16thsatirist
predisposition? kinda silly
- May 31, 2025
- 37
no clue how to even describe this feeling
i don't even necessarily hate myself or the person i am, but i also do. i hate myself from what feels like an outsiders perspective. i don't see myself as me.
i hate living, but i'm almost scared that maybe people are right, and maybe i am selfish for being suicidal. it's a horrible fear.
i really hate this holiday. i really, really do. i hate everything. i miss my ex, i love myself too much to let myself live like this, but i hate myself too much to allow me to ever find any sort of peace.
even if i take all of my meds, i'd just wake up just as alive as ever.
i miss my ex. i miss being happy, maybe. i miss having stability. i hate the lights above me, i hate the loud, clattering sounds of my family talking and laughing. i hate their presence. i hate everyones presence except for two people.
i hate that my panic disorder was deemed treatment resistant. i hate that my plans were ruined. i hate that i can't drive away anymore. i hate that they'd notice, not because they care, but because they don't want to fuck up their own reputation.
maybe i just want to go back to before i even knew i was going to be like this, but i don't think that time ever existed.
would i even be happier if i never met the people i know now, even with the indirect harm they've caused me? would i be happier, or would i live in distress and agony knowing my perfect person is out there, somewhere
just to know that in the universe where i know her, she doesn't want me back.
maybe somewhere, there's a universe where i am happy, i'm with the people i love, i don't have to take drugs to be happy, i can go outside and not be scared of the sun, i can stretch with a spine that doesn't riddle me with chronic pain, and i can drink without the agonizing cardiophobia doing anything enjoyable causes me.
i don't even necessarily hate myself or the person i am, but i also do. i hate myself from what feels like an outsiders perspective. i don't see myself as me.
i hate living, but i'm almost scared that maybe people are right, and maybe i am selfish for being suicidal. it's a horrible fear.
i really hate this holiday. i really, really do. i hate everything. i miss my ex, i love myself too much to let myself live like this, but i hate myself too much to allow me to ever find any sort of peace.
even if i take all of my meds, i'd just wake up just as alive as ever.
i miss my ex. i miss being happy, maybe. i miss having stability. i hate the lights above me, i hate the loud, clattering sounds of my family talking and laughing. i hate their presence. i hate everyones presence except for two people.
i hate that my panic disorder was deemed treatment resistant. i hate that my plans were ruined. i hate that i can't drive away anymore. i hate that they'd notice, not because they care, but because they don't want to fuck up their own reputation.
maybe i just want to go back to before i even knew i was going to be like this, but i don't think that time ever existed.
would i even be happier if i never met the people i know now, even with the indirect harm they've caused me? would i be happier, or would i live in distress and agony knowing my perfect person is out there, somewhere
just to know that in the universe where i know her, she doesn't want me back.
maybe somewhere, there's a universe where i am happy, i'm with the people i love, i don't have to take drugs to be happy, i can go outside and not be scared of the sun, i can stretch with a spine that doesn't riddle me with chronic pain, and i can drink without the agonizing cardiophobia doing anything enjoyable causes me.
