I am a monster and I want so desperately to apologize for that, but I know that if I try it will only hurt people. Make them feel like they're supposed to

4 years

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I am a monster and I want so desperately to apologize for that, but I know that if I try it will only hurt people. Make them feel like they’re supposed to take part of the blame. And they shouldn’t. It’s all on me. I have at least managed to drag my worthless carcass close enough to being a Real Person to recognize that.

But I’m NOT a Real Person. I’m a monster. I’ve always been a problem, forever saying and doing the wrong thing. Clumsy, fat, ugly, unsuccessful, lazy, disorganized, scatterbrained, useless, worthless.
Even as a child I was always the “difficult one,” (such a kind euphemism for the thing I am.) I didn’t mean to me, and I’m sorry (so so sorry) for it, but I know it’s true. My unruly emotions always got away from me, my pathetic excuse for a brain always wandered off into dreams when I should have been concentrating, my inability to organize made me a messy horror. I was always a disgusting, chubby, ugly slug of a creature. (See? Monster.) To their credit, my parents tried their best to love me. Still do. Poor saintly souls. They deserve so much better.

I’ve tried to fit in with all the Real People, but I’m truly terrible at playing human. I clawed my way through college and tried hard, so hard, to make everyone proud for once. But, of course, I’m worthless and that was a vain, worthless hope from the beginning. Worthless like me. (Monster.) One dead-end, nowhere job after another. Because I’m not good enough for anything else. I’m intelligent–a shock, I know–but I’m too scatter-brained and too lazy to do anything great with it. (Monster.)
Twice now I’ve had long-term relationships with wonderful men and twice now those relationships have crashed and crumbled to pieces. Because of me. Because I’m too emotional. I’m too disorganized. I’m too messy. I’m too ugly. I’m too hard to live with.

So here I am. A monster hiding among people. I don’t mean to be this way. I don’t mean to be me. I hate this thing I am just as much as you do. I struggle so hard to change for the better but, of course, being the worthless filth I am, I fail. And fail. And fail.

I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being the way I am. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

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