I don’t deserve this, any of this, all of this.
It’s been a spine-crushing, mental-breaking, emotionally-draining day, and I’ve been nothing but empty and depressed, emotionally compromised, and I’ve done a lot of idiotic, harmful things to myself that might get my body to god knows what state, and will surely get me shipped straight to a psychiatric facility if anyone in the nearby vicinity of the household found out. But nay, the troubles did not end there. They carried on all the way to tonight, where I proceeded to nearly give a friend instant myocardial infarction, and most likely ruined the rest of their day by not replying to them for 12 hours, when they probably already thought I was lying in the hospital unconscious, or worse, bleeding out and dead in my room.
I also somehow unintentionally forced another to shove the massive screaming elephant into a contained white room and fucking blow it up with fireworks, leaving a splattered mess of red everywhere that I can’t ignore or clean up. And what did clever old me do? Wallow ignorantly in the viscera and splash around it, as if I couldn’t exacerbate the damage any more than I already have, tasting acrid iron and bitter copper on my tongue, the metallic scent wafting overpoweringly strong, and pretended that the person who lit the fuse was not standing in front of me, and I’m getting guts and blood all over them, the very same guts they had in order to do such a sort of unprecedented thing. I acted like a coward and ran with my tail between my legs in the face of a braver light, and I’m not fucking proud of it.
Firstly, here’s a very much needed—yet all the same sincere—thank you for the scant number of people who know they damn well earned it. Thank you, a disgustingly-overused and horridly-cliché phrase that I could neither express eloquently nor enough. It helps, really, despite the fact that it goes against everything I usually say, about motivation, and fuck, they don’t even know how much it all means to me. It’s just always so fucking gratifying to find out just how much people care, or even just to know that there are people who care, and highly unsurprising to find out how many so-called “friends” simply don’t give a rat’s ass whether you tap dance your way off a building rooftop or contact incurable cholera and die a slow, painful death.
But then again, the fault has always lied in me. I was not built for a sense of human synergy, I have dysfunctional social relationships, somehow I’m too blinded and can never read the actual lines, and I’m too desensistised and incapable in sensing the signs and feeling the atmosphere. I’m not normal. I’m guarded, defensive, cynical, manipulative, a chronic liar, an absolute jerk, and I’m just listing off the least deprecating qualities of myself here. Unfortunately, with such traits, there are always those who I accidentally run over without stopping to see the red light, so it’s always a big revelation to me to discover that there are people who actually stick around with me despite my inane insufferableness.
So there, I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never speak about my problems and what’s bothering me because I don’t want to bother anyone else, then expect you to give a damn about my superficial issues and pathetic angsty dramaticness, like you don’t have enough of transgressions of your own already. I’m sorry I shut everything out when things get too sentimental. It’s not because I don’t want to show weakness and expect you to do the same, it’s not mainly because I don’t know how to handle it, but it’s because I just don’t deserve it. I don’t deserve your trust, your comfort, your honesty, your sympathetic words, I don’t deserve to see the deeper side of you that no one else has dared swam into. I’m total fucking arsehole, douchebag of the year awardee, and if I get abandoned, it’s not like it wasn’t coming for me anyways. You really don’t have to exert effort and emotion on someone that’s not worth your time. You have better things to do. You have other things to change. You have your own chaos to arrange. You didn’t have to. You shouldn’t have to.
Despite the outer façade of shallowest self-pity, I pray and repeal on the contrary. These are nothing but stupid little realisations and actualisations that I believe, assimilated and programmed in my clouded, shitfaced, oxygen-deprived brain after extensive hours of overthinking about it. I don’t deserve good friends. I don’t deserve cheering up and ice cream and bunnies and rainbows. I’m undeserving of absolution. The suffering, I was truly asking for it, but not even God should grant me the peace of mind I don’t deserve. I’m not meant to be fixed. I can’t be. That much, I know.
I’m too selfish to deserve selflessness.