I hate it when the good guy wins. I mean, come on. Good triumphing over evil ALL THE FUCKING TIME?!?!?!?!? No, I don't think so. I much prefer it when the antagonist is the victor. Hell, I want to BE the bad guy. I like the idea of all that power. Or wait. No, I think I'd like to be the bad guy's girl. To have power OVER someone who has that kind of power would be awesome. Because, I mean really. I WOULD have the power over any man stupid enough to fall for me. Or at least such has been the case in the past.
*sigh* I hate not having my own phone. Or internet access. Or car. Or money. Or anything. Why can't the world owe me a living?
And I am a horrible mother. Fuck anyone who says otherwise. I'm cold and distant, selfish, greedy. To my kid. I take the better and leave her with the lesser. I tell myself it's because SHE won't notice and she doesn't mind or care, but it's really that I want the good stuff for myself. I leave her alone for hours at a time, telling her to just get away from me and go watch a movie. So that I can read or eat or just ignore her. I'm mean to her, cruel even. I slap her to get her to stop doing something, push her away from me when she's not really done anything wrong. I don't feed her properly. I get angry when she does something she didn't know she wasn't supposed to do. I throw her on her bed for the most minor of offenses, making her take a nap even when she's not tired. I sleep while she occupies herself, then punish her for doing what of COURSE a four year old would do without supervision. Whenever anyone else is around I completely disregard her, letting whoever it is make decisions and take responsibility-again telling myself lies, that she prefers the company of others to me. Which is sometimes true, but even when she wants ME I ignore her. I was never cut out for this. I never wanted it. I'm not right for it, and she's the one who's suffering because of it. And no one sees that, no one understands that all I'm doing is fucking up. Everyone tells me "oh, I know you're a great mommy." Fuck them all. They're wrong. And still nothing is going to be done, the situation will not change and I will end up having a grown child-unless I kill her, accidentally or on purpose which I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't do, sometimes I'm more than tempted-who's completely fucked up beyond all hope of recovery and who hates me. Rightfully so. And yet...am I looking for excuses? Am I just tired and frustrated? Looking for a way out? An excuse to fuck MYSELF over if she's not around? I don't even know. What I DO know is that I'm in this alone. And it's looking like I always will be.
Why am I so fucking bipolar? Why am I completely content one second, and totally lost the next? Why do I go from hope to despair so easily? And why haven't I DONE something about it, why CAN'T I? Even these happy pills aren't helping anymore. Anymore? Did they ever? Or was it psychological on my part? Was I placing all my hope in it? What am I placing my hope in NOW?
I know. Why do I still hope? "A promise is a promise." Yes it is. And so is a broken one. And that's all I hold in my hands. Broken promises and shattered dreams.
I really do wish I were suicidal. Instead I'm going to wake up forty, fifty, sixty and see the nothingness of my life. And wish again what I wish now-that it could have ended at this point. Or that it could have never began. Why did I have to be born? Would the world have really been all that bad off without me? Again, I know the answer. A big, resounding "NO!"
Laters
*sigh* I hate not having my own phone. Or internet access. Or car. Or money. Or anything. Why can't the world owe me a living?
And I am a horrible mother. Fuck anyone who says otherwise. I'm cold and distant, selfish, greedy. To my kid. I take the better and leave her with the lesser. I tell myself it's because SHE won't notice and she doesn't mind or care, but it's really that I want the good stuff for myself. I leave her alone for hours at a time, telling her to just get away from me and go watch a movie. So that I can read or eat or just ignore her. I'm mean to her, cruel even. I slap her to get her to stop doing something, push her away from me when she's not really done anything wrong. I don't feed her properly. I get angry when she does something she didn't know she wasn't supposed to do. I throw her on her bed for the most minor of offenses, making her take a nap even when she's not tired. I sleep while she occupies herself, then punish her for doing what of COURSE a four year old would do without supervision. Whenever anyone else is around I completely disregard her, letting whoever it is make decisions and take responsibility-again telling myself lies, that she prefers the company of others to me. Which is sometimes true, but even when she wants ME I ignore her. I was never cut out for this. I never wanted it. I'm not right for it, and she's the one who's suffering because of it. And no one sees that, no one understands that all I'm doing is fucking up. Everyone tells me "oh, I know you're a great mommy." Fuck them all. They're wrong. And still nothing is going to be done, the situation will not change and I will end up having a grown child-unless I kill her, accidentally or on purpose which I'm not entirely sure I wouldn't do, sometimes I'm more than tempted-who's completely fucked up beyond all hope of recovery and who hates me. Rightfully so. And yet...am I looking for excuses? Am I just tired and frustrated? Looking for a way out? An excuse to fuck MYSELF over if she's not around? I don't even know. What I DO know is that I'm in this alone. And it's looking like I always will be.
Why am I so fucking bipolar? Why am I completely content one second, and totally lost the next? Why do I go from hope to despair so easily? And why haven't I DONE something about it, why CAN'T I? Even these happy pills aren't helping anymore. Anymore? Did they ever? Or was it psychological on my part? Was I placing all my hope in it? What am I placing my hope in NOW?
I know. Why do I still hope? "A promise is a promise." Yes it is. And so is a broken one. And that's all I hold in my hands. Broken promises and shattered dreams.
I really do wish I were suicidal. Instead I'm going to wake up forty, fifty, sixty and see the nothingness of my life. And wish again what I wish now-that it could have ended at this point. Or that it could have never began. Why did I have to be born? Would the world have really been all that bad off without me? Again, I know the answer. A big, resounding "NO!"
Laters
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