Goddamnit I hate being a guy. I keep getting shitty looks from people. Go fuck yourself, sometimes I feel like I have no insides and there is this stupid fucking chasm where my heart should be, I don’t give a shit about your perceptions of masculinity of whatever the fuck you’re projecting on me.
I’m afraid that I’ll keep being shoved into smaller and smaller boxes as I grow older. When I was a kid, I was just ‘troubled’. I was the kid at thanksgiving that all the adults would shake their heads at. I remember one of my uncles saying to my mother, “You can’t have a boy who isn’t going to man up. You really need to straighten him out.”
Then I was ‘mentally ill’. I was hospitalized and my family scorned me for my weakness. My little sister told her friends over the phone to stay away from her house because I was there and I was crazy.
Now I’m ‘bipolar with hallucinations and suicidal ideation’. And I can’t even talk to my fucking family because according to them I’m past freak now and well on my way to ‘unbearable disaster of a son/brother/nephew’.
I just want to be able to live in my own fucking body/life without feeling like the worst piece of shit to ever exist.
I don’t remember what I told you people. But what happened while I was gone for so long… I had a pretty bad dip while on my meds and I stopped taking them because I was fucking convinced that nothing was helping, and everything got bad because I was refusing to do fucking anything. I was only getting one fucking meal a day because Lewis had to literally sit down with me and force me to eat each bite. Fucking pathetic, the stupid fucking shit I do… I stopped going down to my therapy sessions and that’s a violation of the Ground Rules, which basically means that I was breaking one of the founding laws of fucking lock up, and I wasn’t allowed to go into the rec center for two weeks, but that wasn’t much of a problem because I fucking hated life and wouldn’t even get up for the bathroom and Shawn got so fucking pissed at me moaning at one point that he literally threw me over his shoulder and dropped me in the bathroom.
But the good news is that I had a fit of self-pity and frustration so bad that I let Aretha feed me my meds and after a few days the depressive episode started to let the fuck up. And now I’m back, but I’m on a leash so I’ll only come on every few days for like half an hour blocks.
And yeah, I know I’m an idiot. I can’t fucking help it. This time of year is the time of year that I hate the world, so it makes sense that I make myself even more miserable, right? Fucking hell am I a dumbass.
Anyway, hit me up. I wanna talk and get my mind off shit.
I put a gun under my chin and pulled the trigger but I just didn’t fucking die. It’s like this fucked up thing. I can’t talk because my tongue got blown away and everything just fucking HURTS. And today I woke up with a headache and I thought for a moment that I actually did it and I nearly choked on my own spit in panic.