Misery

This was written on Sept 14, when I was in a really bad depressive episode. This isn't poetry, I would say. This is what most vents/rambles look like inside of my "Rambles" folder in my notes app. Most of my rambles are like this one, where I process my shit and write about it. It's the only healthy coping mechanism I have.

    I am a miserable person. I always will be. I have always known that. I just had hoped I had changed enough that I wasn't like that anymore. Spoiler alert: I haven't. I am still that depressed, self hating, mentally ill, self destructive, and suicidal person. I have never changed. I have never healed. All those times I thought I had, I was just distracted. I had forgotten how fucking miserable of a being I am.

I constantly worry about being a burden to others, of my depression spilling over into other peoples lives and making them suffer too, of my problems being the reason why people distance themselves from me.

I cannot make myself open up to people I care about anymore. Even if they ask, I will always say I'm fine. And if they keep pushing, I'll downplay it so much that it appears to be nothing. I don't want to add onto the burden they already have to deal with. They don't deserve that.

I am too much for people. I'm probably better off alone. My boyfriend is better off without my misery pulling him down. He already deals with his own shit. I probably make it worse. Being alone, and having no one to talk to would be the best course of action for me. I wouldn't bother anyone, I wouldn't worry anyone, and when I finally do kill myself, no one will feel any unnecessary grief for me. If people do grieve me, I hope they move on in a month or less. I don't deserve to be mourned.

I know I will never die by old age. I fear this may be the one promise I will most likely break. My cause of death will either be suicide or something out of my control. I will not make it past 30. I've known this since I was 8-10. I've been miserable since I first attempted when I was 8. I didn't think I would make it to 16, but here I am.

I'm so fucking miserable. I hate myself to no end and I overthink myself to the point of wanting to cut off everyone and be alone for the rest of my life. I cannot see myself being a functioning adult. I cannot see myself having a meaningful life. I don't allow myself to hope for anything because if I do, then it surely won't happen. Nothing I do will ever make me feel better. I will always find something I did wrong and beat myself up because of it.

I have been recovering from self harm for 71 days. The longest I've ever been clean since I started in early 2023. That is my ONLY proof that I'm doing better. In fact, I don't think I've ever gotten better. I've always been miserable. Camp helped me think I was doing better as it provided me a constant distraction from my depression but in reality I never actually healed.

Every day, I struggle with not relapsing. I try not to. I know if I do, I'll go back to hurting myself every single day. I also know that if I relapse, I will have failed my mom, my boyfriend, my friends, and everyone I told that I was doing better. I would be nothing more than a failure. I already am, but it would just be worse.

I cannot see myself in a positive life. I hate myself to my core. I can recognize my accomplishments, but that's about it. I have no self confidence, no self esteem, no self respect. I care only for others. Not myself. The only reason I still stay hygienic, is because I don't want to appear repulsive around others. I survive only for others, not for myself. I could never love myself. I don't deserve it.