miserableburner
Angel brought down
- Mar 11, 2023
- 9
I fuck everything up. No matter what I do, I cannot do it good. I am a worthless existence. I have a funeral to attend Friday (Wake on Thursday, but funeral on Friday) and I'm petrified. It is a family member who recently overdosed, one week today unexpectedly. I don't want to have to see any of my family at all, and my immobile, sickly grandmother will likely be/want to go, I know how badly it will crush her if she doesn't because of how important the person was to her, but realistically she cannot, not without it being a major risk. I am also horrified to talk to anybody there, I'm not exactly on great terms with most family. They just don't like me, I don't care for that though. It is likely a fight will start, worse. My agoraphobia is worsening, ontop of this, and for those who are not family, interacting with anybody causes me to feel really sick to my stomach and it's to the point I do yell at them to leave my room when they try to talk to me now. I have accused my lover of being mad at me every day for the past four or five days now, I'm overcoming the flu after five or six days of it and I only wish I had it longer as a punishment towards myself, and maybe so I could sleep more and not have to bother anybody by being around them at all. The fever would've also burned more calories. I keep making him think I am distant or upset, when I assume he's sick of me and my problems. I made him think I'm not a safe space anymore, and that is so girlish and sensitive of me for me to be upset over, I hate how feminine I am. I am not the big, brawly man I make myself out to be or I feel on the inside. I am a transsexual in every sense of the word, it nauseates me. I hate being trans. I don't even want to consider myself that, I am not proud to be "trans", I am NOT a transgender, and I only use transsexual negatively towards myself. I am a male brain in a female body, a boy born as a girl, nothing else. Not willingly transitioning, not making a choice to be a biological abomination, and not willed to be a female. It goes against all of my ideals, and yet, if completely isolated (As I truthfully wish to be), I'd crave being a man biologically still. I wish my childhood photos were of a little boy, although to be quite honest, I wish I had no childhood at all. In the span of two months, after spending years being self-hating and guilty over it, I went from craving reclamation of my childhood and being innocent, getting recently molested by my mother again while I was sleeping to despising that part of me again. Being okay with femininity within myself, being comfortable enough as a male to accept it to now hating myself even more than I used to for being effeminate nowadays at all. Any girlish feeling I have means I should die. I wish I had the guts to kill myself, I have so many easy methods, I don't even have to wait for a gun. I have relapsed in self harm more in the past month than I have at all in the past year. I don't tell my lover because I know all he will be is angry, and he will see it. He will see this and be extremely frustrated at me. All my negative emotions ever result in are worse outcomes, and I am an entire waste of effort. Currently, I am not a risk in the sense that I will kill myself, though I may cut myself again, and that technically warrants hospitalization in the annoying, medical sense; I consider myself an exception from that rule, because for many years, I've been a chronic cutter and never NEEDED to go to the hospital just because I cut. When I self-harm, it doesn't mean I am actively suicidal outside of a passive desire, usually I'm not, and when I am, I normally have a few plans in mind and don't end up going through with an attempt/the attempt is so haphazard and miserable it fails, because it likely wouldn't have worked from the get-go unfortunately. I hate what I have become, I always do. I am reminded of each and every way I hate myself by my surroundings as a constant, by me, by the mirror or any reflective surface when I pass them, by my own body and how it feels when I lay myself down, by the fact that I have eyes, by my clothing touching me and whatever else, by any sort of interaction. I am menstruating, and it reminds me of the disgusting creature I was born as. I should not have been born a woman. Even admitting that to myself feels like a humiliation ritual, a cruel trick of my own body, especially when I have been feeling like this, nevermind having to type it out. I only say that because it is likely a trick of my stupid, womanly hormones for me to be this upset, but it feels unending. As if CTB would be my only way out of a female's life, because that is just not mine. My lover finding out that I was typing this ended as poorly as one would assume from what I mentioned earlier in the paragraph because I made him believe he was the reason I was upset somehow. It is not his fault, only mine for me to cry out about causing, so to read this, if anyone else does, including him, do not blame him. I cannot have the grace of being upset without it causing disparity and that is an inevitable. I asked him to please, please just leave me, because he said he cannot take knowing that I'm upset, because it troubles him too much and I no longer want to burden him and he does not trust me to know how he feels, which hurts me because I am simply untrustworthy as my own fault. I am too much. I cannot be upset at him for not handling my problems as they are just as stress-inducing as taking on any other problem is, and they are mine to harbor and I wish for that to be the case. I just wish I did not make him feel isolated. I was thinking to myself a few hours ago how much I love everything, how happy I was, and while I'd love to continue to feel so much love for the world I am once again just as sad as usual, just with more adoration for my world and its creations aside from me held in my heart and less contempt. That is not to say I don't feel considerable hatred right now for me as a being, because I do. I am thinking about myself awfully. Only me, though. I went from happy and loving to now sad and loving, and there is no sense of irony which I would so desperately like to seek in that ideal more than melancholia. Writing it out does not make it better, or nicer, or change anything, and no words or way of articulating it change anything about the feeling, it just makes it come off somewhat artistically to be digested with aesthetic appeal and not much else. It does not result in a positive, ever, which allows me to know how terrible I truthfully am. In relation to failing at everything, fucking up positively everything I do and say I'll commit to and being good at nothing, an eating disorder suits me awfully. All it's done is make me feel bad about myself and drag my one and only down with me. I hate how influential I am to him, I wish my misery did not hurt others, it makes me feel like a venomous individual and I just want to protect and nurture the one I love. I honestly do wish I could father him in some way. That sounds terrible, and it is not how I mean it, but certain people would understand that. I wish I could fill the empty role for him that nobody else will, it would empower me. Ontop of that all, I am still ugly and fat, or so I feel, and my feelings only hurt others and do me no good, so NOTHING has been accomplished. It is a net zero for me to even feel emotion. How completely terrible. I am so selfish and awful and I wish it would all just stop. I wish I'd die and be gone forever. What a waste of all these words.
