I came.

I tolerated.

I’m done.

I wish I could just stop existing.  My life is 100% pain.  I’m convinced the other has bipolar, or narcissistic personality disorder, or something.

And I promised myself I wouldn’t tolerate the abuse again.  But you want to know the truth?  I will.  You know why? I’m fucking weak as fuck.  I’m a pansy ass little bitch who is too scared.  I don’t kill myself, I don’t cut, I don’t anything.  I put on my ugly as fuck smile and pretend I’m ok.  I’m not ok.  I want to fucking die.  I hate my fucking life.  I want this little punk ass bitch to die.  I want to move on.

I have dreams and hopes.  You know who gets their dreams though?  Lucky bitches.  Am I lucky?  Nope.

Just nope.

You think I can get help? Nope.

You think anyone around me gives a flying fuck? Nope.

You know how many people acted even the slightest bit grateful I’m around today?

Not one.  Not one person gave a fuck that I existed today.  I’m an inconvenience.

You know what I did for people today? Nope.

I took the hit and took time off work.  I took the little to a sitter who would take him sick so I could go to the part of work I couldn’t miss.

So I inconvenienced another person who would probably rather do anything than help me out, but I couldn’t miss work.  It was mandatory.  I could have been puking blood and I would have had to go in.  You know how much the other considered looking for a sitter?  Not at all.  You know how much the other considered helping me out?  Not at all.  Did he even consider acting grateful? Nope.

I created the problem somehow.  It was my fault.  If I just planned better…

He blamed me.

I yelled again tonight.  (sorry for the tangent)

It wasn’t deserved, it probably was nothing, but I don’t know – sometimes I get so tired of being invisible.  I get so tired of not existing.  It’s not that I want people to notice, it’s just that I’m tired of people actively not noticing.  I’m tired of people taking the time to ignore me on purpose, as if to prove to me how worthless I am.

It is exhausting.  I’m exhausted.

I want someone to hold me.  I’m too old to want that.  I know the truth.  Life is shit.  There is no one.  I suck at life and this is what happens.  I keep telling myself that I’m going to blog when I’m happy.  I keep trying to be positive.  I want to be positive.  I want to be joy.  I want to be the kind of person that people want to be around, but I suck.  I wish I was at least lovable.  I wish someone wanted to hold me.  I guess only pretty people deserve to be loved.  Smart and funny isn’t good enough.  I suppose my melodramatic emo side probably doesn’t help, nor does the fact that I’ve been married for the 14 prime of my life years.  It doesn’t help.  Nope.

I wish I could go back.  I wish I could take my kids back.  I could have the same amazing kids with someone else.  Someone who didn’t take every opportunity to tell them how shitty I am.  Someone who didn’t scream “fuck you” in front of them.  Someone who apologized and took some responsibility.  Someone who could love my ugly side.  Someone who saw all the amazing things I want to be and do and have.  Nope.

I wish I could go without being loved.  I wish I didn’t crave the touch of someone who loved me.  I wish I could just love myself.  I wish I could crazy happy dance and just be me and think “f the world”.  I don’t though.  I think “how can I help absolutely everyone and everything, and ignore the big gaping hole in my life and fake fill it with lots of service and niceness, and not complaining?  How can I make the fake smile look so real that even I believe that I am happy?  How can I not be miserable, since this is my life and I made it and I need to live with it as best as I can?”  And then no one, and I mean no one notices.  None of the good, none of the happy, none of the anything has any effect on anyone.  No one would know how sad I really am for sure, but, no one cares, so it doesn’t matter.  Nope.

Driveling, whining, but life is fine.  I have a roof and food for sure.  I don’t have a severe mental illness and I can function.  My children are healthy-ish, for kids who have watched their mom be abused their whole life.  For kids who have no clue how to treat a woman.  For kids who will, in all likelihood, be abusive or single.  For kids who don’t know shit, cause I’m a shitty ass mom.  Like I’m here, but I don’t know how to do shit guys.  You’re completely fucked.  I’m so sorry for being the dumbest, ugliest bitch in the history of dumb, ugly, fat assed bitches.  You really won a special kinda lottery.  I’m so fucking sorry.  Fuck. … Nope.

What the fuck was I thinking?  I’ve done more harm than good.  I am the worst person in the world.  Nothing that I’ve ever done has mattered.  I haven’t done a bit of fucking good and you could replace me in a second.  I stayed when I should have left and now it is nearly impossible to leave.  I need $200,000 to pay off student loans and a car, and a few bills, and then I’d have a little money to start over.  All for a fucking degree.  I have nothing.  I have a pile of fucking bills I can’t pay.  No matter how much I give up, only the punk ass little bitch bipolar fucktard gets anything good.  I hate the fucktard.  I fucking hate life.  I fucking hate life so fucking much.  I wish I had never been fucking born.  Nope.


So guess what happens next?

I put on a fake ass smile.

I show up at my job to “make a difference”. (that no one will notice or give a flying shit about)

I work my ass off to be the very best.

No one will fucking notice.

No one will love me.

I will be alone.



If a bitch that no one gives a flying fuck about dies, did she ever really exist?



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