myself thinking of them and they will always choose to spend their free moments with someone that's not me.  No one will ever know how I struggle not to seem as desperate as I feel inside, how I want to always accuse and beg and cry for love, just a little more love, any love at all, please, please, please just choose to be with me.  Please want to be with me.  Please need me as much as I need you.

What's so wrong with being with me?  But I was just with you, honey.  I'll be with you again.  Look, I'm with you right now.  But you're not - can't you see that you're not?!  You're doing your own things, you're too comfortable having me around, you're not looking at me, you're planning your week without me.  You're on my mind and I'm not on yours.  I need you.  I can love you more than you thought anyone could.  I am a crazy and broken thing and I need you to want to be with me like your life depended on it, and I can already tell that I'm pushing you away as you slowly realize who I really am and that feeling makes me need you even more.

And why would anyone want to be with me?  I am filled with diseased thoughts like that so everyone should loathe me as much as I loathe myself.  I look in the mirror and see no reason to like me.  None at all.  There is nothing to like.  Nothing genuinely pleasant.  I believe I'm ok, cute, maybe a little interesting, but no one seems honestly impressed.  Not like I'm impressed with them.  I surely try, I try hard to be the best at the things I do, I try to make everyone feel special, to feel amazing, to feel like they've never felt before.  I try to make others feel like they make me feel.  But they never do.  I must not be doing my best because no one desires my attention.  I give it and am thanked, and that's that.  Who has secret thoughts of me?  Who sits and idles away their time dreaming of being with me?  No one that I'm thinking of.  I am nothing to everyone I care about, and everything to no one I care about.

Maybe I am boring.  Maybe I'm good in bed, but not stimulating to talk to.  Maybe I'm stimulating to talk to, but not good enough in bed.  Maybe I'm ugly.  Just plain old ugly.  Maybe I'm funny, but not serious enough.  Maybe I'm too depressed.  Maybe I'm just all wrong inside and I know it and everything I do betrays a knowledge that something is off, like putting an air freshener in a room to cover up the smell of decay.  You know it's there.  You can sense it.  You want to get away from me as badly as I want to get away from myself.  I'm not good enough and there's nothing I can do to fix that.  You don't know why I'm not good enough, but you just know I am.

So you can't care about me.  You can't love me.  After seven years you can't find it in your heart to feel the same way about me that I feel about you.  But the second I leave and try to salvage my life, the second I try to find some other source of love, suddenly you remember how to pay attention to others, how to go out and have fun, how to be youthful and light and loving again.  It was me all along.  I knew it was, even if you didn't want to admit it.  I always knew there was nothing wrong with you, like you said there was - it was always me.

It IS always me.  It will always be me.  I'm trapped with me and it's always my fault.

All I want is to be loved.  Cherished.  Lifted up and made to feel good inside.  And this is not unattainable, I've felt it for tiny, tiny seconds of time.  I know I can feel that way when others decide they will make me feel that way.  But then they stop.  The moment passes for them.  The moment never passes for me.  I always want that.  I always need that, but no one can give it to me all the time.  Please tell me you love me.  Tell me again.  Tell me again.  I am thinking it about you every second that I breathe, with every heart beat, all I want you to know is how you make me feel.  But you're not feeling that way about me.  So I try to inspire it within you.  I try to remind you how you feel about me, how you felt about me once, how you can feel about me again.  And sometimes I do, and you tell me, and you show me, and you are amazed, and we share that wonderful moment where I am just right and you're everything I've ever wanted.  And then it passes again.  And I'm alone.  And sometimes I don't remind you of anything except that you're tired and you need to work and you have other people to pay attention to.  And I'm alone.

It will always come back to that.

I will always be alone.  No one will ever need me as much as I need them.  So I don't know why I can't just get off this train ride.  Do I have to live for my parents?  For my friends?  For the people who think they might love me?  For the people who once loved me?  Do I have to live for myself?  Is that all I have to cling to?  Me, myself and I?  In the end I'll be alone anyway.  And I will be the only one.  Me, myself and I.  What a miserable group of people.

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