I don’t now why I joined this site; It was probably because I felt really alone. I still do, I guess.
I dont know why I’m writing this, I’m just being an attention whore.
I hate myself so, so much. I look into the mirror and down at myself in pure distain and shame for what I have become. I am not the pretty one, I am not the smart one, I am not the talented one.
I remember a few days ago, I saw these children at a horse camp. They were so passionate and good at what they did. I do die horses, but I feel no joy when I do. It just feels like another thing I have to do.
I don’t have anything I am particular passionate about, and anything that does bring me joy to do, I have never been good at. I love singing, but when I hear my voice, I only hear the echoes of the people around me who tell me I am awful at it.
I have friends, but it almost hurts to be near them, because I am nothing compared to them. I have no talents, and nothing to be proud of.
My friend Maya: Sweet, humble, an incredible artist, hardworking, incredible at gymnastics, amazing danger, lovable, and intelligent.
My sister: Outstanding Piano player, plays many other instruments, incredible musician and composer, artist, got one of the highest SAT scores in the state, pretty,
My friend Sydney: Has have many people like her, Training to be an Olympic swimmer, great artist, friendly, sweet, confident, a leader
My friend Sorrel: The best singer I have heard for her age, Played the lead in every show she auditioned for, plays guitar and piano, has 4.0 GPA, great sense of style, amazing hair, incredibly beautiful, outstanding dancer, flexible, already has started her singing career
Me: Cries too much, very sensitive, average at art, not pretty, tries to hard, rude, attention whore, cuts herself, isn’t smart, overly loud in attempts that someone will pay attention to her, the only person to have “genuine” crush on her was her stalker, has a good life and still complains
I dont want to kill myself, I just want to stop living. I am afraid of a lot of things: electric shocks, pain, torture, being buried alive; I am not afraid of death however, just the ways I could die and the pain that comes with it.
My greatest fear is living.
I’m scared of the past. I’m scared of the present and I’m scared of the future.
If you try to message me on here, I likely wont reply. I lied about my antidepressants working just because I feel I deserve the sadness, but now I have no one to talk to it about it because I don’t want my parents to know, since when they figured out the first time I heard my mother say, “I was hoping I would get at least one daughter right”.
I only wrote this on here because I cant talk to anyone in real life who actually knows me. I don’t know what I hope to gain from this, I just wanted to say it.