It's 12:36 in the morning. I'm laying in bed now and my hair is thick and wet because I just took a shower. I'm thinking about how this is my only accomplishment of the day. I'm thinking about my body. I'm thinking how I need to go to the gym because I'm fat. Fat everywhere. Grandma arms. Thunder thighs. Back fat. Fupas. I've got long black hair that's too thin and eyebrows that barely exist. I'm thinking about how I'm ugly, I'm fat, I'm worthless, I have no talent. There is no reason for me to be here. I'm thinking about the fact that the optimistic voice in my head that would usually jump in at this point and make a counter argument has been relatively quiet today as if it too is too tired of my depressive Bullshit to really win a case. That voice is the only lawyer in a courtroom where the victim and the perpetrator are the same person. I'm thinking about my mom and how she's probably the only reason I haven't committed suicide. She's had to put too many caskets in the ground and I'm a little too selfless to make her put one more in there because of me. I'm thinking about how I can't dance. It's obvious I'm a virgin because I can't roll my hips. No man would touch me if my life depended on it. I'm thinking about how I tell people I'm waiting until marriage but how that's now become a bullshit lie because the fact of the matter is no one wants me. Im probably the strongest argument for abortion rights the feminists will ever have. Still can't dance. I'm thinking about how this kills any shred of confidence I've ever had. There's nothing feminine about me and I'm not good at anything. There's that voice.
"You can cook. You can do makeuo. You're a woman 😊"
I'm thinking about how that voice in my head sounds so niave it reminds me of any poor child on Christmas eve waiting up for Santa when the mom smoking her last pack of cigarettes knows damned well she didn't have enough money for presents. But she stays up with him. I'm thinking about how this light above my bed is harsh but I leave it on because the pure darkness scares me right now and as much as it would be a relief for something, anything, to drag me off and kill me so I don't have to do it myself, some form of self preservation would make me scream and fight and that doesn't really make sense coming from a person who could really care less if they live tomorrow. I'm thinking about the men in my life, the plethora of numbers I've stored today and how I don't really care for any of them and if they really knew me they'd not care for me. They're simply outlets to provide me with stimulating conversation and reassurance I'm pretty, both of which they fail at because I'm at that 1st point where I can't feel or experience anything. I'm thinking about how it's getting late and I should go to bed but there's more to write and more to say and no one cares anyways because they don't know me. I'm thinking about killing myself. Jumping off of a bridge sounds nice until you read an article talking about how your bones break, your organs fly loose and it's pretty much the equivalent of being hit by a liquid car. So much for that plan. Death without the pain. Death without the eternal dalmatian and hell. A coma? A coma. I'm thinking about how the voice in my head just rolled it's eyes and scoffed because we can't bear to make mom pay for the coma I'd very much like to be in. I'm thinking about this guy that sent me a snapchat and how he thinks I'm cuter than him and it's funny how he's literally twice as attractive as me and he has no idea that given the right circumstances I'd put a bullet in my head and be done with it. I'm thinking about how some poet or writer once said the greatest adventure in life is death and how I must not be very adventurous at all. I'm thinking about different ways to kill yourself that it doesn't hurt. Apparently, drowning and freezing to death feel like you're going to sleep. The voice in my head is yelling at me because none of these questions matter because I'm a fucking coward and I won't actually do it. Can you take a hit out on yourself? Would it feel more natural if I let a sniper take me out and I never knew when it was coming? I'm thinking about all the things wrong with me. Hooded eyelids. Crooked bottom teeth. Thin lips. Thin brows. Thin hair. Short and pudgy in every sense of the word. I need my lips done, my nose done, my teeth realigned, and a gym membership for life. I'm bullying myself because I can take the initiative and order pizza but not go to the gym. I'm thinking about how I'm the funniest girl in the group and I can make everyone laugh. Meanwhile I'm dying inside. I still can't fucking dance. I'm a fat worthless piece of shit who just wants to die but doesn't quite have the balls to do it herself. I'm tired. So now I sleep, only to wake up and do this all again tomorrow. Oh boy. Sunday.
