5th June 2024

Love doesn't exist outside of fiction, not for people like me. I wouldn't say I've done anything inherently bad, but I'm no saint either. I used to be a bit of a slut, when I was just a young girl, fourteen maybe. After I was raped at twelve I really didn't give two fucks about myself. I once left the front screen door unlocked a two year old I was looking after escaped her cot and went walking down the road in just a nappy. I've ghosted countless of people because I didn't want to get attached to them but also didn't have the guts to tell them I couldn't be close to them or break up with them. 

I've lied about a lot of things to people because it's made me sound interesting. Because if people knew the real me they'd realise I'm just nothing but a boring bag of trauma. I don't have hobbies, I don't have a social life, I don't have money, fame or anything else another may want in someone. I don't have family or the need for sex. Basically, I'm not particularly the ideal candidate for anyone, not to mention I'm obese and so mentally ill that I can't stand my own company. 

I spend most of my time questioning if I'm too far gone to be forgiven by a God that I'm not sure I even believe in since I'm more drawn to things like paganism or Buddhism but not enough that I can commit to either. 

Love doesn't exist outside of fiction.. especially not for people like me, because I can't even learn to love myself. 

I didn't exactly come from loving roots. A father who abandoned me, an alcoholic drug addict mother that constantly had abusive boyfriends living with us. It was always rough growing up when your mother would have food for the cats and money from drugs, alcohol and cigarettes but never enough to feed me more than boiled cabbage and whatever bottom of the barrel meat that she could get. 

She wasn't a good mother. When I made my first suicide attempt she called me stupid and smacked my head but that was all. I had been sexually abused only a few months before at aged twelve and she hadn't been there for any kind of comfort. 

Before, I mentioned that I was a liar, but my childhood and the abuse that happened as I got older too was something I never lied about, most of the time I've tried to hide it in fact because it only further concretes how fucked up I am. It's not exactly things you want to tell people because you know that they'll just look at you like some damaged "hell no" person. 

Either that or they'll use it to their advantage and manipulate you and hurt you further, as two exes of mine did. One of them took everything I had and sold it for drugs and the other was an alcoholic abusive asshole who knew just what to do and say to keep me in that situation for as long as I was useful. 

I've been misdiagnosed with different mental illnesses pretty much since I was sixteen, I am now thirty-seven and it's been confirmed between psychiatrist, therapists, counsellors and social worker that I am chronically depressed,  have borderline personality disorder and extreme anxiety. 

I hate the term borderline personality disorder. It's just one of those things that people misinterpret. They think you're a psycho or out to intentionally hurt people. What most ignorant people don't know is that there's different types of BPD and I am the self sabotager. I'll care immensely for anyone I do have around me, love, care, respect and want to help them but myself? I wish I could kill myself. I want to hurt myself, I want to cut myself, I want the absolute worst for myself because that's what I believe I deserve.