I am so tired of living for utterly random reasons. Waiting to see the next day, or moving from one high to the next. As much as I hate giving in to socially constructed behaviors, cutting is such a great release. They can't put you in jail because it's not drug use, but I swear it feels like it sometimes. Although if you're under 18 you can be sent to a place worse than hell, the psych ward. Just read my narrative on that subject to gain some terrifying insight.
Sometimes the scars on my arms bother other people and they get the nerve to ask me how I can live with that for the rest of my life. I reply that I don't understand how they could possibly live their entire life in the drab, beaten path that they've set themselves upon and seem content to die upon. To me that's far more disturbing than visual representation of my frustration and self-loathing.
I honestly don't see anything inherently good about life. There are brief moments when it is bearable but there's never anything lasting. When I questioned other people on the subject, they said that those moments are the only thing anyone really has and to treasure them. Is that really all there is to life? If so, then no wonder I'm depressed. I wonder why the hell everyone isn't. I really do appreciate life, but I guess when it comes to myself I'm too weak to live each day without a solid purpose. I mean everyone thinks I'm selfish, that I should be grateful that I'm not starving to death, that I have all this time to bellyache and write this long convoluted tangent.
Sometimes, it seems to me that it's just the same to be starving, dying, or in poverty as it is to be like this. The way I am now, I have no hope. I can't look forward to a better place because I've already received the best in this "free" country and I wasn't able to make anything out of it. So now I am doomed to a life filled with guilt at my failure to make myself happy. Everyone else seems to scrape by, so why I am so different? In the words of those I hate, why am I so special that I can't deal with anything? I don't know, and I never will.
I'll get up the nerve to kill myself someday and I'm positive that people will spit on my grave for wasting my precious gift of life. What a sad end to an even sadder life.