It F#@%ING Sucks

I hate this. This feeling; this feeling of uselessness. Seems like everyone around me is doing something. It’s either school or work or something. Family in college; people who I’m always getting compared to. “You should be more like T, he’s in Stanford” …or was it Harvard… Not that it matters. Either way he’s doing so much better than I am. We used to be attached at the hip, so our parents would always say. And now he’s successfully sailing through college and I’m…home. I hate that stupid comparison crap. But, if I think about it, I could tell them the same thing, right? “Why aren't you like T’s parents? Dad why don’t you own your own pharmacy yet? Mom why...” Well, actually, I’m not even sure what T’s mom does for a living. But still, they live in such a nice city, and a nice neighborhood, and a gorgeous home; granted, T’s dad bought it fully furnished and they didn't have to make many improvements. But still, it’s amazing. I wish I had a house like theirs. I know that’s never going to happen of course. I’m not in college – of any kind. I just sit at home with absolutely nothing useful to do. Yeah, onlookers could say I’m just lazy or that it’s all my fault. And I’m sure it is. I just suck at life…so far. Took high school as a joke and got sent to Grizzly; a charter school for kids with serious issues. I don’t have serious issues. I have two parents who work hard, give me everything I need, and can afford to send my brother and I to college. Yet…I’m…here. This is embarrassing. I don’t even know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just feel the need to complain. But at least its giving me something to do; may not be useful to anyone but it’s somewhat productive. I sit at home all day and watch Netflix, constantly.

Interesting. I just got a text from my boyfriend. Now that I think about it, all this time I was writing, I wasn't really even thinking about him or any other problems. Not that he’s a problem. I adore him. But he is going through some things and, quite honestly, that stresses me out. So, I guess I should get back into writing. It always made me feel better to write. Whether I’m complaining or rejoicing or expressing some other emotion, it feels great putting it down on paper. But now that my boyfriend is back on my mind, I’m worried. But…this isn't about him. Then again, I don’t know what this is about.

Anyway, back to my horrible life and why it’s all my fault. Ha, I wonder if I'm the only one feeling like this. I doubt it. Anytime you think you’re alone, there’s always at least one person out there feeling the same way you do – always. Might not be the exact same situation though. For instance, there could be a 43 year old man out there doing and feeling the exact same things I am. But he’s 43…that’s just fucking sad.

But while I’m sitting here writing, probably making a ton of grammatical errors, I can’t help but wonder if I could really make a living out of this. I love to write, make up stories, describe fantasies, and just be whatever I want. And it’s not like this is the first time I've thought about becoming a writer. I’d started writing a book a few years ago. And it would've been finished if I hadn't lost all motivation and inspiration. It was like someone dragged it out of my ass, and set it on fire – not in the good way, obviously. Oh, but I was so excited about that book. I really was. I loved it, my friends loved it, and I felt like I was finally good enough. But then it died; like roses in a dark winter. The passion for the story wilted away so easy, it was as if it never existed. The rose had lost its beautiful, lustrous red; its soft, velvet petals; even its sharp, flesh piercing thorns. The good and bad of it all was gone. That’s kind of how I feel now. There’s nothing special about me. I’m just a blank slate; a air a nothingness. And it sucks. I’m sure I could find a more educated way to say that but, at this point, these three words are all that’s necessary: IT FUCKING SUCKS.

Although, as much as I want to pity myself, I don’t really see the point in it. It’s not a car or a train; it’s really not going to get my anywhere in life. Eventually, all the self-pity is just going to suck the life out of me. And with that said, I might as well kill myself now. But I've tried that. You know, since it’s kind of trending amongst teens now. I mean, think about it; think of all the self-harming and suicidal teens. Oh, and don’t forget the survivors. I remember when I first started cutting. I was young, down and out, feeling like utter SHIT. So, you know…the usual. But, thing is, I think I had a legit reason to feel so horrible. I was being bullied – constantly. I was made to feel like crap about myself on a daily basis. And, of course, this justified taking a chef knife to my wrist. I must’ve been on either the best or the worst crack in the world to think that was the solution. To put it plainly, suicide is STUPID; it will ALWAYS be STUPID. Unless, for some ball-tripping reason, you have an astronomically destructive organic bomb growing in your stomach and the only way to save humanity is to kill yourself. If that is the case then, by all means, kill yourself now. Now, from this extremely improbable idea, I digress. Point is, don’t kill yourself. It hurts you and the people who love you, and there are a lot of them. Let’s face it, suicide is selfish and it…what’s the phrase I’m looking for? Um…oh! IT FUCKING SUCKS.

You wanna know what else fucking sucks? Love. Now, understand that I’m not talking about the real deal.  I’m talking about the bullshit, emotional, roller coaster, fuck-tastrophe people have somehow confused for love. Physical and emotional abuse is love; money is love; physical attraction is love; and, of course, sex is love.  WRONG! Oh so very much is wrong with things people do or deal with in the name is this so-called “love”. Let’s start with abuse. In what world does “You’re a piece of shit” and a fist to the face mean “I love you”? Enough said. Moving on to the next matter of “love and NOT”, there’s money; the people obsessed with material things. First of all, just because a man or woman can buy you diamonds and a Benz, doesn't mean they can love you. How many times do we have to say the phrase before people learn? Money can’t buy you love. Shit, money can’t buy you any of the things that’ll truly make someone happy; joy, love, peace, etc. So to all the women out there who marry for money, go fuck yourselves; you’re dirty as fuck and you disgust me. Next, there are the vain and narcissistic motherfuckers who think looks are most important. Right off the bat, you’re an idiot.