I couldn’t face dealing with people today, so I emailed my care manager to say that I wouldn’t be able to go to the community meeting for the treatment housing.  I hope it wasn’t mandatory, but I just couldn’t have dealt with going to a part of town that I’m not familiar with or having to be in close proximity to people I’ve never met.  I feel too ugly to go anywhere and I keep getting hit by waves of sadness that are enough to bring me to tears.  I really don’t care anymore anyway.   Nothing is going to change the way I feel about existing and I’m too broken to fix.

I was reminded of why I’m scared and reluctant to leave my motel room earlier. I went down to the lobby to use the communal microwave to heat up my ‘slop’ meal.  While I was waiting, a guest was shooting at the desk clerk, complaining about the same problems that I write about: the smell of weed, noise, prostitution.  He was being extremely rude and I thought he was going to completely snap.  While I was stood at the microwave with my back to all of the chaos, I managed to record some of it:

I dashed back to my room and bolted the door.  There were shady men loitering around, which added to my anxiety.  I’m most likely going to be holed up in my room for days.

I feel awful.  Aside from feeling like a nervous wreck, I now wish that I hadn’t gone on that date.  I thought it went well, but now he wants nothing to do with me and has probably unmatched me on Tinder.  I just wish people wouldn’t do these things to me – whether it’s fake friends, saviors or people who date me out of pity.  I know I’m ugly, emotionally unstable, boring and unintelligent.  But when people dupe me into thinking they’re interested, it fucking hurts, because it validates every insecurity that I have.

Please don’t tell me to love myself, because how the fuck can I?  Don’t tell me that this is just my BPD either, because I am more astute than you think.  And don’t reach out to me if you pity me or just want to try to fix me. 

I clearly have no future worth sticking around for and I’m not willing to carry on existing this way.  I’m sick of being ugly and I’m sick of being alone.   Don’t tell me that I’m loved or that I’m not alone.  Don’t tell me that it will get better and don’t tell me to love mysslf.  


Author: Becca

Dead to the world, dead inside.

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