I've often wondered why. Why did this or that happen. Why me. Why now. Why again?
Right now I'm wondering why I came here, why I felt the need to tell someone ... anyone about my troubles, although I know there's no solution anymore. If I came here for help, why didn't I come sooner, and not a day or two before my internet gets shut off cause I have no money to pay the bills and a frozen bank account?
I could have come here two months ago when I learned I couldn't pay my rent anymore. Or three months ago when I had no money to pay for electricity (one does wonder why they didn't shut that off yet)
Six months ago, one year ago, 1 1/2 years ago.
But no, I came now. Now, that my time's run out, to talk to strangers instead of friends. Then again, I never talked to my friends.
Death does not scare me, but dying does. Three failed attempts do. Having spent 24 hours in the psych ward once does, cause it showed me what would await me if I failed in a horrible way again. The mere thought of such a place scares me witless, scares me more than dying.
I waited for days to see if the fear would subside, to clear my head, but all it does is getting worse. It's constantly choking me, it drives me mad beyond imagination. This rage is killing me.
I hate professionals. I do not want their help. I do not want someone to help me if they're getting paid for it.
I've started cleaning the apartment. I'll leave it behind tidy; sparkling clean. My days are counted. I only hope that this time I will not fail. That, for once in my life, I will actually succeed doing something. Even if it is just taking that hilariously pathetic life.
There are no ups, there never have been. I have accomplished nought in my life. I am without goals or dreams. I'm broken beyond repair. I never felt love, there's nothing to keep me going.
You people here don't know me, but the people in my real life don't either.
Maybe I came here to talk about my feelings just for once. Not that it helped. There's no sensation of some imaginery heavy weight being lifted from my shoulders, no invisible chains suddenly being removed that were previously choking me.
"Don't wonder why people go crazy.
Wonder why they don't."
Surprisingly wise quote from an otherwise silly tv show.
I don't know the exact date of my death, but I do know it'll be before December 24th.
I was invited to a Christmas dinner, but if I went everybody would see me for what I really am. The ugly truth that's finally overpowered me which won't let itself be shut up by lies I kept telling myself. Lies that one day everything would be better.
A failure at life that is too weak to keep going.
Like mother, like daughter.
Right now I'm wondering why I came here, why I felt the need to tell someone ... anyone about my troubles, although I know there's no solution anymore. If I came here for help, why didn't I come sooner, and not a day or two before my internet gets shut off cause I have no money to pay the bills and a frozen bank account?
I could have come here two months ago when I learned I couldn't pay my rent anymore. Or three months ago when I had no money to pay for electricity (one does wonder why they didn't shut that off yet)
Six months ago, one year ago, 1 1/2 years ago.
But no, I came now. Now, that my time's run out, to talk to strangers instead of friends. Then again, I never talked to my friends.
Death does not scare me, but dying does. Three failed attempts do. Having spent 24 hours in the psych ward once does, cause it showed me what would await me if I failed in a horrible way again. The mere thought of such a place scares me witless, scares me more than dying.
I waited for days to see if the fear would subside, to clear my head, but all it does is getting worse. It's constantly choking me, it drives me mad beyond imagination. This rage is killing me.
I hate professionals. I do not want their help. I do not want someone to help me if they're getting paid for it.
I've started cleaning the apartment. I'll leave it behind tidy; sparkling clean. My days are counted. I only hope that this time I will not fail. That, for once in my life, I will actually succeed doing something. Even if it is just taking that hilariously pathetic life.
There are no ups, there never have been. I have accomplished nought in my life. I am without goals or dreams. I'm broken beyond repair. I never felt love, there's nothing to keep me going.
You people here don't know me, but the people in my real life don't either.
Maybe I came here to talk about my feelings just for once. Not that it helped. There's no sensation of some imaginery heavy weight being lifted from my shoulders, no invisible chains suddenly being removed that were previously choking me.
"Don't wonder why people go crazy.
Wonder why they don't."
Surprisingly wise quote from an otherwise silly tv show.
I don't know the exact date of my death, but I do know it'll be before December 24th.
I was invited to a Christmas dinner, but if I went everybody would see me for what I really am. The ugly truth that's finally overpowered me which won't let itself be shut up by lies I kept telling myself. Lies that one day everything would be better.
A failure at life that is too weak to keep going.
Like mother, like daughter.
