I am going to try this one, last time. I’m empty inside. The only person that ever loved me is my mother, and I’ve said all the wrong things to her to nearly turn her away from me, too. Girls found my weakness. I only used them for s**. They left me alone, and now I search p********** on the internet. This has led to an immoral and disgusting existence. I’m a slob. The only girl I love does not love me back and has children and a husband. I met her online. First I lusted after her, but then I got to know her as a person and I loved the person she was- flaws and all. She saw my flaws and told me it was ok to be me. I hate having no purpose. I hate having no strength. I hate destroying the strength I have left in m***********. I hate most people. I hate anyone that disrespects me in the slightest. Who are they to disrespect me for no good reason? I don’t wish to die. I wish to tell you all how sorry I am, and I would scream it out my front door if I wouldn’t be thought crazy. I think there is a God. I think He is the only possible way I am still alive after what I have endured. I think He knows this is not who I really am. I am hurt. Why? I’m hurt because I’m ugly. The truth is, I am ugly by today’s standards and I don’t care who knows it anymore. Point it out. Laugh. Humiliate me. All of those people are just concerned with the surface, which I am not concerned with anymore. The truth is, beauty is empty. Beauty is self-loving and self-absorbed. Pretty people are a dime a dozen, and nobody remembers that they were beautiful when they turn old. What do we remember? Abraham Lincoln. Martin Luther King Jr. Muhammed Ali. Rosa Parks. Neil Armstrong. Michael Jordan. John F. Kennedy. Do we remember anything about his mistress, Marilyn Monroe, or just how the surface took to the camera well? Do we know anything about her insides? Would anybody really care, or just ask her to pose nicely for the camera? Is beauty really all it is cracked up to be? It is said God makes us exactly who we need to be. So label me. Judge me. Spit on me. Crack jokes at me. In the end, there is only one. In the end, we all suffer the same fate. What I want to be remembered for is enduring your f****** comments. Surviving your hatred. It’s now or never. I’m tired of knocking myself down. Dear God, I am sorry. I am sorry for I have sinned. The sin I am guilty of is letting others rob me of love for myself- and in turn my fellow man. Merry Christmas. Merry Christmas.