He’s gone. I shouldn’t be so sad anymore.
But I am.
He’s gone. I should feel relief instead of loneliness.
But I don’t.
He’s gone. I need reach out to others for support.
But I can’t.
He’s gone. I still hate myself for being so stupid.
But I’m not.
He’s gone. So, why am I still broken?
Because he never refilled my cup.
After drinking so selfishly from it…
I’m not good enough to be anything but last.
How do I know?
People keep showing me
Suicide has always been something my brain tosses about when I get frustrated, but I never really talked to anyone about it because:
Why should they even care?
Everyone has their own shit to deal with.
What can they do to help?
The last two years have been all over the place.
More bad than good, sadly.
You know, sometimes, no matter how positive you are (or try to be), life is just shit?
I moved across Denver a little over 2 years ago.
A week after that, my car was stolen. Presumably by an ex-boyfriend.
Last summer (2017) I finally lost my real estate accounting job with the crazy girl and the incompetent upper management.
Last week Alaska and I were talking about general things and, I don’t remember how the subject of self-esteem came up, but it did.
I told Him that, every morning while I am doing my yoga, I repeat over and over to myself: “I am light, I am love, I am a gift.” (I have been doing this since mid-January.)
But, even though I repeat that mantra to myself day after day, I am still unable to feel love for myself.
I mean, I think I am a cool person, and I believe that I am indeed light and love and a gift and all that, but I still don’t love myself.
In fact, for all the good things that I
allegedly am, I still pretty much hate myself.