[Sorry, I use bad language.] I really, truly am. Does it ever fucking end? I don't think it does anymore. Every time something negative happens, I spiral back down to here. No matter how trivial it is. It doesn't matter. I become instantly convinced that I am a worthless, pathetic, useless fuck-up. I used to think it got better. My father started molesting me from the time I was 4 years old. I kept hope. He r*ped me when I was 8-10 [long, convoluted story as to the ways and wherefores, and very triggering and disturbing, so...yeah]. Still kept that one tiny little bit of hope. R*ped and abused by a boyfriend when I was 20...thank Gawd he's an ex. STILL kept hope. What the fuck am I keeping that hope alive for? What? It's all the same. All the fucking same. I'm a hopeless wreck. I have a laundry list of mental disorders. Depression, social anxiety, general anxiety, several phobias, an eating disorder, self-injury, sub-clinical OCD, PTSD, complex PTSD, and DID [or possibly DDNOS--not officially diagnosed as of now]. My physical health is shit. I can't seem to fix my relationship. I'm not equal to him. I'm not good enough for him. I know this. Why he doesn't see this, I don't know. I've known it the entire time I've been with him. I am not good enough for him. And all of this is why. Who wants a pathetic, broken girl when they can have someone normal? Who wants to deal with all my issues? Who wants to end up talking to a 4-year-old alter? NO ONE. I feel defective. Like there's something so horribly wrong with me, the only thing left to do is scrap me and start over. I've been suicidal off and on since I was 9. I'm twenty-two now. No, it does not get better.