I'm not going to kill myself.
But I realize that every night, I am praying that God ends it. I have a beautiful daughter, and while I'm sure I'm a horrible mother, I can't leave her with MY mother.
I'm in pain, all day, every day. I'm tired. I'm useless, and I yell at my daughter, I never feel safe. I hate myself, I hate my memories, and I feel old. I'll turn 25 next month, but I know people who are 50 who seem to have sailed through life without a bump or scratch. I feel like every day since I can remember has been a battle, and I am exhausted.
I cry all the time now. My friends were over helping me clean, because I can't even clean under my own power any more. My daughter was being a brat, my dog was sick, chewed up the bathroom carpet, poo'd all over the bathroom, and chewed up a disposable razor and possibly ate one of the razor blades.
Suddenly it was too much and in front of two of my friends- one of them who doesn't know that much about my past and is a little... naiive, to be nice about it, about such things- I broke down. I slammed a 409 bottle against a door, sat down in a puddle of dog-dookie-409, and cried, shaking and moaning, unable to stop.
They're my friends, I should be able to... But... I hate it, hate it...
I hate that I can't be like a normal person.
I don't enjoy anything anymore, and everything I do makes me hurt. It sounds stupid, but it's not FAIR.
I'm on pills. I see a therapist. Trying to work things out, but I know that even if I never thought about those things again, even if my mother wasn't screwing up and I found a money and health insurance tree, even if my daughter magically could take care of herself... I'll still be bipolar, I'll still be sickly, I'll still have fibro... Everything eternally sucks.
