Disappointment

Disappointing people has always been my forte. First, I disappointed my father by being gay. Then I disappointed my mother by not being her. Then my grandfather, by trying to start something for myself. Then my friends for being "self-centered/narcissistic." Finally, I disappoint myself by not being able to successfully commit suicide. Three attempts, all failed.

One-by-one, I disappoint everyone around me, to the point where simple praise, causes me to tear up. I'm no one, I am nothing. Everything I have created is either unoriginal, lacking in structure, or lacking heart. Not being able to have my creative space back has turned everything that I create into a blob of shit.

Then that shit spreads and all the other writing/work that I have done is decreased in its value. Originally created to try and go to college, even though it's pointless because that costs money, which I have none, and even if the budget got approved, I don't even know where I'd start. Creating something being out of my depth.

I don't know what's next. I don't know anything other than the fact that I have this knowledge of me being gone from the world would be in everyone's best interest. I've disappointed those around me so much beyond redemption; beyond change. I have no friends, I have no one to talk to save for my stuffed animal, but I haven't even really been talking to him as much either.

I'm worthless with no purpose in this world, just a set of skills/talents unable to properly be put to use and with no way of getting anyone important to view/judge them. Constantly stuck in limbo. I feel as if I'm in hell and the only thing awaiting me is death. The only light in my life of darkness is that my car is going to be fixed soon.

Once that's done, I'm going to schedule an appointment to get more pills for schizophrenia and then hope that those pills make me at least numb. One perk of having it, is the pills they give you are intense. Last overdose really fucked up my mind. It took months to recover, and I'm still not fully recovered from it; there are blank spots and whenever I try and connect the dots or trace my steps, it's impossible.

The ironic part is, if anyone else created everything that I have created, it may been seen as poetic, talented, world-changing, or amazing. But since I created it, it's just garbage because that's exactly what I am. Useless to the world, and useless to society. My mind has put up barriers that grow each day, isolating myself further and further into darkness. There is no escape, there is no running, there is only death. Everyone hates me, everyone is against me, I have no side but my own.

Most people create or do things to have a purpose, to get feedback or praise. I do them to escape. Wanting to delete everything I have done because I have nothing to show for it, and the fact that all it will do is collect dust and won't ever see the light of day. I look forward to my next life, how it will be. Perhaps I'll actually have parents that will love me instead of being so utterly disappointed in everything that I do.

Not that they can really tell me about it since after the ER my mother blocked me. As for my father, he disowned me back in 2013. The only person I really can disappoint is my grandfather, who has already made it clear that he is disappointed in me regardless. Isolating myself seemed like the only solution. No one reaches out, no one talks to me, no one goes out of their way for me or anything.

No friends, no one close. Even after I finished lost, I felt...empty. Living should have made me feel better. A sequel that I put more heart into, but it didn't. I have no one to go and celebrate with or show my work to that would actually think that it's cool or praise me. I may send it to a few rare individuals but no one recently.

The one individual that I reached out to with hopes to feel something mostly, not so alone, never responded. Plus he works like forty plus hours so he's constantly busy. Meanwhile, I'm stuck thinking about him daily. I failed. Writing hasn't panned out which ironically is what my therapist said not to focus on, the budget I made is a complete joke. The school project I was working on, basically has Clash of the Titans all over it, and I didn't even realize it until the other day when I actually watched it.

Everything is over. Everything is dark. Hope is something that no longer exists...there is no one that is proud of me, there is no one that wants to see my work or cares about it. I just await the day that comes where I no longer have to feel.