I cut myself again. And smoked a cigarette out my window while Al is asleep in the spare bed. I don’t know why I did it. That’s a lie. I do know. I spent all evening saying it. It’s because I deserve better than this, and I’m punishing myself for not being that. Richard confirmed to me that it’s embarrassing. PJ confirmed to me that I’m better than this. I hate myself for what I am right now. No one else is like this. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I haven’t even cried. It’s just so matter of fact. There’s no two ways about it. There’s no way back. I’m a fuck up. I can’t undo it. I hate myself. I hate what I am. Is it even worth trying to pick up the pieces or am I just a stupid unemployable idiot. I’m only cut out for manual labour, and that’s just because I’m fucking the boss. And even he doesn’t want me. I’m so fucking done with this. I feel so numb all the time. I’m so fucking useless. Al is upset about money all the time and I can’t even help. I don’t know how we’re going to get married or buy a house or anything because I’m a fuck up. I don’t deserve any of this. I’m not worth it.
You never realize how fucked up someone treated you until you explain it to someone else.
