The Point

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There's not been many people in my short sorry life that I've hated.

But I count myself as one of them. 

Everything that has happened in the last three months is slowly tearing me down. And I can't find it in myself to be afraid of that. It's not like I'm going to get a blade or go find a rope. Just...

What if I wasn't here? I don't think many people would miss me anyway. Besides. Even if they did... time heals. They'd get over it.

Sometimes I think about self-harm. I don't think I'd ever do something like it but... what if I did?

Not like I'm anything special. Or deserve happiness of any kind. My own family didn't want me, what makes me think that my friends will want me around? 

There is not one thing about myself that I don't hate. 

I live with my uncle and auntie and even to them, I don't think I'm good enough. Never have been for anyone. Never will be.

Everyone realises at some stage and leaves me anyways, what's the point?

What's the point in still trying to be strong? What's the point in smiling anymore if I don't feel it? What's the point in loving only for it to be ripped away from me?

I can't even cry anymore and that annoys me. Annoys me that it doesn't affect me anymore. 

I'm damaged goods, who wants someone like me?

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