Everything's so different from what it used to be. I've always been very independent. I went off to college on my own and lived in a family's basement by myself. I know how to cook and all that stuff. Since I moved back home however, I've become very dependent on my dad. I struggle if he's gone for even a night. I just feel so alone because he's usually all I have.
One such night recently, my dad was away and I decided to read through my journals, find out where I was this time last year. That was quite depressing. Seeing everything and everyone I had that I lost just three months later. I wanted so badly to go back and warn myself of what was coming, but I can't. It's hard feeling that I don't matter. I try on occasion to get back in touch with the friends I had, but they never respond. I haven't heard from them since January or February. I've slipped from their life and they don't intend to put me back. I even find myself wanting to push those I have now away, cut off communication before they do because it will be less painful if I do it instead of waiting for them. So many people have told me they'll always be there and I can always go to them. Whenever anyone tells me that now, my immediate thought is 'for how long?'
I feel like such a financial and time-consuming burden. I feel like no one cares. I see people sharing and aiding in little things that don't really matter on Facebook. There are fundraisers at school all year. Don't I matter? My gofundme medical support fund has stopped last month at $478. With a goal of $12,000 it just doesn't add up. At times I honestly wish I would just die. Please note at this time I am
not suicidal and will never take my life. I just wish something else
would do it for me...I don't have any desire to go to Hell, however I sometimes can't help feeling I'm already there. I've been there for a long time and how truly lonely it is. A place where people forget you even exist. Where you're not surrounded by people at work or school, where you are truly and nearly constantly alone. Nine months now. People say they understand how I feel, that they're lonely too. But they're not and they don't.
People tell me I've been like this for a while, done. Given up. But I'm still here, I'm still going. That doesn't mean anything. Only that my torture continues. It doesn't mean I'm overcoming or enduring. I'm just existing and only barely. I've long lost wishes and hopes for better days because nothing will ever be the same and perhaps I'm doomed to remain in this little town with no one but my dad and doctors, a tube sticking out of my arm and medications that make me sick. No support, no help, no love. Just this.
I think it's driving me crazy because I am getting better. Sometimes I have more energy, I'm not feeling as sick as I used to. Yet there's still nothing to do and no one to be with. A wild animal shouldn't be confined to a cage. I want to live again.