I cry every fucking night, whether I’m at home or elsewhere. The stars and the moon don’t comfort me as they once did. They instead remind me that I’m just a tragic consequence of a billion random events.
I’m a genetic mistake. My mind is so full of snakes it just can’t be healthy. My mother spent 10 years and thousands of dollars to conceive me, went through IVF treatment, the destruction of her fallopian tubes, and countless miscarriages, for this piece of shit.
She’s paying for a college education that I never want to experience. I don’t plan to. I know I won’t last much longer before I kill myself. I’m thankful that she’s done so much, I really am. But I can’t live like this, trying to hold back tears every time I speak.
And still everyone remains oblivious because I know how to wear a mask and fake happiness. Even those who have seen me cry never bother to ask why, because they figure “hey, she does this every night, it’s nothing unusual”
Well guess what, just because it’s how my life goes doesn’t mean I can bear it. I’m too fucking weak to carry this weight. Someday I’ll crack, silently but surely, and my whole world will end and I’ll welcome my death. I never wanted this. I lost my will to live a long time ago, and it’s out of sight now.