The world isn't a fair and honest place. Sometimes the bad guys win, sometimes the good die young, but we all have power over our own lives in the end. I'm not a good person. I'm a horrible person that does horrible things to good people. I've always known the world would be that much better off without me. A host of people I couldn't count on two fingers would live happier lives if I had a bullet hole in my head. I'm sure many of you can understand how I feel in thinking that the world would be better off without you, so what's keeping me here? The world may not be fair, but if I die and those people's lives get better, wouldn't that make it just a little more tolerable? Maybe I'm so terrible I can't care enough to rid themselves of me. But I have to do it. I've cried so many times over what I keep doing to people again and again and again and I know I won't stop hurting people unless I can't anymore. I have never sought professional help and only once have I attempted to make my problem known to someone who could help. Unfortunately I thought my father would have been a good choice which was a mistake. Now I'm a failure and crazy in his eyes. I can't reach out again, it took me three years to work up the courage to do it once and I was stronger then than I am now. The longer I'm alive, the more isolated I become, the more pain I feel, the less motivation I have to seek help, the less resistance I put up in fighting off the need to splatter my brains against the ceiling. The longer I'm alive, the worse things get for myself and everyone around me. It shouldn't matter how long you live your life. It's not about fighting your disease and living to be eighty. Even if I were capable of doing that, how could I live with myself knowing what I am? I don't want to spend the rest of life repeating the same mistakes knowing no one can help me but me. Because I know I'll never make that choice. I'm hopeless, I'm a monster, I should die. No, I don't care how my parents will feel. I know my mom will be devastated, but my dad already thinks I'm less than human for having a fucked up brain. Guilt is meaningless to monsters and dead people anyway. I can't attend college, I can't hold down a job, I live off my emotionally abusive father's money. My life feels like a living hell and I hurt the people around me. I have no friends, no passions and no future. So, I guess my point is, I don't know what I'm still doing here.