I hate myself. I can't figure out why.
I just feel incompetent. I feel ugly, and stupid, and annoying, and bumbling, and useless, and I don't even know why. Every time I do something, I feel people talking about me, everywhere I go. Every word I don't hear is about me, and it's negative. And It's stupid that I think that, because if my memory serves, no one has ever called me stupid to my face. Ever. But that's what I hear.
I can't say I have problems. Hell, I'm probably one of the luckiest sunsa bitches in my state. But I can't get it out of my head. I hear it, all the time, not like some sort of "voices in my head" bullshit, but it's like I don't trust people. I have this feeling that everyone hates me, and when they say otherwise they're lying. And I shouldn't is the thing, I have every reason to be happy and oblivious and all that, but I'm not. I'm paranoid, and I hate everything, and I think everything hates me too.
How can I put this in words? I lay awake, every night, staring at the ceiling. Thinking. Thinking about how everyone hates me, about how I'm malicious, and lazy, and ugly, and no one will ever like me. Ever. Alone. Forever. And I think about this for hours, every night, and I can't sleep. So I don't sleep, I draw things. I draw things so horrible I tear them up and hide the pieces, and I sit awake for another hour thinking about how I'm a freak and everyone hates me, and I can't rest. Ever.
The only time I can relax is when I'm completely alone, because whenever anyone else is around, I can only think about how they hate me. And I trip over my own words trying to not make a mistake, and when I fumble with a word or say something even vaguely awkward, it feels like a hot iron is being driven into my chest. And I find a corner and I draw.
I would never hurt anyone. Just the idea turns my stomach. But I get so angry, angry because I don't feel that anyone cares for me, anyone. And it grit my teeth and I twist my head until my spine cracks and I pull muscles, and I sit there, wherever I am, and I stew in my hate, and I don't do anything. When I was younger, I got angry and I broke a metal bar off of my bed. I was frothing, and I couldn't think, and all I wanted to do was to destroy something so that people would understand how much I hated everything.
Never again. At this point I can hardly ask for anything, and I still feel needy and demanding.
I don't know. I just don't know. I have a lot of ideas on why I don't trust anyone, but no answers. And no matter how much I think about it it never gets any better. And I can't tell anybody because every time I try to tell someone it just makes things worse.
I just feel so hated. Or maybe I feel that way because I hate myself. Or maybe it's a chemical thing, which is a serious possibility, as my mother and her sister have the same thing. And I think my dad does too, but I'm not sure. I see so much my myself in him, but I'm not sure of any of my judgments at this point.
I don't know. I just want to trust people and not feel this constricting feeling in my gut every time I talk to someone. I hate so many things, but whenever I don't hate, I just feel so empty.
I don't know. I can't tell anyone that matters. I just want to tell someone. But I can't trust anyone. I can't trust my friends, I can't trust my parents, I can't even trust my brother. My brother. I know him better than I know myself, and I can't bring myself to trust him. What am I supposed to do?
So when I say that if I went through what you went through, I would have broken, you have to understand. I would have snapped. And that scares me so much. I scare me.
Does anyone know what that's like? To be ten years old and to have dreams of rotting guts, and brains mounted on pikes with chittering teeth eternally chanting nonsense? To see emaciated corpses, walking down black hallways with piercing eyes that gleam like porcelain as they stare at you? To have dream after dream of cannibals and worms and loved ones, trapping me in a corner and ripping me to pieces because of my wretchedness? To experience being turned into a mass of blood and bone and metal, a gelatinous mass that kills everything it touches.
Every night, every night of my fucking life I see visions of sex and death and constriction and entrapment, and I can't escape. Ever. Ever. I'm fucking trapped in my own fucked up brain, and no matter what I say or what I do, no one will know that I've lived in a rusted out hulk drifting in a cloud of blood, with mockeries of people haunting every unbearable passage. That I've seen myself split and contort into an insectoid beast that raises an army of dead children to serve on it's labrynthine castle that drips poisonous ichor from endless spires.
No matter what I break, no matter what I say, no matter what I do, no one will understand what that's like. To live lifetimes, trapped in your own mind. And I feel so alone.
Here's my load of angsty bullocks. Read it or don't. I really hope you read it, because I want someone to know what it's like to be me.
I just want someone to know what I see and not let it make them depressed, or scared, or angry. I just want to be accepted for what I am and not feel like an abomination.