I really should refrain, out of respect for my future self and my solitary follower, but writing can be cathartic, and that’s rather the point of this blog. I know that four years, ten years, fourteen years from now when I’m twenty, twenty-six, thirty this will all seem ridiculous, but right now I feel like I’ve reached the end of the world. So with all apologies to the parts of me and to others that I’m about to embarrass, I’m about to act my age.
I have ruined everything, poured my school career down the drain and it’s no-body’s fault but mine. I don’t see a future for myself, mostly because I have no interest in university but am obliged to go and have no chances of getting into anything beyond community-college. Ugly, fat, and unable to do anything to rectify my apparent situation, I am everything the modern woman is purportedly not supposed to be; I have no qualities to redeem me in this. I’m sick and tired of living in a world I do not like and cannot change. If there’s a light at the end of the tunnel, it’s too far away for me to glimpse. No-body understands me, or if there is anyone who does, they have yet to introduce themselves. I’m lonely, lonely, lonely, and have lost all hope that things will ever change.
People say the same things every time: it gets better, it gets better, it gets better. But I’ve heard those same words every step of the way and each time I think things are about to get better, they only get worse. I’ve tried everything I can think of and done all the things I’ve been told to do- none of it has worked. I’m spoiled rotten, and I know it. I have everything- everything- and yet I cannot help but feel that I have nothing, nothing but an emptiness deep inside of me I’ve been instructed to fill. Everyone has a different idea of what I can use to patch the hole, be it God, food, romance, sex, possessions, success or respect. None of it seems to fit just right. I waste money, time, energy only to come up more empty than I was before.
I’m tired. Physically, emotionally and mentally worn down like the stub of eraser on the back end of a pencil, the rocks by the edge of the sea. I can’t do it any more. Every bone that can be broken has been and something more is bound to break sometime. I’m tired. I’m done. I can’t keep fighting a battle I’ll never win and never lose. I can’t, can’t, cannot continue on. Somehow something must change, and soon.
I’ve waited my whole life for something to fall into my lap- maybe that’s the problem. Perhaps if I just tried a little harder things would sort themselves out. But right now I’ve got a hole to dig myself out of, and the weight of my world is upon my shoulders. My fate is in my own hands, and I am unequal to the task set before me. I cannot win, I cannot even survive. And there is no one to walk alongside me as I fight my impending, inevitable demise.