I Hate Myself
I am quiet positive that wanting to die is one of the most miserable existences available to the human race. While everywhere around the globe people struggle to extend their lives, you wonder just what you can do to expend it. It's that feeling of glancing at yourself in the mirror and being so absolutely disgusted you think you might be sick. Or perhaps you've managed to be a loser for so long that eventually failing is the only thing you've come to expect of yourself. I have, and that's how I've been living the past few years.
I was not born into a bad life. Far from it. I have a family that loves me and wishes me the best, I have clothes on my back, warm food in my stomach, and a roof over my head; that's a lot more than some can say for themselves. True I am without a father for he died when I was five, and yes watching my mother struggle to make ends meet can be terrible in itself. However, I do not consider this to be the source of my distress. Simply it is I that am the source.
I hate myself is too shallow of a description. No, I loathe myself.
I despise everything about me. My appearance, my personality, my lack of talent. Every bit of air I inhale is a waste. I am not worthy of my beating heart, it would do far more good in the chest of someone who needs it, someone who could actually make something of themselves. I have accomplished nothing, and this shows no sign of changing anytime soon. I do not live life, I purely exist.
I am nothing. I long to know that if I close my eyes they would never open again. The only thing that keeps me from speeding my death is the thought that I would fail in this as well, that and the grief I would cause my mother. I do not see a future for me, only struggle and defeat. The depression medication, it helps, masking and wrangling the emotions to a controllable level. But it will never cure me. I don't even know what I want.
I am a broken girl and not much else.
I was not born into a bad life. Far from it. I have a family that loves me and wishes me the best, I have clothes on my back, warm food in my stomach, and a roof over my head; that's a lot more than some can say for themselves. True I am without a father for he died when I was five, and yes watching my mother struggle to make ends meet can be terrible in itself. However, I do not consider this to be the source of my distress. Simply it is I that am the source.
I hate myself is too shallow of a desc
I despise everything about me. My appearance, my personality, my lack of talent. Every bit of air I inhale is a waste. I am not worthy of my beating heart, it would do far more good in the chest of someone who needs it, someone who could actually make something of themselves. I have accomplished nothing, and this shows no sign of changing anytime soon. I do not live life, I purely exist.
I am nothing. I long to know that if I close my eyes they would never open again. The only thing that keeps me from speeding my death is the thought that I would fail in this as well, that and the grief I would cause my mother. I do not see a future for me, only struggle and defeat. The depression medication, it helps, masking and wrangling the emotions to a controllable level. But it will never cure me. I don't even know what I want.
I am a broken girl and not much else.
By:
LittleWhiteRoom
Age:
18-21
,
Female
