scar and his shapeshifting scars (brought to you by the fact that i cannot decide on how to draw them)

Do it dude venting makes you feel better

[warning: a lot of use of the f bomb in this, I also talk about self harm and a lot of depressing stuff :) I'm f*cking fine]

Ok I'm gonna vent. This isn't what this ask was originally telling me to vent about but hey, venting. And probably no one will read it but that's fine cause it isn't necessarily meant for anyone but me to read anyway.

Why is everything, every single thing, not as good as I hope. And why do I let myself hope, even when I know my hopes are far fetched and my expectations should be much lower.

Now, I know I've got a lot going for me. I have a good relationship with my family, though not super healthy, but fun. I have two good jobs, even if I fall asleep at one, and the other is so socially exhausting that I dread shifts a week before they happen. Yeah I'm overworking myself but I have things to show for it so that makes it kind of worth it. Sidenote though, I have discovered that the more consecutively I work for longer hours, the more of a bitch I become; I found myself hating people who I don't hate now that I've had some time to relax, I was so mad at everything and I wish I could apologize but I don't think people would get what I was trying to say.

Anyway, I don't have a lot to complain about apart from mental illness, trauma from grade school, and a lack of a love life. I feel bad for even being upset most of the time because I don't know what the hell I'm upset about. However, I'm not venting about that really, I'm going to vent about the fact that nothing ever fucking works out for me. Nothing has ever fucking worked out except for those things that I can't complain about. From an outside perspective it'd be: has a nice family, lives in a good home albeit messy, financially stable, good friends, physically healthy besides bad diet and little physical activity. That's great. It's great. But maybe the fucking reason I am not a hundredth as ambitious as my sisters is because not a single fucking one of my hopes has ever stuck.

When I was in elementary school, I made a little owl figurine in class. I was so proud of it, and I loved it, and I proceeded to show my mom and watch her throw it into the back of our family van to be crushed and forgotten, but not forgotten by me. When I was in middle school, my favorite magazine was looking for girls my age in my state to be in the next issue and my mom told me the deadline to enter was 2 months after what it was and I was heartbroken that I didn't even get to try, but I told my mom it was ok and that it wasn't that important anyway. I wanted to enter a drawing into a contest and when I showed my parents, they laughed at it because I'd misspelled a word, at that point it was in marker and too late to fix, so I didn't enter at all. I could go on forever about grade school ones, let's just say, I never won, and I never got on the fucking honor roll like my sisters, and I never got recognized for the things I was proud of, and I never got to leave the little box that my anxiety and family and school and world had put me in. So great. But I was a kiiiid, it's not like it really mattereddd! It's not like I was so scarred by my drawings being torn up in front of me that I became better at art just to get recognized and then have everyone think art was the only possible thing I could ever be successful in right? Or I was so insecure about my poor spelling that to this day I have to look up how to spell words that I already know how to spell to write something in my journal that no one will ever fucking read because "what it?" right? Right? I couldn't have been that influenced? And it definitely couldn't be more than just those two fucking things!

And it didn't get any fucking better after that. I went to a school with a major I don't want with no fucking plan and no idea what I was even doing there. I didn't want to be there At All. Only there because it's what my sisters did and what I was supposed to do. I failed every fucking one of my classes. Did fucking drugs. Got physically used by the person I liked. Got emotionally drained and used as a pack mule by one of my first roommates. Had to wake up every five fucking minutes on weekend nights for my next roommate so they wouldn't choke on their vomit in their sleep from getting too wasted. Dropped out before the semester even ended because it was either that or I'd be suspended for my fucking grades; which is a stupid fucking thing to do to a fucking kid, does any one person on the face of this Earth actually realize how much I was ready to throw myself out of my dorm window every night for an entire fucking month? And why did everyone try to brush it off when I wanted to talk about it? I digress.

Things were bleak, if I'm being honest, I don't think it's gotten any better, I've just gotten better at fucking dealing with it. I don't get a job until I was 18 and I didn't get my license until I was 20. Thing I wanted when I was 16, but couldn't get because not a single person of authority in my life believed in me :) and they'll say I was lazy, they'll say it was my anxiety holding me back, but then... Why didn't anyone help me? If I was that anxious, why didn't anyone help? If I was that lazy, why didn't any question why I had no motivation and no goals and no dreams? Because they wanted me to be independent? Well, I want my time back for all of it that was wasted growing up slowly only to learn that no one that is supposed to help is going to and the only people I could actually depend on are the people who depend on me just as much. I'm so tired of being the shut-in "artist" my mom wants me to be what I don't like art half as much as she wants me to. I'm tired of being the quirky daughter who just hasn't gotten her footing yet. I'm tired of my sisters thinking they are helping me by telling me to do everything they they would do in my situation because that's not me. I don't want to move to New York with you, I don't want to be a daycare provider my while life when I don't like little kids that much, and I certainly don't want to plan out my next 20 years of schooling to do something I will probably hate! I'm tired of being talked for by my family to everyone who wants to know what I'm doing. I'm not fucking fine. I'm managing. I'm not fucking losing it. I'm surviving. I thought I'd be dead by now in the serious sense and every hour I wonder why I haven't ending it already because I don't feel like I'm supposed to be here anymore. I feel like a waste of oxygen.

Ok it's been an hour since I started writing this and I have to work tomorrow. This started as me trying to say that I want my 21st birthday to be better than, my other birthdays, which won't even be hard to do, but I know it won't be a good birthday anyway.

Goodnight.