What is there to do?

I lay in bed, staring at the walls. Whenever I just feel empty, I usually listen to Puru Puru Puruin, or the YouTube version that’s supposed to sound like it’s being played through the walls. It’s a song from Welcome to the NHK. An anime from within an anime. I think the song’s supposed to be about a girl wishing she could be a magical girl to escape from reality. Though every time I hear it I just feel like life is pointless. Weird to say that a cute Japanese song that may or may not be about a girl having depression would be the song that you feel lifeless to, but it is. The show’s about a Hikikomori and NEET that gets cut-off by his parents and slowly comes out into the real world. I’ve probably talked about it before, because I find it to be extremely depressing. A very realistic anime about you should probably keep living even if life seems scary and fucks you over. I’m scared to watch it again because at least with more fantastical dark stories I can just think “Well there’s no big ass dragon that’s coming to kill me so I don’t really have to feel scared about it.” But Welcome to the NHK is very realistic.

But anyway. I was laying in bed listening to this because I couldn’t think of anything to do. Everything felt hollow and useless. Why make something if it’s not going to be good enough? Why watch something if it’s either going to end in disappointment or an ungodly sense of hatred for those better off than you? Why make videos if no one will watch them, and you just feel like a hack for making them? Why do anything? So I played it. And I laid and stared at the wall. Maybe now was the perfect time for it. For ending it. When your family is off in their own little worlds and won’t be disturbed until it’s too late. I got up and grabbed it from my closet. It’s supposed to be there for burglars or break-ins or whatever, but I know what I’ll *actually* end up using it on. I held it in my hands. It’s always heavier than I think until I pick it up. I held the barrel, checked the safety, off as usual. I held it for a while longer, looking down the barrel. I felt if I could actually hold it in the right position to finish it, and I could but it’d be at awkward angle and there’d be a small chance I could live through it.

Sometimes when I’m close to doing it and I’m all alone I imagine my dolls and collectibles calling out to me, begging me not to do it as they’d have no one to care for them. Saying how much they’d miss me, and how much my loved ones would miss me too. How important I am to a few people, how I shouldn’t hurt them like that. I know it’s all just that stupid part of my fucking brain calling me an Emo bitch calling my bluff, but it still makes me pause. I shouldn’t let my mom think this was her fault for some stupid argument earlier that meant nothing. I don’t really want to die, I just want to feel like there’s something to live for. That I have a reason why I shouldn’t keep hating everything I do and everything I am.

It Doesn’t Sink In Until You Actually Look in the Mirror

I feel like recently once been doing better compared to past years. I’d say I only have a complete breakdown like once a week to a month depending on how things are going. Though there’s still always a feeling at the back of my mind no matter what I’m doing air where I am that’s always scratching and clawing away at me. I have nothing to look forward to. I distract myself day to day with whatever mini arch’s going to get some comedy for the people who are still watching this late into the series, after the quality’s severely gone down and the plots are just getting reused from previous seasons. I don’t really know what kind of job I would want to do because I get bored of things so quickly, and any job I find that I do like I usually leave because I think I can do better money-wise. Though I never save up to move out. What’s the point? To speedrun my fucking depression? Because I know the second I’m completely out on my own for like a week I’ll blow my brains out. I try to pretend like I don’t need people, and I’m pretty introverted so it’s not like I always feel like I need to be around people- but that tends to make me spend what feels like weeks holed up in my room and slowly dying since there’s so little time to spend with the few people around me anymore. Parents are always working. Sisters have their own million things to do. The one friend I have I don’t have any money so I don’t want to bother if I can’t pay for anything that I would wanna do. So I wait for a time when something can happen, and I’m disappointed because everyone’s too tired and busy. I don’t blame them. For my last job I couldn’t do a lot because I was working a lot of the time. So now I dig my face in my phone and try to get through the day. I clean toys, fix my collection. I got a TikTok account and started making videos but now I’m just addicted to watching the numbers slightly go up. I knew I shouldn’t have gotten it but I fucking did with the excuse that there’s more MH videos on there or whatever. Still a fucking hypocrite as always.

But anyways- I know that once I leave my parent’s house there’s nothing for me out there. I feel bad for leeching off of them this long but I don’t have the money and I know on the little times I’ve been truly alone I’ve come seconds away from being another body bag. What is there out there? Exploration that I don’t want to do? Finding a job that ranges from hating it but gets enough money to get by or a job I like where I get paid like I work at McDonald’s? Wasting my time searching for some magical fucking unicorn of a girl to not think I’m repugnant and take me as her like fiftieth option only for us to end in loveless marriage where she’s fucking my friend because I have nothing to offer, if I CAN EVEN FIND A WOMAN? Maybe ending up in a loveless hetero marriage where I’m used as a fucking toy to some manchild before I gut myself? Having kids that I’ll want to strangle after having that little fucker destroy my body even further than I already have before they grow up to be a crack dealer before killing me and taking my last sixteen bucks? Building a collection that just gets me a small hit of dopamine for spending like $50 a day, only for some scum of the fucking earth to break in and steal it all? Care about politics for every single fucking brain-rotted 900-year-old to stroll up and pick the dumbest fucking decisions possible and send everybody back to the fucking Stone Age? Eat myself to death to get that last shred of dopamine? Care about my appearance for it to just continually get worse until I fit perfectly into everyone’s favorite little trailer trash trope? WHAT IS THERE TO FUCKING LIVE FOR?! If this is supposed to be the goddamn peak of my life both physically and emotionally and I’m sitting here staring at a screen and praying that I get 100 fucking people to sit and watch me play with dolls?

A random thought, but I rewatched Spirit: Stallion of the Cimarron recently. It’s been one of my favorite movies since I was a kid but I don’t watch it often so I don’t get burnt out on it, so when I rewatched it the other day it felt like I was watching it for the first time. I was legitimately crying at the end because I love that movie so much. I pretty much never feel anything after watching a movie besides “Oh that was pretty good” or “That was bad.” This feeling I got in that moment was pure fucking bliss. I for once felt like life was worth living, like the world could be beautiful and people could make art so powerful that it actually changes you. I know, I know, it’s stupid. But my heart was soaring and I felt like humans weren’t actual hell for once. Life is precious and worth it and you can find the most brilliant amazing beautiful things in places where most people might not. I loved a lot of movies before, and I’ve always loved this movie but this time it felt like it hit me just perfectly. I’ve seen movies that made me feel a certain way, but I was full-on bawling afterwards out of joy for once. I couldn’t stop crying and smiling.

I still don’t know why I felt so happy after it.

Gift Basket

I just finished my manga collection and was reading through volume 10 of Kiss Him Not Me. It’s a manga about a fujoshi otaku girl who loses a shit load of weight and then suddenly four guys fall in love with her. So in this chapter, she turned back to her old fat self and is being manipulated by this guy she was childhood friends with. The guy traps her as a cliff-hanger for the next volume and says “I’m the only one who likes you for who you are.”

Now I know, this is a manga. This isn’t real. It can be fan-fucking-tastical as it wants, and I don’t expect it to be 100% realistic… but it just makes me think about the manga as whole. The characters do grow to love her and accept her over the course of the story, but what starts their attraction (some of them, not all of them) is her appearance.

I feel like the reason I’ve been so invested in this manga over the series is because I kind of project myself on to the main character. She’s straight, but honestly she doesn’t seem interested in any of the romantic interests or sexually attracted to them. I’m not interested in guys, and I’m Ace, but I like imagining someone actually being interested in me romantically (not sexually). And even if they think they might not actually end up with her they still stick around for the chance and to still be her friend.

Since I was young, I never had that happen. I couldn’t even fathom it happening, because the moment I did I was met with extreme disappointment and bullying. I was the weird fat kid that thought she was a fucking witch and wore the same gross-ass jacket every day. I was the girl other girls would ask if I liked anyone, and if I said anyone or lied about anyone they’d bully them too. It happened so often it just became routine for me to deny even the possibility of someone being interested in me. I ask someone out after finally letting myself think someone reciprocated my feelings, I was crushed and humiliated. Even when I was out of high school it would fucking happen again, and again it would end in my misery. Again, and again, and again. Every single fucking time. I hate goddamn motherfucking people. Everyone just lives to see your goddamn misery. Everyone will piss on your fucking corpse because they have nothing goddamn better to do in their lives.

So you might be asking, why is this titled “Gift Basket” then?

A few weeks ago I put in my two weeks for my work because my family said I should get a better one even though I liked this one. I had gotten a Christmas present for everyone to be nice (or to be a little passive aggressive to the bitch of the workplace) and I have one to this cute cashier girl, thinking nothing of it. I just wanted to be nice and have it as like a goodbye to everyone I had gotten to know there and I didn’t expect or want anything in return. On my second-to-last day she came in (she wasn’t scheduled) and gave me a gift basket. It was so nice and I still thank her for it every time I see her. My mom picked me up and took me home that night when I could finally look through it. It was a Valentine’s Day basket with some candy, a plushie, and a card that had her phone number and socials in it. I just assumed she was being nice and grabbed a random bucket because it was around when our store was stocking Valentine’s Day stuff. Or at least that she wanted to be friends, because on the few times we talked we really clicked. My mom suggested that it could be a romantic thing but I immediately doubted it because well- I’m fat and ugly and just because it’s a bucket that says “Be Mine” on it doesn’t mean anything. I later asked her what she meant because I didn’t want to misinterpret her meaning and she said she meant to be friends (and kind of implied liking me would be gross.) We’ve hung out two times since then as friends and it’s been nice! I’m surprised I actually managed to make a friend.

I’m glad we’re friends, but thinking back on it now I’m just reminded of the dozens of times before it where it ended in misery. It felt weird after I asked her and she said no. Like for once, I didn’t care. Maybe it’s just because I wasn’t interested in her- though I feel like it was just because I knew there isn’t a single timeline or universe where something like that could happen to me. This isn’t a manga. I didn’t lose weight over night and now I’m some mega babe. I don’t have some cute personality or quirk that makes me acceptable to most people. I am at best a background character. I don’t really want to be a “main character” like those dickheads online that will fuck over everyone else for a picture or something, but most people should feel like they’re a main character controlling their story right? Most people feel like they’re actually story-worthy right?

Halloween

My parents couldn’t pick me up from work because they were off with their friends on a boat and they called me to say that their boat had to be towed or something. So I went to get something from the store that I promised my sister. I thought since I didn’t have anywhere to be that night I could go over and talk to that cute girl at the front. I texted if she was there and she said “No, I’m at a Halloween party in @/78($&3” and like a fucking chump I said “Oh have fun!”

I like how when everything seems fine the world has to prove a point to me that I’m a fucking loser. Like “Hey, look at what this other girl is doing! Having FRIENDS and SOCIALIZING instead of fucking being a manager at a dollar store.” Even when I work part time I feel like I do nothing but work. I mean, at least I like this kind of work more than my last shit job. I mean now I have a higher position than she does, but does that’s the most pathetic fucking thing to brag about. Sure my coworkers, boss, and customers like me- but I feel disconnected from people my own age. I don’t really wanna be out partying and whoring myself out like some people like, but it still feels lonely.

So I spent a crap load of money for no reason at Walgreen’s because buying shit is all I ever do outside work anymore (besides being a disappointment to my parents) and got an Uber. I had my box cutter from work in my hand the entire ride and was close to finally doing something to reach that end goal, but I decided not to so the guy didn’t have to clean up my blood from his car. I always wonder where would be the best place and time to finally fucking do it. If I do it at work then they’d have to clean my blood and it’d probably be shit to go to work every day knowing your manager slit her throat in the bathroom. Plus, it would imply that I hated the job, which isn’t really my problem. My boss is really sweet so I wouldn’t want to do that to her, even if people say you shouldn’t give a shit about the people you work with. If I do it in my bedroom then I know my sisters would barge in and be traumatized seeing their sister’s corpse. I could put some note on the door, but someone would eventually be curious and open the door. I imagine it’s not investigated and cleaned if it’s a suicide so I’m doing that. I might have to wait until I get my own place and then I can get found by someone who didn’t know me as personally. I try looking it up but it’s all bridges and jumping and drowning sounds like the worst way to go out. I heard your lungs filling with water is extremely painful.

I want this to be over and I want to be quick/painless.

Crushed Compliments and The Uglies Eliminated From Art

Two random little rants I wanted to throw out tonight, even though I have to wake up at 6:30.

The other day while I was working I had a woman come in and say “You look great today!” So I smiled and said thanks. So what do you think her reply was to that? “See, everyone needs a compliment, it makes everyone happier!” To which she then walked off and I could hear her say the same thing to everyone in the store. You could say “Ok, why are you bitching about this? Someone is just positive and trying to brighten your day.” and yes, I do think she was trying to make other people happy but it just makes me feel like shit. There’s nothing wrong with complimenting people, but what’s the fucking point of telling me that you’re just doing it to make me happy and not because it’s genuine compliment? It feels like when someone says “You’re pretty- pretty fucking ugly.”

1. It feels like you’re immediately taking the compliment back and you don’t really mean it. Like you don’t actually think I look good, you’re just doing for-

2. You’re basically pointing a big red sign that says “I’m a good person! Please compliment how good of a person I am! I even compliment people who look like shit! See, I don’t look down on the hideous dregs of society!”

I know I might reading too deep into it but it just feels like shit knowing that one of the few compliments I get is just to fulfill this Bitch’s ego trip.

Why does it feel like there can never be ugly or average looking people in a movie? Anytime there’s the “ugly” girl that everyone bullies and beats on, the second she takes off her glasses she’s a fucking goddess. Anytime there’s a fat person it can’t actually be played by a fat person (unless they’re played by a fat, blonde, unfunny comedian where the whole joke is they’re fat/unfunny) it’s always played by someone who’s fucking stunning and throws on a fat-suit which results in getting a billion fucking awards for daring to play such a challenging role. The few movies I’ve seen that are newer and actually have ugly/fat people are indie movies that have to turn into some body horror thing. Like “Eww, look at this fat disgusting fucking pig walking around and living a normal life. Don’t you hate her? Good! We’ll kill her off!” Everywhere you fucking turn it’s just a fucking slaughter to anyone who doesn’t look exactly how you fucking want. I feel bad watching movies with my mom because through the entire thing she’ll point out some minor detail about someone that I wouldn’t even notice “Her eyebrows are too big, her nose is too big, ugh she’s so fat for this character, she looks so old.” I imagine if I weren’t her daughter she’d do the same to me too, despite looking exactly the same way she did in high school but 50 pounds fatter.

Title-less

I thought I had finally found a job that I was good at something, or found a place on life where I didn’t hate myself or hate what I was doing. But life always has to always kick you in the fucking face when you find any last bit of hope.

I got promoted recently which made me feel like I was actually doing something right with my life. Like what I’d heard my whole life from people who didn’t pity me wasn’t always true. I’m just fucking useless and can’t get a damn thing right. It doesn’t matter what I do I always have to fuck it up in some astronomical way and prove that I’m just fucking any king bimbo with no looks. A complete fucking moron that’s barely capable of putting a sentence together let alone bumbling through any fucking task put in front of her. Why would you do that, _____? Do you not have any common sense? Why’d it take you so long to do this, _____? Are you fucking lazy or stupid? Or both? Why can’t you just get it right like 90% of the fucking population? Why are so fucking sense? Why are you so fucking incompetent in every fucking way imaginable? Can you go one day without disappointing your parents or lying to them every day so they don’t lose every last hope they had for their fucking failure of a daughter? How have your little sisters done more than you when you’re fucking 21?!

People keep quitting left and right. I only wanted to stay for a little while until I could put on my resume that I had manager experience then I could just get an easier job. Today I fucked up again and it was a mess and confusing and I didn’t know what was going on yet it was my fucking fault. Then one of the cashiers quit and I had to take up for her. There’s like five people left working here including me. Two above me and two below. I don’t want to keep working here cause I know it’s gonna be ten times more work, ten times more stress, and more failure to come. I don’t want to keep working but the idea of trying to find another job sounds terrifying going through the process again. I pretty much walked in and got this one. Being nice to customers and actually trying to do my job was pretty much the only reason I got promoted. Stay on the sinking ship or jump into the water below?

And tonight before we left we were doing a bag check. My manager (I have two and this is the one that doesn’t hate me) has been saying more questionable stuff that I’ve just been ignoring until tonight’s bag check when she said “You’re the girl who eats more crap than I’ve ever seen.” And at the time I just laughed it off but it fucking hit like a fucking truck. Yes, I will admit I buy a lot of shit, and I don’t eat in a healthy way but it still felt insulting. I just hate acknowledging what I eat or what I look like because even thinking of it makes me want to blow my fucking head off the second I get access to any firearms. I hate knowing that no matter how nice I am, no matter how hard I work, no matter how much I try to be a good person or what society wants from me I have and will always be seen as that fat stupid bitch. I hate looking in mirrors because I don’t want to see who I actually am. When I’m at work I can just pretend I’m average enough not to be acknowledged or at least seen as an equal individual to anyone else. But every morning and every night I have to go home and see that fucking double chin and lay down on my bed and mentally picture my repulsive self. What’s the point in trying? What’s the point in hoping eventually everything will just work out and all those romcom movie tropes will come true and I won’t just die a lonely loser? What’s the point in continuing if you genuinely have nothing to live and hope for? I don’t want kids. I don’t have some kind of dream job really. I don’t have places I wanna go or things I wanna do. I just want to melt away into the fabric of reality and disappear.

I Almost Saw Her

Just when I had nearly forgotten her, she had to remind me. I went to work and tried to seem as much like a normal person as I usually would, but near the beginning of my shift I felt like a caught sight of her. I scanned this couple who had two girls standing behind them talking. I didn’t see much of the second girl but I could see the first. Just another one of those cute normal girls that was here for vacation, living a normal happy life like anyone else. I put on a fake smile as they thanked me for my “great service” and they turned to walk out the door. And there I saw her. It wasn’t Rosie, but she was somewhat close. Rosie had shoulder-length dark red hair and glasses, while this girl had long brown hair pulled back into a ponytail and no glasses. Their faces were completely different but I could just feel her same presence. I don’t know whether it was her or not. This can’t actually be Rosie from my dream if I’ve never seen this girl and her family before, and if she didn’t really look like her. Maybe I’m just so desperate to see her again that I just insert her on to any girl that looks slightly similar.

I want to see Rosie again. My heart hurts to think about her. What will I do if I do actually see someone who really looks like her? I felt like it was fate just barely seeing someone like her. Will I become just another stalker on one of those shit true crime shows because I can’t stop thinking about her?

What if I see her and she does remember me? If I find her will she even register me as even human? I highly doubt someone would dream of some fat, pasty loser working at a dollar store, and if they did they’d rather take to their grave than want to pursue it.

Would she try to find me? Would she see me as perfect as I see her? Am I going to spend the rest of my life trying to hunt her down? What if she’s just a spirit trying to tell me to finally get it over with and be rewarded with companionship?

I didn’t see Rosie, and I’m sure I never will, though the broken soul always makes you keep fighting for stupid things like this.

Rosie please find me.

I haven’t been able to write any posts on my phone recently because I cracked the screen and I just LOVE when companies need to actively fuck up older equipment to force you to buy new phones and shit. I’ve had this phone since my 16th birthday, so yes it might be old but it worked fine for half a year after cracking the bastard. It started with not being able to type specifically the letter E but then it spread across half the fucking keyboard so I can’t type E, D, S, R, X, or C. I have to use the fucking voice command for goddamn everything on it now and it makes doing anything a four fucking hour process. I feel even more lonely than usual because I can’t even go on the discord chat with my two only online friends. 

Anyway, I don’t know what I’ve posted about and I what I haven’t so I’m just going to bitch about everything in order of what I remember not posting.

I spent nearly two months meticulously planning on going to a pride street fair with the cute girl at the front desk and surprisingly she said yes. So over the course of a few weeks I would show up pretty much every day I could find out she was there and ask if everything was still good to go on the meetup. I was so excited, I finally felt like I was worthy, like I finally had a friend or that I wasn’t a complete waste of human meat for once in my pathetic ass life. So, after everything was planned out down to the last detail I showed up the day before we were supposed to go to make sure we were still good... and that’s when reality had to prove to me that no matter what I did I am not destined to have even a fleeting day of happiness. 

She told me that she might not be able to go because of last minute car trouble and just remembering that tomorrow was her mother’s birthday. She said she try to work it out and text me early in the morning the next day. Now, I can understand the car trouble but who the hell forgets their mom’s birthday until literally the day before? SHE LIVES WITH HER MOM. I’m not good with dates either but it all came off as kind of flakey. She did seem genuinely sorry that she couldn’t go but it still had this underlying feeling of “Oh thank god I don’t actually to spend a fucking whole day with you.” I tried to smile and pretend it was alright but when I got home I just fucking broke down. Of course this had to happen. I try to reach out and make a connection, try to make myself not feel like a complete fucking social outcast from people my own age and this is what happens of fucking course. But I still got up and got ready the next day, still grasping to the pathetic delusion that even in the last second something might fucking go right. I called off work two months ahead of time. I planned all this out. This piece of shit event had to be at least somewhat fair to me right?

She said she couldn’t go. So my parents offered to drop me off so I could go by myself. And boy, is it really fun to look around and see all the happy fucking couples and people having fun with their friends while I’m creeping around trying to pretend I’m on the same social level as all these people. I was overwhelmed at first but got used to it, and anytime I got near anyone who wasn’t trying to sell me some stupid shit I was looked at either like I was a hideous sweating fucking pig parading herself around for all to see at the church picnic or like I was some creepy dude in his forties trying to sniff girl’s hair. I bought some earrings and hung out, but it just was a subtle reminder that I’m not like other girls of my age. I’m not getting a partner, going out to events, and figuring out how I want to make a difference in this shit world- I am an ugly repulsive wall of blubber leeching off of her parents and drowning her self-pity in children’s media and whatever shit I can shove down my fucking throat. 

I felt a bit better afterwards because my dad asked me to go with my family to this restaurant to meet this family that goes to my little sister’s dance studio. He particularly wanted me to go because he said the dad was annoying and said all this shit about how shitty and rude LGBT people are for whatever reason and how he’d “beat the shit out of them if they ever tried that shit on him.” So I of course was like “Yes, I would love to.”

Which, nothing was more funny than when I walked in, wearing a rainbow shirt, rainbow hat, rainbow scrunchie, and asexual/gay pride bracelets and just saw him nervously look me up and down. I noticed he tried to avoid any conversation whatsoever with me, and how any time my dad would say anything about me he’d look away. It was even more fun to give his daughter (who was really sweet btw) a pink bottle of bubbles that I got from the pride street fair. 

That happened a while ago, but why did I particularly want to make a post today? Well it was a bit of a story.

I just remember seeing a cute redhead with glasses and knowing I had to talk to her. We spent all night talking and though she was a bit more of a hipster than my kind of style, it was like we were meant for each other. I couldn’t look away when she was in the room and the hours we spent together felt like seconds. At the very end of it all we sat at the foot of my bed, holding hands, and we leaned in towards each other and... I woke up. 

It was all a dream. All a fucking dream. She felt like the greatest thing to happen to me. It felt so real. When I woke up I genuinely thought we were going to spend another day together. Until I realized that I need to turn off my alarm and go to work. She never existed. I was never even slightly appealing to even the lowest common denominator, let alone someone like her who felt like she was ripped right from a movie... which I mean basically she was. I kept trying to think about her, but more and more details were slipping away. I couldn’t remember her name. I didn’t know how we met. Yet, I couldn’t feel sad because I could still feel her warmth on me, her cold hands. The feeling she left within me. Even when I knew she wasn’t real I couldn’t stop smiling. Even now I can’t even process that she doesn’t exist. I’d rather believe her to be dead than to think we never crossed paths. She made me feel like I was the most special person in the world. That every tiny detail of this fucking shithole world isn’t built just to make us suffer. She made not even question that life was worth living, that every horrible thing that happened was worth it as long as we had this moment to be together.  I can’t even think of other people now, all I can think of is her. I miss her, yet she’ll never come home.

I heard this story on one of the thousand Youtube videos I watch everyday where this guy got knocked out and lived an entire life with having a wife and two kids until he noticed that this lamp didn’t look right and he eventually realized everything in his past seven years of life was fake. He went through a deep depression knowing that his family never existed. I wouldn’t say mine is anywhere near as extreme but, I can’t help feel like I actually spent that day with her. I still feel that comfort she left me with like everything in the world was alright. I’ve never felt like this with anyone else, and now I’m scared I’ll never feel it again. But this is still not why I made this post.

I tried to ignore it for the rest of the day and about ten minutes before I got off of work I had nearly forgotten, when this group of three girls came up to checkout. They had streamers, plates, table covers, regular stuff for a party so I asked what kind of party it was for. They said “Oh, we’re just grabbing a few things to surprise our friend for her 21st birthday we’re gonna take her out!” and something in me just cracked because all I could say was “Oh that’s great.” and try to check them out as fast as possible. These girls in front of me were 21. These cute girls having the time of their lives on the beach with their friends is what the average girl would be doing at this point in their lives. So what am I doing? Obsessing over a girl I had to dream up to cope with a lack of affection and attention. Working at a fucking dollar store. Still no college classes. Living with my parents. Still not a fucking clue what to do with my life besides wallow and cry over the fucking waifu I never had. Guess my fucking neckbeard status is complete. I’m fucking sitting in my bedroom, typing for nearly an hour and a half now, full on fucking weeping because I’m fucking pathetic and so goddamn irredeemable in every fucking way that I’m dreaming of girls. It’s so fucking fun to be idealistic and want to hope that things will get better and that all people deserve love and all that hippie shit but I just have to face it. “Certain girls are meant to be alone” 

Why can’t I build an endless dream where I can be confident? Where I can have her, and she can have me? Where I can finally be happy and not just questioned why I too lazy and too much of a pussy to just fucking do it already? I’m an atheist, but I’d rather take my chances in possibly finding an afterlife with her than staying here for another forty years until I die of a heart attack from eating myself to death and reluctantly marrying some shitbag abusive stain of goddamn man because I think I have no other fucking option. I’d rather die now just to have the chance to see her again than suffer a slow miserable death that the average hideous woman calls a life. Give me strength to take me there. Give me just one last moment with her again. I can’t do this anymore.

Do You Have Kids?

I just thought of this from the other day, so maybe I should’ve just put this on the other post but fuck it.

I like to have fun with the kids at bat are in line when I’m working. Even if I don’t want kids, it’s nice to give them a sucker or see them smile because I feel like I relate to them more than people my age. Especially with all the borderline model looking girls with their gaggle of friends like it’s a fucking 2010s pop music video. So anyway, I do my usual joke shit with the kid and this older woman in line behind him smiles and says “You’re so good with children, do you have kids of your own?”

I know she had good intentions, and it was meant to be a compliment but it fucking stung like she came up and called me a fat fucking pig. Any time I’m a little happy I gotta get fucking shot down like- alright well I can’t come up with anything that wouldn’t be a shitstorm and a half from Twitter so I’ll just let you fill in the blanks. Thanks for fucking reminding me that no matter how good I treat people, no matter how much good I try to put into the world or at least try to cheer myself up during work that I will always always be fucking ugly and look older than I am. I already feel disconnected from my generation as it is, how fun does it fucking feel also that no one can tell you’re 20? And yes I know some people have kids early but FUCKING 20?!

My fucking combination of having dark circles under my eyes, pale skin, deep voice and y’know being a fatass makes me seem like I’m older. I already know I’m ugly, but knowing that anyone around my age doesn’t see me as an equal fucking hurts.

Any dating site, any fucking person who I could connect with instantly sees me as an adult. I know, 20 is an adult, but I feel like I’m already missing out on something other people aren’t yet…

There’s never any fucking benefit of looking older for me. Fuck alcohol. Fuck cigarettes. Fuck any of that fucking bullshit. There’s not a goddamn motherfucking cocksucking thing on this goddamn earth that is positive for me that comes with being fucking ugly and looking old. I thought maybe it’s just because I’m always with my sisters and a mom and daughter are more common to see than two sisters- but fucking no. No goddamn fucking fucks goddamn motherfucking shit doubts about this fucking thing! I’M FUCKING UGLY. Nowadays, you think someone my age would see the ugly fucking hog with high maintenance and choose them over literally goddamn anyone else?! GOD I FUCKING WANT TO DRILL A FUCKING HOLE IN MY GODDAMN MY FUCKING SKULL THERE’S NO FUCKING REASON IN LIVING IF YOURE GOING TO SUFFER EVERH FUCKING DAY TO THE BITTER END IF YOURE FUCKING UGLY JUST FUCKING KILL YOURSELF BECAUSE LIFE DOESNT GET FUCKING BETTER. GOD FUCKING HATE YOU. OF COURSE YOUR FUCKING MOM TOOK A SJOT LOAD OF TYLENOL FURING HER FUCKING PREGANNCY YOU FAT GODDAMN RETAR I CANT FUCKING DO THIS ANYMORE

Ooh did I forget to mention? My mom took only and I mean only Tylenol during pregnancy. So I guess all those fucking bitches in Culinary were fucking right. Fucking ADHD and possible Autism! FUCKING AMAZING FUCKING GODDAMN MOTHERFUCKING AMAZING

Self-Deprecating Talk

At night when I slunk off to my room to hide away from my family and sink deeper into my negativity and self-hatred, I get sucked into a hole of “mental-health videos”. Well, I call them “mental-health videos” but they’re only based on psychology advice, with the channel that I watch for them always having a disclaimer so they don’t get sued or something.

So anyway, I’ll get caught in a loop of watching videos that are essentially “Don’t kill yourself! You’re valid, you matter, you have good qualities- you get the gist. Where most of the time I just end up feeling worse because I’m pathetic and using strangers on the internet and their feigned sympathy for someone they don’t know. Though the one I saw tonight got me in the mood to complain.

It was a video titled something “Red Flags you shouldn’t ignore in yourself” and one of the ones it mentions is Self-Deprecating Talk, saying that it’s one of the lead causes of depression and leads to you not seeking your full potential. This one just got under my skin for some reason. While yes, I should definitely be more positive or try to not hate myself as much- I feel like my self-deprecation still has it’s place.

There are many moments in my life where I have faced rejection or complete loss of what little important people in my life. Sure, I’ve always been more introverted, but it feels like anytime I’ve tried to reach out for something new or try to cry out to others I’m met with rejection. So while yes, that same self-deprecation May hold me back from opportunities, it has helped in many instances.

I’ll drown myself in deprecation before even daring to venture into new territory until I can eventually beat it down just enough to build up some confidence and try to execute something with it… only for that to come crumbling down on top of me and hurt me worse. My deprecation does not protect me from rejection or failure, but it lessens the blow. So it goes from “How could this have possibly happened? My life is over. Everything I’ve done is a waste.” It turns into a slightly more softer “I should have expected this. People are assholes, you’re unappealing to the masses, so therefore I shouldn’t have put my trust into succeeding in the first place.”

It’s a loop that feeds itself, but that slight sting after the rejection feels much better than having everything I’ve looked forward to crushed and proving that my confidence is useless. If I set myself up to succeed, I fail and I sink deeper into depression, falling another step behind my peers and what I’m expected to be. If I set myself up knowing that failure is inevitable, then I won’t be disappointed when I’m proven right.

On an unrelated note, I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but I managed to set up a hangout with the girl at the front desk. I planned out everything for us to go to Pride Parade Street Fair later this month. I wanted to go over and talk ti her today because her phone’s broken right now, but she wasn’t there today. Fine.

I got home and my father said he talked to the people at the front desk and when he asked the one guy that was there that night if he was the only one working tonight he said “No, but she’s been out with her kid at the pool all day.” While yes, I don’t go to the front desk often, from what my family says they have not hired any new employees to work. I know everyone who works at that front desk and from what I remember there’s only three girls that are fairly young, only a few years older than me at the oldest. So there’s a chance… the cute girl at the front desk has a kid. Now, I’m still going to spend the day at the Street fair with her (especially with all the planning and meticulously counting down the days), I’m not going to be a bitch and treat her like a sewer rat for having a kid- but I just keep thinking that I’m even farther behind the rest of my peers. Even though I do not want kids, it just haunts me knowing that people are getting married and having kids at my age while I’m working at a dollar store and clawing myself apart from the insides. Do I want to get married or have kids right now? Definitely not. Though knowing that you can’t even barely manage to make friends or connect with others that should be your peers while others are finding the love of their life and figuring things out when I’m shivering like a fucking dying baby deer in the corner because I can’t get closer to others without some shit going wrong.

It doesn’t help that with my recent work schedule I just feel like I’m doing nothing with my life besides working or spending my fucking money. I only get paid every two weeks so that shit’s gone even if I try not to spend anything. My schedule is shifting to pretty much earliest possible shift. I wake up, scramble around trying to get everything done and ready when every tiny thing going wrong feels like I’m going to instantly be fired for being late. Then I stay for an extra hour doing basically fucking nothing but getting food to shove in my face and distract myself from my shit existence. Go home, lock myself in my room for hours because I’m mentally and physically exhausted that I don’t feel like doing anything else. Eat. Go to room. Stare at phone until I freak out about having to wake up at the ass crack of Dawn the next day. Try to fall asleep for two hours. Wake up with 3-5 hours slept, feel like shit and barely do anything without chugging caffeine or yawning constantly. Repeat.

Look at me bitching about my stupid ass problems when I know I’m going to die alone. It’s already damn near impossible to find other gay women, let alone ones who don’t want sex and can deal with me not finding them or anyone sexually appealing, and that’s not mentioning they have to deal with my shit personality- if they can even dig that out of the “customer-service-friendly” persona I gotta throw on to pretend I’m a normal social butterfly and not a fat fucking loser who hides in her obsession of the week to distract from how much I fucking hate myself.

I guess they did have a point with the self-deprecating talk though. Oh well, guess that’s even more advice that I’ll continue ignore in favor of wallowing in self-pity.

I Can’t Stop Smiling

My dad said there’s a two bedroom apartment around here that was cheap, so I replied with that I couldn’t afford it. He said he could but he needed to find a three bedroom house unfortunately and laughed. He and mom left, telling me to clean while they were gone. So I started washing dishes and I just couldn’t shake that comment. It was just a joke but I know it has a little hint of truth in there. They want me fucking gone. I’m a leech and an embarrassment. Why couldn’t I be a normal fucking human? Why can’t I find something to do in my life? Why can’t I lose some fucking weight? Why will I die alone when there’s much bigger assholes out there that find love every fucking day and make it their goal to rub their joy in everyone’s faces?

My sister asked to play a game with me and I guess I didn’t realize I was mad until I snapped back “Maybe later.” She asked me what was wrong and why I was angry but I honestly couldn’t think of why I was.

Why can’t I fucking move out and function like every other fucking human when I’ve been given every opportunity in the world?

I went to take a shower and I have no fucking clue how people can cry in the shower cause water kept getting in my eyes. Why can’t I be normal? Why can’t I be an average weight? Why can’t I have a better personality? Why can’t I be a good person instead of doing everything out of guilt? Why can’t-

And it dawned on me. I’m cursed. I can have the perfect childhood, I can have a loving family, I can be the best person I can be- but I’m fucking cursed. I will never get better. I will never have a life I’m happy with. I’ll never achieve anything or accept myself.

I am destined to a dead end job, living with my parents, and dying alone. Everything I didn’t want to be.

So I started smiling. Laughing at what I had become, and where I would end up. It was like the most hilarious thing I’d ever fucking thought of because I couldn’t stop laughing and smiling and crying.

No ring yet? Fucking hilarious. I look fucking ancient and I’m only 20, plus I’m painfully lonely.

I’ll never move out because I never have the money to do so and my family’s the only people I have left in life? Comedy gold.

I still have that sticky-note ring? That’s the closest to a true relationship I’ll ever get and that hetero is probably gagging having to think of me? Priceless.

I couldn’t stop cracking up and I can’t stop laughing now. I’ve finally fucking cracked, this fucking pathetic fat whore is finally off the deep end!

I’m living in hell, just bad to mentally destroy me, but not too bad so that I notice.

I’m living in hell I’m living in hell I’m living in hell and it’s fucking hilarious, the greatest comedy of all is tragedy after all!

Ability

My grandpa always told me- well actually thinking about it he only told me once and every other time was my parents repeating it- that everyone is given 100 points in life. Everyone has a different distribution of said points. Some people are better at athletic things, some at creative ventures, some are best at making other people happy and being kind to others.

I broke down crying on a bike ride and apologized to my dad for being such a disappointment and he told me that I wasn’t a disappointment. He said he didn’t expect me to like or be good at the same things as him, and told me that same saying.

I want to believe it, and I don’t want to act like I know better than them… but that’s an idealistic way to think about it. Of 8 Billion people in the world, of all the possibilities, some people *have* to be incapable.

They said I might be best at being kind and making other people happy. But I can’t honestly believe that. I’m not kind. I don’t do most of my kind acts out of the goodness of my heart. I’ve done it out of guilt. Guilt that I wasn’t doing good enough, that I wasn’t sacrificing enough. Guilt that I didn’t deserve other people, that I wasn’t doing enough to earn them or that I needed to pay them back.

Most of my friendships when I was younger were long-term but more like a leech. I’d leech off of one person for a few years until they saw no further use for me. So I took that as me needing to make up for my presence, apologize and gift as thanks for tolerating me. Having a friend who didn’t care about you besides what you could do for them didn’t matter as long as you weren’t alone. Kids are shit, but I’ve just never let go. Because it didn’t just happen once, it happened with every friend or friend group I had until now where I’m just alone and distance myself from others so they can’t continue the cycle.

Where was I? Oh yeah- I’ve never had any talent or ambition for really anything, and being lazy is a sin now. You can’t change yourself to be less lazy. Actually, I don’t even know if I’m lazy or not. I just physically can’t do anything that requires any more focus or brain power than a five year old. I can’t look at a screen and just get something like a normal person. I can’t understand what’s in front of me unless it’s been explained as simply as possible fifteen times over. I don’t know what to say. I can’t think in terms of anything that isn’t on my level which feels like it drops lower and lower every day. Even these blog posts I feel like I’m slowly getting worse at. Barely any grammar anymore, more typos, more missing words, more swearing because I can’t think of anything else. My brain is fried and I always feel so stupid compared to everyone else. I have to work so hard to think even half the equivalent of a normal person.

I might have 100 points, but I imagine those are all in something that’s completely useless or I’m too lazy to use it effectively.

Aesthetic

I’ve always had this fascination with wanting to find my own aesthetic. I’ve adored goth fashion but I can never get into it because I picture myself in the accessories and want to puke. I’d look so fucking ugly and those tights would accentuate every inch of my fat. So much of aesthetic feels like it’s reserved for people that are attractive. Sorry honey, you’re too fat, go back to blending into the background and praying people don’t sneer when they look at you.

I actually bought some black tights to wear and after forever of getting them on I just glanced at the mirror and saw a fucking moron standing in front of me. My legs are short as hell compared to my torso so I look like a fucking fool. Just another reminder of why I shouldn’t ever fucking try.

Anyway, I’ve always wanted to find an aesthetic for myself. Goth just looks so beautiful and I’m captivated by anyone wearing it that I can’t help but stare. Those all-pastel-pink moodboards are so enchanting that I could sucked into a vortex of just admiring them all day. Watching complications of nostalgic 2000s things or liminal spaces just transports me to somewhere where I can just indulge in the memories and in the visuals.

So I decided to go through the A-Z aesthetic list on the aesthetic fandom wiki. I got about to F before giving up. I found one that kind of suits me, but even then not really. Each one I read through, each image, each description just showed me that I don’t fit in with anyone. Not in the cliché “cute girl-next-door YA protag that doesn’t fit in but is the chosen one and actually really cool” kind of way. Like I’m just fucking boring. No personality. Which is true. That’s something your mom will never tell you, because it’s easy to go your entire life knowing someone and it’s easy for you to spend your life never realizing you’ve got fucking nothing going on because no one truly fucking pays attention to your personality as long as it’s not completely shitty.

All of the aesthetics I felt kind of fit me or that I liked didn’t truly fit me. Being goth isn’t about being depressed and liking the color black or an all Halloween-esque ideal, being goth is about rebellion. It’s about fighting against “the man.” Patriarchy, society, upper-class, whatever the fuck you wanna say it is. What am I rebelling against? Nothing. I’m a fucking spineless loser whose had her entire life handed to her by her parents who actually worked hard to give her a life they didn’t have- only for her to stab them in the back and be a useless fucking waste of space. I profit from everything goth rebels against. So therefore, I’m a Mall-Goth. Only liking the outer appearance of things and not knowing the true depth.

I thought maybe something relating to Japanese or anime aesthetics might work, but again- I’m just a fucking weeaboo. I don’t know shit about the culture, I just mock it by being fat and ugly and using it as an escape from real life.

Nostalgia-related perhaps? Nope. Based mostly on regressing to escape from trauma or coping with the present. What the fuck do I need to goddamn cope with? I don’t have trauma. I wasn’t abused. I had shit friends and made shit decisions. A normal fucking childhood.

So what was the aesthetic that I found somewhat captured me?

Femcel Weeaboo, and Mall-Goths. So I guess I lied. But originally I only really looked into Femcel. Which hit the nail on the head, but the mood felt wrong. As bitchy and sad as I am on this blog, I’d say it’s only the most negative aspects and moments of me. The majority of my life I’m a bot on autopilot. Not happy, not sad. Existing. Not thinking about the consequences of my actions or trying to improve myself, or even being proud of myself. Just fucking there. So that’s where the Mall-Goths come in. Where I don’t give enough of a shit about anything to pick a side and just end up being a fucking poser.

I’m too much of a normie to fit into these groups I’ve always aspired to be in and modeled my entire view of fashion and beauty after, but I’m too fucking weird and niche (and fat/ugly) to be accepted by normies. Too fucking self-aware to be something, but too oblivious to not be.

Aesthetic is just fucking concepts to shove beauty into certain boxes while still shoving out anyone they don’t agree with or looks how they want.

Fat and Miserable or Attractive and Miserable?

I just get so tired feeling this fucking gut all the time. I hate having to wear extra large clothes and having the same size as my dad. I hate not being able to wear anything I think looks attractive and always restricting myself. I hate people looking at me like I’m carrying the plague. I hate no matter what I do I always hate myself. So I decided to start following pro-ano blogs and tags.

I want to change, but I always relapse and none of my work ever fucking matters. 221 lbs and 207 lbs looks the exact fucking same even though it took months to lose. I’d have to lose half my fucking body weight for anyone to ever acknowledge me, and it doesn’t help how my family feels ashamed of how fucking ugly I turned out.

I thought it could help with some motivation to lose weight or at least not binge eat constantly. But I realized something-

Either I’ll stay fat and miserable because I’m hideous, have no confidence or self-love, and everyone is repulsed by me.

Or I’ll be thin/cute (or probably still ugly) and miserable because I can’t enjoy the foods I loved anymore, everyday will be a constant fight against myself so I’ll never be happy when it comes to food, constant restraint and willpower otherwise I’ll relapse again. Plus I don’t know what kind of person I’ll become. I don’t want to end up a vain slut who cares about nothing but her appearance (even though I already do.)

Either way I’ll be miserable. You can’t build self-confidence if your entire life was built on what you could provide to others. If every friendship you had was shattered because they didn’t “need” you anymore. If in every friend group you were the “ugly/fat one” to make everyone else look better.

I’m doomed to absolutes. Either way I’ll be miserable and in a hole I can’t crawl out of.

I Still Have That Sticky Note Ring

I don’t believe I told this story while I was on my last two weeks. Or maybe I did and I accidentally posted it on a different one of my Tumblr blogs. Really pray I didn’t. Anyway, I went straight to Reddit or some other site to ask about it because I was just so happy I was about to cry. So here’s the story:

Back on my last two weeks of work for my last job I was about to clock out and I noticed the cute girl I had a crush on was working the front desk that day. I don’t know how we got to the topic, but she mentioned she left her snacks at home, Swedish fish and cool ranch Doritos. So I offered to walk over and get her some from the Walgreen’s across the road. She said I shouldn’t because she jokingly said she would propose to me right there. So of course I did it. It was raining so I took the umbrella from there and came home because I left my card at home. I grabbed it and said I left my phone back at work so my parents wouldn’t question why I popped back in and out. I grabbed one of our umbrellas so I didn’t owe my work an umbrella. I walked over to Walgreen’s and bought her the candy/chips and a Vanilla Coke because of something she said while we talking about how she wanted one (she didn’t ask me) and I got a Fanta to give to the other guy working at the front desk so it didn’t seem as suspicious. I waited a while at Walgreen’s because apparently half of the neighborhood’s power was out including the Walgreen’s so I had to wait a while to check out. I came back and she squealed and hugged me before saying “Wait, now I have to do it-“ and rushing to fold a little yellow post-it note ring for me. She got on one knee and I said yes, trying to make it perfectly on the borderline so it wasn’t obvious I liked her but not enough so that it made it seem like I only wanted to be friends. She hugged me again and I was red as hell. I walked back home with the ring on and was grinning all damn day looking over at it.

I still have that sticky-note ring. It feels so bittersweet to look at it now. I mean you could just say it’s a symbol of friendship, but I always take it as a reminder of what will never be. Keeping what was just a joke so long and treasuring it like it was a sign of something. I know that that’s the best I’ll ever get. The peak. With someone like me that’ll end up in a loveless marriage with someone that’ll cheat on me and rape me damn near every night because I don’t fit what normal people want. The life I want is unachievable. I don’t deserve it. I’m not worthy of it. I’ll never work hard enough for it. It’s nice but it hurts to think about. So fucking pathetic. Do you think normal people keep shit like this?

Giving Up Would Be So Much Easier

Recently I’ve kind of let myself go. Not entirely but a lot compared to when I was working. I’m out of diet pills and the ones my parents use I’m not allowed to use because they’re too strong apparently. I’ve pretty much given up trying to make better health choices because even though for a millisecond I feel better and think I’m doing better the second I eat said food or go without and watch someone else eat it I feel like shit. The food tastes bad and my heart sinks seeing how some people can do minimal exercise and have a worse diet than me and still be thinner than me. I hate seeing myself naked. Why do I have to have two big mirrors in my room to constantly remind me of how other people see me? I’ve stopped using my acne wash for a while because it seemed like it stopped working and now my face is fucking covered. My shampoo and conditioner isn’t fucking working anymore and it just makes my hair feel like straw and it makes me look like I haven’t showered in a month when I fucking showered yesterday. My mom and dad keep telling me about housekeeping jobs around us and I know I don’t want to go back if it’s going to be as shitty and extremely nit-picky as my last job. Stressed if I’m working, stressed if I’m not. I’m running out of money. Well I guess not, because I have around $640. Which is more than usual. But I have a limit to not spend anything once I hit $500. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I’m just lonely but I’ve realized more than my previous reasons why I at least won’t be getting a partner for the next ten years maybe. I don’t have a job. I can’t drive. I barely go out. I don’t pay or do my own taxes. I have damn near any practical skills. I have no talent. I don’t have my life figured out and I don’t know what to do with my life. I don’t dress well. I look old. I have no ambition. I can’t find someone that’s like me, or someone who can fulfill all of the normal human shit and actually want to be with me.

I just feel like giving up on my life would be so much easier. I hate hating myself over what I eat or being miserable when I eat. I hate feeling like a burden. I hate feeling like I need to win everyone’s approval when I know damn well I’ll never win anyone’s. I hate being self-conscious about every tiny thing. I hate not being able to talk to people, or feeling like I need to talk to them. I hate not being able to take any bit of criticism or negativity. I hate feeling like a loser. I hate hating my own hobbies and feeling ashamed for everything I love. I hate that I cry so fucking ugly. I hate that I can’t accept myself in any way. I hate my appearance and how I never can reach the level I want because I’m fucking fat and ugly. I hate not being able to show weakness. I hate not being respected. I hate being seen as stupid. I hate that any of my criticism isn’t taken seriously, or it’s not good enough, or that I hate my own criticism and think it’s never good or worthwhile. I hate being so desperate and feeling like I need love. I hate saying that I have no friends. I hate feeling ashamed for every part of my body. I hate envying others so much that I wish they would suffer. I hate being terrified of the most stupid things. I hate being so naive and stupid and being taken advantage of. I hate how I’m 20 but I feel like I’m 12 or 30. I hate being seen as 12 or 30. I hate overthinking everything. I hate how I have to come crying to this blog because I feel like I can’t talk about any of this to anyone. I hate constantly hiding my feelings. I hate feeling like I’m not justified in feeling certain ways. I hate how I’m a narcissist. I hate living up to expectations that are bare fucking minimum. I hate how I have no original fucking opinions. I hate my past. I hate how I was a bully for two grades. I hate how I treated so many people that I’ll never have the guts to apologize to. I hate how every main friend or friend group I had growing up took advantage of me and always stabbed me in the back. I hate how I blame my problems on the past and not seeing that I am and was as much of a shithead as anyone else. I hate having to question whether people actually treated me like shit or it’s all secretly my fault. I hate how I feel every problem in my life spawned from when I was a kid and everyone called me weird or fat and made fun of me. I hate that I still look back at those memories and think it’s my fault they happened.

I’m inferior to everyone in every way, I’m a worse version of anyone else.

But everything would feel so much better if I could just let go. Just accept who I am or ignore it. That’s how plenty of shitheads and normal people live their lives. I could eat what I want. I could be happy. I could feel proud of myself and not blame myself for everything that’s ever happened.

My True Purpose

One of the fictional characters I used to be most curious about had an ideology that puzzled me for years, and always made me think “Oh he’s just crazy, and that’s not true. That’s just his warped sense of the world.” But thinking back on it, it’s absolutely true.

All people in this world fit into two groups. Those that have “it”, and those that do not. There are some people, the very minuscule percentage of the population that are destined to make something of their lives. It does not matter the circumstance, rich, poor, middle class- race, gender- none of it matters. Those are only surface level things that distract people from what really separates us. Many can have dreams, but less than one percent of the world can actually achieve those dreams. History aligns perfectly for them, even if it may seem they had to struggle and drag themselves to the finish line. These people have ambitions, talent, charisma, confidence, and that “essence” that makes them ascend higher. Then- although the rest can be grouped into one group- there’s truly two. The middle portion can accomplish some things but may have some minor flaws or circumstances that keep them from perfection.

Then the final group is what I fall into. It doesn’t matter if you were given every opportunity in your life, or can reach some short term meaningless goal- you are inherently worthless. You can be set up to be the first group, but you were destined for failure and a bundle of traits that equate to despair. I have no ambition despite an entire future ahead and worlds of possibilities, yet I yearn for nothing but to stay home and rot away. Intelligence that peaked in childhood and then dropped when it started to take actual effort. Unimaginable sloth for even the simplest tasks. No rhyme or reason for beliefs, just following the flock of sheep aimlessly. The same experiences as anyone, but nothing to show for it.

You are destined for nothing but mediocrity, if that. Your kindness doesn’t matter as it’s only a tool for you to be manipulated by superiors. Your millions of useless “hobbies” are nothing but wastes of money to distract from your miserable and pathetic existence. Your skills are nonexistent and you can never win against your peers, let alone rival them. Your intelligence is a lie you’ve been telling yourself for years because you took one online quiz and assumed you were above average. Humbleness is not a virtue, it’s the bare minimum and you act like a saint above sin. Your creativity is a mashup of all the same things you’ve seen before. Your personality is obnoxious and not worth anyone’s time. You mold yourself to everyone’s whim because you know nothing else and what’s left is this. You eat to escape your problems despite having none. You compare yourself to people leagues above you as thought you’re a prize to be won. You have standards that can never be met and will never be met as you’re the bottom of the barrel compared to even the dregs of society. You know nothing, you have no skills, you contribute nothing, you take and take and take and take until there’s nothing left and leave without an acknowledgement. Selfish, greedy, idiotic, obese, disappointing, self-loathing, awkward, useless, hideous, hair-falling out, disgusting, lazy, obsessive fucking lowlife. You don’t deserve to die because that’s just another escape from how much you’ve destroyed every chance ever given to you.

But as I was saying, certain people can succeed and others cannot. Others deserve and are destined to be happy, others not. The only chance people like me have is to bring about moments where the destined can shine. He had more of a philosophy about only those with talent being worthwhile, while I believe talent does not matter as talent is just a coincidence.