This year has been full of disappointments. Plans that were made, cancelled. Friends who I thought cared about me, actually couldn’t care less. Everything I look forward to and cared about ends with me being alone.
What is it about being alone that I hate so much?
I think being alone means people don’t like me or love me very much. Worst of all, I don’t like myself very much sometimes.
So if the world hates me and I hate myself at the same time, who will love me?
If no one will, I think the world will be better off with one less unlovable person.
Yes, I sound suicidal but I’m not. I’m too cowardly and scared of pain to attempt killing myself. I have no confidence in myself of succeeding in suicide should I attempt it that the shame of failing to take my own life is a deterrent in itself.
Does that mean I will indulge in risk-taking behaviour? Yes.
Does that mean I will indulge in self-destructive behaviour? Yes.
It doesn’t matter in the end because I don’t feel loved.
I don’t mean people don’t care about me. I can name a few who do. But caring about me and loving me are two different things.
I just want to be smothered by love. Then maybe I won’t be so afraid of loneliness.