I guess this is a pain, or rather a guilt. I don’t know. I’ve been looking for somewhere to say this since I know I’ll never tell anyone. Despite having friends, I constantly feel as if I had to act like another person – someone who doesn’t cry, get emotional, have struggles. I am constantly acting as the cool and collected friend. But the truth is, I’m struggling deeply with self-harm and fits of rage/upset. When I’m alone, I often end up falling into violently emotional fits of self-hate. I punch myself, in my face, my legs, my knees. I cut myself wherever my hand falls to. I slice up my hands and wrists, the tops of my arms, my thighs, my hips. My knuckles are constantly damaged and bruised. And in a fucked-up way, I almost want my friends to see. I want them to see that I’m not okay, that I’m hurting, I think it’s my cry for help. But I’m much too embarrassed to ever say it aloud, and I never will. I fantasise about telling someone, anyone, like I don’t want to live this this anymore, I want to show them my disgusting, scarred hands and legs, and have them understand me a little more than anyone else does. I’ve realised I am extremely unlovable though. I’ve had women be attracted to me and have feelings for me, but they never want to tell anyone about it – as if they are embarrassed of me, like I am of myself – or they never want to move toward a relationship. They enjoy my attention and drift from me once someone else who is more acceptable enters their lives. Because of that, I’ve never been in a serious relationship with another woman, even though, often I think I’m dying for it. I want someone to love me, or at least care about me, to hold me and tell me that my existence is worth something. I’m grossly romantic as well. I would devote myself to another woman, give her excessive love (within her boundaries), every ounce of affection I’ve never received. I don’t think anyone will ever want me. My life is mundane and meaningless. I want to be an author, but I’ve lost the drive I used to have for it. I keep telling myself I’ll never make any money, I’ll never be successful, I’ll be criticised and laughed at. I don’t want to go to university, but I’ve got a lot of pressure to do so. I’m too scared to get a job. If I do get one, I want it easy, like just being told simple instructions and then I do them. I’m afraid of failure. I’m afraid of pressure. I’m afraid of responsibility. I’m a pathetic waste of life.
