Ahh. I don’t need this. You don’t want me? I know. I don’t want me either. I just wish you would say, so I could know. I am so fucking tired of all this. Guessing. Thinking. I want to take a nap from life. I want to mope all by myself. No guessing, no thinking. Knowing that it’s me in there, no one else will come and disturb the puddle of sorrow I’ve learned to be content with. No one will stir it up and make it worse, deeper than before. So deep, I can’t get out. All of this blue. I won’t be able to make it out. I’ve never been able to stop thinking what’s wrong with me. My entire life. It was easier to keep it hidden in the earlier years, but now it’s always at the front of my mind. What’s wrong with me. I hate being led on. Stop it. You’re making it worse. I won’t be mad. It’s not your fault.
I’m not letting anyone disturb me like this anymore. How can people handle this more than once?? I thought I was a strong person. I’m weak. And ugly. And nothing. I can’t do anything. Mediocre at everything. What are my talents? Nothing. I’ve accepted that. You’re bringing it all up again, though you don’t mean to, I’d rather be dealing with needles. These cut so deep. They say cutting makes you feel better? I wish. Not this kind.
I think it would be nice almost, if you found this. Or someone else maybe. Writing it is just much easier. Pathetic. Always was.
I’m still left loving you.
Shit.
Ilsy.
