woofwag
Bad dog
- Sep 17, 2025
- 196
Last night I finally found peace with suicide. Or... I thought I had.
Today I was looking through all the notes on my notes app. I'm trying to sort them so I can give them to my friend to read through. And there's so many things I never did. So many things I still want to do. So many unfinished poems. But I am trapped by my brain. I cannot, and have never, been able to break my avoidance cycle. I don't want to be fucking 60 or some shit and realize that I failed at doing all of it. But if this path keeps up, I probably will be.
I wish I could give the goals to someone else. I wish they could inspire someone to do all of them. But I don't think someone could/would want to finish them all. Which is how I know I probably won't either.
I'm still out of money. I can't pay rent next month. I don't have money to finish my degree. To fix my car. To fucking live. So, there's probably not even a way to live much longer anyway.
My training did break me. I was trained to do/accept certain things from a young age. However, it was abandoned by my abuser when I was 17 because I did not fully adhere to it, and neither did my sibling. But it did fuck me up. I was the scapegoat child, so I was trained to believe that everything in my life that I did wrong was my fault. I had to be able to follow orders down to basically having to read my abuser's mind. And I couldn't do it, I couldn't ever succeed at being fully controlled. I couldn't control myself enough to ever be like that. So because I am so impulsive, self-sabotaging, unable to maintain goals, unable to adhere to the rules, even ones I set for myself, I'm just like... a blob. A blob with unfinished goals and so much love to give, but unable to even maintain that much due to my avoidance. The only person who I have ever been able to fully love is my friend. Because we're just magic like that. But I can't live just for them. I did that before, and it wasn't fair to either of us.
It's so disappointing that I'm like this. There really are still so many parts of myself who want to do these things. Read things, make things, sew things, buy things, forage things, wear things, even play video games I've wanted to get into. And I make zero effort to do any of them beyond just thinking of it.
I don't know how I would ever be able to achieve any of the things I want to do. Haven't been able to for 22 long, painful years. I wish I could snap my fingers and have the money and the will to live. I've tried, I've tried SO hard through college, therapy, and love. And it's never. fucking. WORKED. I want to die. I always have. And at the same time, I've always wanted to live. Even just for the little things, like the stories of the shapes I see in my walls. But I worry I will always be miserable. And if that's the case, despite all these little things, I don't want to continue. But I'll never know how things will shape out... if it ends up being good, I'd want to experience it. The only problem being that I have very little hope for that outcome. How I wish I could read the fucking future. And how I wish even more that I could destroy the parts of myself that refuse to ever work. I'm not sure where to go from here.
Today I was looking through all the notes on my notes app. I'm trying to sort them so I can give them to my friend to read through. And there's so many things I never did. So many things I still want to do. So many unfinished poems. But I am trapped by my brain. I cannot, and have never, been able to break my avoidance cycle. I don't want to be fucking 60 or some shit and realize that I failed at doing all of it. But if this path keeps up, I probably will be.
I wish I could give the goals to someone else. I wish they could inspire someone to do all of them. But I don't think someone could/would want to finish them all. Which is how I know I probably won't either.
I'm still out of money. I can't pay rent next month. I don't have money to finish my degree. To fix my car. To fucking live. So, there's probably not even a way to live much longer anyway.
My training did break me. I was trained to do/accept certain things from a young age. However, it was abandoned by my abuser when I was 17 because I did not fully adhere to it, and neither did my sibling. But it did fuck me up. I was the scapegoat child, so I was trained to believe that everything in my life that I did wrong was my fault. I had to be able to follow orders down to basically having to read my abuser's mind. And I couldn't do it, I couldn't ever succeed at being fully controlled. I couldn't control myself enough to ever be like that. So because I am so impulsive, self-sabotaging, unable to maintain goals, unable to adhere to the rules, even ones I set for myself, I'm just like... a blob. A blob with unfinished goals and so much love to give, but unable to even maintain that much due to my avoidance. The only person who I have ever been able to fully love is my friend. Because we're just magic like that. But I can't live just for them. I did that before, and it wasn't fair to either of us.
It's so disappointing that I'm like this. There really are still so many parts of myself who want to do these things. Read things, make things, sew things, buy things, forage things, wear things, even play video games I've wanted to get into. And I make zero effort to do any of them beyond just thinking of it.
I don't know how I would ever be able to achieve any of the things I want to do. Haven't been able to for 22 long, painful years. I wish I could snap my fingers and have the money and the will to live. I've tried, I've tried SO hard through college, therapy, and love. And it's never. fucking. WORKED. I want to die. I always have. And at the same time, I've always wanted to live. Even just for the little things, like the stories of the shapes I see in my walls. But I worry I will always be miserable. And if that's the case, despite all these little things, I don't want to continue. But I'll never know how things will shape out... if it ends up being good, I'd want to experience it. The only problem being that I have very little hope for that outcome. How I wish I could read the fucking future. And how I wish even more that I could destroy the parts of myself that refuse to ever work. I'm not sure where to go from here.