stars-go-out
In the dark times, should the stars also go out
- Jan 9, 2025
- 5
I've spent almost my whole life knowing that I'm an annoyance and inconvenience to those around me. I can barely do anything for myself because of invisible disabilities. Growing up my mom always told me I was making her life harder because I was a picky eater– I now know I have ARFID. Or that my mental health issues made her life harder.
My impact on other people has always been negative. I thought I had friends growing up but they all left, or I left them when I realized they could barely tolerate me.
When I hit a low point I've developed a mantra, 'I am worth less.' Not worthless, because nobody is worthless and everyone deserves to be loved and cared for, but I am just not as important as the people around me.
My needs. My wants. My feelings. My struggles.
Unimportant.
I try to explain why I am the way I am, explain that I'm suffering too, and it's brushed away as an excuse. No matter how eloquently I can voice my thoughts on something, it is an excuse or casting blame.
I haven't been perfect. I haven't always been kind. I haven't always been what others needed me to be. But I've always tried. I've always tried. And it's never good enough.
I've spent my whole life shouldering burdens other people barely notice. So whenI reach out, ask for help, I'm told I'm lazy.
I try so hard to convince myself I'm not a bad person. That there are people out there willing to hear me out. Willing to help me function at the bare minimum. But it's getting so hard to believe. It's getting hard to keep going.
Outside of depressive episodes, I haven't been truly suicidal since high school. But life just gets harder, and I become more alone. It's hard to feel like my existence means anything. I can't leave the house by myself. I can't feed myself. I barely have the energy to shower. I struggle keeping up with chores. And deep down I know none of that is my fault, I just don't have the right support or resources to meet my needs. That none of it makes me any less deserving of being alive.
But being alive just keeps getting harder. And I care less and less about the world around me. I thought my cats would always be enough to keep me alive. Even thinking about leaving them behind hurts. But it's starting to feel like they would be better off without me. They deserve someone more capable of loving them, more able to care for them.
It's getting so hard to believe my life is worth living. Every day is the same, and the ability to change feels more and more impossible. I don't want to be alive anymore.
I want to go on one last late night walk, sit on the swingset and listen to my favourite songs. I want to know that when I get back home, I'll never leave again. I want to pet my cats and tell them goodbye. Clean my room. Write a note. Then climb into bed and go to sleep, waiting at the bus stop in my dreams. I don't want to wake up again.
My impact on other people has always been negative. I thought I had friends growing up but they all left, or I left them when I realized they could barely tolerate me.
When I hit a low point I've developed a mantra, 'I am worth less.' Not worthless, because nobody is worthless and everyone deserves to be loved and cared for, but I am just not as important as the people around me.
My needs. My wants. My feelings. My struggles.
Unimportant.
I try to explain why I am the way I am, explain that I'm suffering too, and it's brushed away as an excuse. No matter how eloquently I can voice my thoughts on something, it is an excuse or casting blame.
I haven't been perfect. I haven't always been kind. I haven't always been what others needed me to be. But I've always tried. I've always tried. And it's never good enough.
I've spent my whole life shouldering burdens other people barely notice. So whenI reach out, ask for help, I'm told I'm lazy.
I try so hard to convince myself I'm not a bad person. That there are people out there willing to hear me out. Willing to help me function at the bare minimum. But it's getting so hard to believe. It's getting hard to keep going.
Outside of depressive episodes, I haven't been truly suicidal since high school. But life just gets harder, and I become more alone. It's hard to feel like my existence means anything. I can't leave the house by myself. I can't feed myself. I barely have the energy to shower. I struggle keeping up with chores. And deep down I know none of that is my fault, I just don't have the right support or resources to meet my needs. That none of it makes me any less deserving of being alive.
But being alive just keeps getting harder. And I care less and less about the world around me. I thought my cats would always be enough to keep me alive. Even thinking about leaving them behind hurts. But it's starting to feel like they would be better off without me. They deserve someone more capable of loving them, more able to care for them.
It's getting so hard to believe my life is worth living. Every day is the same, and the ability to change feels more and more impossible. I don't want to be alive anymore.
I want to go on one last late night walk, sit on the swingset and listen to my favourite songs. I want to know that when I get back home, I'll never leave again. I want to pet my cats and tell them goodbye. Clean my room. Write a note. Then climb into bed and go to sleep, waiting at the bus stop in my dreams. I don't want to wake up again.
