miserableburner
Angel brought down
- Mar 11, 2023
- 5
Nobody on this earth, or, more precisely nobody I have met throughout said duration of my lifespan truly likes me. Every single person I have ever met has acknowledged enough flaw in myself that they find me to some degree deplorable. My grandmother, may God or whatever is out there rest her soul, I care for her more than I do anybody in my family, but even I may acknowledge a small part of her likely does hate me as selfish as that is. I am resentable not just for my insignificant, minute flaws found in many others that let on to very personal vulnerability, but my anger, the hatred I hold in my heart for others, the mistrust I feel, the rage and violence and unforgiving cruelty I can harbor for my own selfish gain. She has been first hand witness of this hatred and sadism and has seen me tell her I would not care if she died when I was only the age of maybe 13, experienced me screaming and crying and saying I hated her and hoped she'd die already for minor faults and me threatening my own life to her over minor situations. I told her she ruined my life before I was out of middle school more times than I had ever thanked her, and even if I had time to repay any debts I owe, it would not change the past. Furthermore, I am not sorry enough more than I am sad, and I am far too forgiving towards my own infractions in comparison to how I react towards others'. My mother is the same way, she has been an addict my whole life, a self-proclaimed martyr, a thief, a criminal, and the cruelest and most unrelenting woman I have ever met. Yet she is still human, something in there has made her this way coinciding with her own being and some soul out there still may find forgiveness in her, if not, see her beauty, enjoy quality company with her and grieve her when she is gone. I have faulted her irreparably my entire life by being born and forcing her to endure raising a child from my age onward, I would not wish that upon anyone, especially not a child as troublesome as I was. I wish every single day that she would have killed me in the womb, not just for the trouble I put her through but what I have grown to be. I have turned out as an insufferable, insatiable, grasping and needy parasite, a worm incomparable to humanity and a leech onto all that is good, eventually draining its lifeforce and any human to come my way's very being by extension. I hurt every single person I touch, break everything I come into contact with down and no "good quality" of mine is redeemable enough anything would ever do me the kindness of subsiding my suffering for even a moment if they could see me in full color. I am a monster in human skin and I always have been by your standard definition, and furthermore, despite my grievances I am hardly sorry to anybody but myself. My living situation for the past year has been surviving off of the providing of relatives who do not bear the curse of birthing me, and I have nothing to provide in return. I know that they are fed up with me, and I know that everybody else is similarly, all of which rightfully so. My survival is reliant on them and them only, as I am just now finishing school and am yet to work or offer in any way. I am sorry for those who have ever had to come into contact with me, the hundred of thousands people who have likely seen even a glimpse of me throughout my lifetime, though it is not to any sort of personal degree. I am not entirely incapable of it, though I choose not to be in most instances, as edgy as my thoughts seem. I am an evil person in my own eyes and I wish the people who surround me could strip me naked in anything aside from the literal sense for once and see that so they may leave me to rot in my own filth. I thrive in my own depravity, disgust, and filth, the idea of myself worsening and the downfall of others and I live to decline so nobody may aid against it. I am a prisoner to my own suffrage and self awareness helps me none, my ideal world involves me flat-lining after living briefly as a vegetable, to not do, not think nor feel, provide or provoke others. Not for a fraction of a second has there ever been any hope for me. I have never had a real friend who has only seen good in my person and that is my own fault, and this goes for outstretchings as far as acquaintanceship, never anybody aside from a stranger has looked at me and thought only good things. I would go as far as to argue that even strangers see nothing good in me, because in passing, I am ugly. I am unsightly to look at for anybody else who does not possess my body, and that has been proven by everybody who has ever gone on to analyze my appearance in close enough proximity. Even my lover finds me hideous and has told me so in more truth than what is "You're beautiful to me". The people I have opened myself wide open for to crawl inside of me have found me ugly and let onto that very directly, if not my appearance than my personality, and if not that, then it tends to be both. People seek out the extremities of myself that are the absolute worst and no person has ever given the real "me" a genuine compliment and meant it in earnest while lacking any ulterior motives. Not a single person I have ever met has gone on to compliment my genuine, unmasked personality for any specifics they could not repeat to another just as unmeaningfully without me begging for it, and my own knowing selfishness is the root of every terrible interaction I have. I would beg to be institutionalized for the rest of my life if it meant nobody would ever have to care for me, as easy-going as I try and be, but that would mean the disservice of seeing me, discarding of my body, maybe offering me things such as small meals or baths, and housing me, so I would rather just die and have my body go missing so that no person may ever have to tend to me again. Every second I have spent alive has served as a direct burden to another without my acknowledgement of such, and there is nobody who would be greatly moved by my death enough to attend my funeral without prior obligation to or societal pressure from others due to unfortunate association with me. I cry because I dislike myself and I cry because all I feel in this regard is pity for me, but there is no misconstrued lost cause to see here nor is there a "hurt, lost child" as I may hope. As much hate as I know the subconscious mind may hold for me from others, do I feel for them, and this kind of hatred is the kind wrongfully directed and entirely willing. I find flaws in them that I would not like to take the time to pick at in myself that I know that I have, I am the flaw and there is nothing good about me that others do not possess or would ever take time to agree with me on before I mention it to them that makes me meaningful. I am impossible to change and forever stuck in my ways of being human garbage and taking up space that could be much better replaced by others, so I would like for nobody to make any attempt at wasting their time finding themselves sad over my eventual death and for people to just move on. I am a pointless point and nothing worth fighting for, I am guilty that my grandmother has ever argued through word of mouth she has to live for me of all things and can only hope as hopeless as she is there is something else she may attach onto instead of me if she does make it through what she is battling in order to provide her with ample and fulfilling hope. There is completely zero point of me being alive other than to take from others with no real service to provide in return, I am a negative transactional system and through entropy's allowance am I still somehow here consuming matter, ruining perfectly good ecosystems and invading where I should not. I never want to eat a hot meal again, or go outside to feel the sun on my face, nor have a cold glass of water after the fact and lay myself down in "my" bed again, the thousands of dollars spent on me throughout my lifetime have all been a waste of money and I will never amount to truly grateful for it enough my debts are repaid in that account, no matter how hard I try, and I am not compensating for anything by being a "good person" or a "pleasant interaction" that is not fake. I deserve not to be insulted, unless the person makes the conscious choice to waste oxygen on me by speaking in my direction or caloric energy by acknowledging me an amount enough to think of me on their own volition, and never, ever praised on the contrary, but instead to go completely unnoticed and ignored under every thinkable condition until my eventual death due to neglect. Neglect is all I have ever deserved and even those who take the time to insult me are doing me a better service than I can any participant in the human race aside from my own selfish mind. Everything my fingerprints have ever been left on deserves to be burnt, and any within close enough proximity with me to consider themselves acquainted intimately with my being deserve life-long compensation for doing such societal charity. There has never been another concept to exist throughout time that is as meaningless and deplorable as myself, and I am downright vile by every definition of wrong. All that I have gone on to surround myself with, indulge in or consume should have my touch stripped of it, and something better should go on to take my place at this very moment allowing me to fade into absolute nothingness. A world where memory could be wiped of me is the most ideal and this sort of self-deprecating, pity begging behavior in which I may show this to anybody is the kind of act that would prove everything I have said to be true. The hatred I hold towards myself is more than I have ever felt about anything else, and suicide is the only good act I can strive towards making, not for the sake of peace in my life nor the satisfactory release of nothingness but instead to purge my wrongdoings from occupying physical mass and space with atoms that are capable of being recycled into something much better. For every trait I have ever considered a delusional positive throughout my life there has been bigger, greater, more extravagant and more befitting of that positive connotation. I am hideous, downright ugly and unlovable, fat, unkind, outwardly strange and unsociable, pretentious, stuck-up, burdening and needy, attention seeking, uncertain, demanding, selfish, wrongful and malicious, sadistic and inconsiderate, harmful, draining, obnoxious, annoying, upsetting, self-loathing, ungrateful, unhappy, self-centered and goading, ignorant and uncaring, pathetic, uninteresting, replaceable and unoriginal, time consuming, provoking, frustrating, questioning, slow and unforgiving, cold and inhospitable, out of place everywhere I stand, awkward, pretentious and snarky, retarded and empty headed, difficult and troubling, uncomfortable and flat-out wrong. I do not need to exist and offering me comfortability or to take on my burdens is the worst form of self harm. For me to even think all of this about myself enough to willingly write it out is offering the diseased the worst kind of attention imaginable and fueling the flame of what I am. There is something deeply, horrifically wrong with me for me to have turned out the way I am and I deserve everything that has ever come to me throughout what I find to be the worst times in my life. My only wish is that I may just endure the mercy of not feeling anything soon to keep this all out of reach of others and spare my consciousness itself, though I do not deserve that. What I have become, what I was born to be and what I will die as is fundamentally flawed. As I go to sleep now I hope that I do not wake up tomorrow and for nothing more. Those, if any, who have taken time to read this all, I thank you, and apologize equally for bothering with my presence.
