Fucking complex complex

I have it in my head that I am broken, messed up, and stupid. That I am fucked up, ugly, unstable, and unlovable.

Reason 1: cutting and depression.

Reason 2: disastrous previous relationships.

Reason 3: body mass.

Reason 4: lack of originality and talent

Reason 5: confused identity

Because of this, no one is allowed to love me. No one wants a girl who rips open her skin when she can't deal anymore. That's not cool. No one wants a black hole of a girl. Someone who sucks all the good feelings out of you until you can't deal with it, and you have to leave to save yourself from feeling hopeless. I don't want to be the one who needs saving and protecting.

No one wants a big girl. A girl who fills out clothing, and is used to being ignored because of this. The kind of girl people might make fun of you for dating because she's a whale. A girl who is used to jokes, and implied jokes on her behalf so don't talk to me about being discriminated against. The kind of girl who is interested and talented to a point, but after that she's not really all that great of a person, and you know the things she does will never bring her money.

And if its not bad enough that this girl is all of these things, she's fucking scared. She's scared and she can't explain why. She knows she is scared of being vulnerable again because the last time she was really vulnerable, she was still holding back. She's scared of making mistakes. She's scared of her parents. She's scared that she will never amount to anything. She's scared of being loved, then forgotten. Scared of being used, then discarded when she gets boring.

And the fucked up part is that I know this is all normal. To feel these things, to feel uncertain, unwanted. People feel at least some of these things some of the time. In my head, I am the only person in the world who feels these things. And everyone else has their lives stitched together. I am a bad person. I am a bad, broken, lonely, ugly person, and everyone else in the world is not like this.

I know. I know what you are thinking. I am thinking the same thing. That I should just tell the thirteen year old version of myself to go write some angsty teenage poems and cry about life. Feel terrible for an hour, or even a day, and then I will feel better. The thing is, there is so much unhappiness inside of me. I can't even explain it because its scary. It scares me how unhappy I am. I wish I knew why.

Even though I have given up that whole thing, that whole leaving the world thing. You know, the permanently checking yourself out of the hotel thing. The thing I can't seem to come up with good euphemisms for. That never go back from the end thing. I've still written myself off. Those three weeks when I was so certain about everything, about dying, I told myself I would never be with anyone again, I would never do anything great, I would never be the person who I was supposed to be, so fuck it all. It's been a few months, yet I've never really forgotten those things. I'm never going to do anything or be anyone, so why not live wallowing in my own apathy? I'm not really dead, but this isn't living.

I am a mess.

I am a mess.

I am a mess.

I feel unfortunate for the people who know me.

Thing is, I know this is all wrong. I know this is distorted through my own lens of self-perception, but this is what I believe. It's not logical. It's not healthy. I believe it anyways.

There is a sad feeling stewing in my stomach. Numbness. This feels frighteningly like when I sat in the student centre and wrote the first letter on yellow paper. The letter that turned out being twenty pages long for one person that I ripped up three weeks later into little pieces.

I am calm.

I am numb.

I have to.

I have to.

I have to.

I will forgive myself for this.