Here is the most vulnerable and honest shit I could put out there:
I do not feel the slightest bit of worthiness, in any regard. I don’t feel like I deserve anything good. Not validation, not love, not family, not even the breath in my lungs. And I haven’t. For as long as I can remember.
The first time I fantasized about death, I was maybe 8 or 9. I would attempt to end my life lots of ways only a child that age knew how to. It was dumb things. Laughable really. I didn’t even understand that I was depressed then. I just thought that I thought death was interesting. Fast forward 25 years and and 2 strong years of therapy…not much has changed. Not that I haven’t done LOADS of work. But no amount of therapy can fight life’s design for me. And life, well, she has not been nice to me, really ever. Moments here, moments there, but at the end of the day, my pillow is still wet as I fall asleep. And I’m fucking tired. When do I deserve that love I feel for others. When do I get to ask for help? Not even my therapist knows how to help me. He literally asked me to help him help me our last session. I am soo fucking pissed off about it. If I knew how to help him help me, I probably wouldn’t need to see a therapist. People go to therapists when they don’t have the answers anymore…and mine is asking me to help him. Great. I am not even mad at him though. I mad at life, because yet again it’s showing me I don’t deserve to be happy. I don’t deserve the fruits of my labors, not in this life anyways. Still trying to find a point to all this.
”Exposed” by Lukas Graham