Life is humiliating

[LetMeOut67]

Nobody asks to be dragged into this game that some were 100% destined to lose.
I'm sure people with more money, better looks , more friends aren't thinking about society's losers all the time and feeling smug, it just feels like they do. I avoid even having to look at people like this. They live a different reality.
If dealt the same hand as losers misfits and neuro divergent like me I'd love to see how they'd handle it.
I'm done. There cannot be a happy ending to my story. There never could have been. Impossible.

 

[K2PE]

That's precisely why we're here. I don't consider myself a loser; I've simply lost the desire to continue. Nothing more than that. I can't find any reasons, and I think it's better to step aside.

 

[LetMeOut67]

(from Hamlet, spoken by Hamlet)
To be, or not to be, that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles
And by opposing end them. To die—to sleep,
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to: 'tis a consummation
Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep;
To sleep, perchance to dream—ay, there's the rub:
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause—there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life.
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
Th'oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of dispriz'd love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of th'unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life,
But that the dread of something after death,
The undiscovere'd country, from whose bourn
No traveller returns, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all,
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their currents turn awry
And lose the name of action.