The heat is so bad right now that it’s making me suicidal. It feels like why the hell did I bother getting a shower if the heat is just going to make me all sticky and gross again? Also I just had a pretty bad fight with my husband. Over a fucking toy, of all things. I wanna shave my fucking head and throw myself out the window head first. It feels like dying is the only way I’m ever going to feel good again. At least there’d be a slight breeze on the way down. I can’t fucking take all the guilt and anger anymore. My life fucking sucks and I want it over. Right now. But instead of doing anything about it I’m laying here on my bed, typing my feelings into this post.
I don’t know why I have such an adverse reaction to heat, but it sucks so bad, and the pressure just keeps building and building until it feels like I can’t contain it anymore. I just want it to stop. I just want everything to be ok. It feels like my whole life is falling down at my feet, crumbling before my eyes.
My husband reminded me the other day that even though he hasn’t held a single job for more than three months during our entire twelve year relationship, everything is in his name. So if he divorced me I would be left penniless and homeless. I wouldn’t even be able to find a job because you have to have an address to get a job, and even if I could get one I’d either quit or kill myself. I’m so worthless. I don’t even deserve to breath. I don’t even have a car to live out of. I’m so worried all the time about his spending habits, but when I talk to him about it he gets all defensive and I’m worried he’s going to throw me out. If that happens I may as well just kill myself because I’ll never make it on my own out there.
I have an exacto blade, and I’m thinking I might try to cut myself. Not to kill myself, but maybe just to bleed away the pain a little. I know I shouldn’t, but it’s probably better than bashing my head into the wall which is what I really want to do right now. I know it won’t fix anything. Nothing ever does. I hate myself. I hate my life. And I feel powerless to change any of it.
I can’t even cool down my fucking house. I hung a bunch of blackout curtains and shut off all the electronics, and the ac has been running for seven and a half hours and the temperature went up three degrees. It’s all so fucking pointless. It’s just like the rest of my life, nothing ever gets any better. I know I’m just spiraling because I hit my depressed cycle but I’m just so tired of it all.
My husband just came in and started a fight with me about the fucking temperature again. He asks, “are you feeling any better?” I say, “no” he asks “what’s wrong now?” I say “it’s still fucking hot.” He says “it’s significantly cooler in here” I say I don’t want to argue about the temperature again, just leave me alone!” So he did. So I got the exacto and slid it across my arm. It didn’t cut very deep, and I didn’t think it had cut me at all until the blood beeded out a little. It stings a bit, I probably should have washed it first.
Of course I probably shouldn’t post this shit. It’s very negative and I’m trying to be positive on here this week, plus you probably all thing I’m a posser, wanna be, looser for even writing this shit down. What do I care though, I said you’d get an inside look into my head. Well here it is. I am a miserable worthless human being. Hell, I think I’m a poser for cutting my arm like that. I just wanted to know what it felt like. I shouldn’t have used the exacto to cut fucking plastic. Then maybe I would have gotten a deeper cut and I’d feel like less of a loser right now.
I’m a loser with a skinny red line on my arm, the only thing about me that’s skinny. I’m fat, and ugly, and stupid and lame. If I post this you’re all going to realize what a loser I am and stop following me. Not that it matters. I’m just going to flake out and stop posting eventually anyway, just like I do with everything else.
I was reading a post by a fellow blogger earlier today, before the heat murdered me where she said she felt like a failure because she sent one of her posts to a couple of people to be published and she got rejection letters. How much more a loser am I because I’ve never sent anything to anyone. Not since high school when I supposedly won an award for a poem I wrote, but my parents convinced me it was a scam to get me to buy plain tickets and a hotel room.
I don’t know why I bother writing. I’m a talentless hack. The only people that have read my book so far have been obligated to say they like it because they’re related to me, and some of them even stopped reading it all together. I must be excruciatingly boring. I delude myself into thinking I’ll ever amount to anything and then when reality sets back in and I realize what a fool I’ve been it makes me want to just give up.
What’s the point? Who exactly am I fooling when I talk about wanting to help someone else? I’m a selfish, lazy piece of trash. I haven’t worked on my books at all this week, and last week I wrote a grand total of one sentence. Whoopty shit. Hooray me. God, I am such a looser.
I suck at everything. I suck at art, I mean, what was I thinking posting those pictures earlier? I know they look like a first grader did them. They’re all garbage. I’ve done better work when I was in first grade. Even the best picture I’ve ever done is crap. I traced most of it anyway, so I could get it right, and it still took me weeks to finish. And her arm is too fat and her leg is too short, and it doesn’t even have a fucking background. See?
I couldn’t even figure out how to make her look steam punk, which was what I was going for.
You see? I’m a looser. I used to write poetry all the time, but it’s all stupid basic stuff, and then some of them I tried to turn into songs, but they all sucked too bad to ever sing them to anyone. And what’s the point of trying to sing either? My family and friends all say I have a lovely singing voice, but when ever I sing in front of my husband, the only person in the world I truly wanted to impress with it, he asks me to stop. Apparently I’m garbage at that, too.
I don’t practice my instruments so it really doesn’t matter how many I know how to play, I suck at all of them too. I just tried to cut myself again, but this one’s bleeding even less than the last one, so let’s go ahead and chock that up as another failure. God at this point I better ducking kill myself, because you’ll probably all think I’m faking otherwise.
Not that I would blame you. I’ve already told you I’m a sack of shit, why not a lying attention seeking sack of shit. After all if I was serious I’d call the suicide hotline like I urged you all to do like the fucking hypocrite I am. Instead I’m posting it on the internet. Yeah, that’s fucking healthy.
I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. This is probably going to be what does my blog in, because up until now I’ve been able to keep a generally positive message, but I’m kinda blowing it out of the water with this one. I’m gonna post it though. I promised to be honest, at least I promised myself I would be, and it is not puppies and kittens and rainbows and unicorns in here tonight. Tonight it is darkness, self pity and doubt, and an almost overwhelming need to end it all.
Don’t worry. I probably wont do it, I’m too much of a coward. I’ll satisfy the need by smoking another cancer stick and hoping I shave off a few years. Or maybe I’ll try cutting a few more lines. It actually does make me feel a little better, even if I am botching it horribly. I’m sorry if all the swearing offended any of you, but I don’t feel like reading through and changing it. Sorry.