This totally fucking blows. Here I am
sitting in my aunt's apartment on Friday night hoping that someone
will call me so we can go out and I can forget for maybe a few hours
how sorry my situation is. I am having a really fucking hard time
with egolessness, with nonaggression, with anything that has to do
with loving kindness. I hate this. I hate this. I hate this. I
hate myself and I feel like I want to die. I want my old life back
with you. I want happiness back in my heart. I'm tired of crying,
tired of trying to get better. I am hanging on by a thread. For
Christ's sake I feel like I want somebody to just cut it. "Get
rid of me," I say. Throw me in a dumpster. I'm done.
Things that I want to ask you:
Was it worth it to you?
Is this what you were hoping for?
Things that I want to ask God:
Did Adrian die so that I may be exposed
as a wretched thing?
Was that the plan?
I was a child once. I've seen photos.
I had a little heart and little feet while everything around me was
big big big. Along the way I learned to yell, swear, cut myself, do
drugs, and break things. There were moments of hope. Things that
came in the forms of love, acceptance and approval. There were
moments when life felt good. You had your hand in that but you also
drove a stake through my heart.
I feel like an underdog sometimes.The
life of an underdog. Acceptance is always fleeting.
And you who loved me like no one ever
had. I was your world. You loved me. You saint. Of course you
die. Of course you die in my city, under my watch, in my care.
These are how the stories of underdogs go.
I know this is violent. I feel
violent. There is violence everywhere. I actively contribute to the
destruction of things. I live because I don't deserve to die. Here
is your tragic bride, cursed walker of the Earth, envious of your
freedom from me.
