Depression and purgatory

Yeah, so lawyerboy reunion isn’t happening. He isn’t interested. That should sting a little, but we never would have split up if we were good together, you know?

I was remembering the night of my diagnosis. Where the fuck was he? He wasn’t there. That was, up to that point in time, the worst night of my life. Hell has broken loose since, and dying a slow painful death is one of the least of my worries at this point—but it was still a really bad experience.

All I’ve really wanted since the apocalypse is someone to just hold me while I cry. I just want to feel safe and supported and loved. No one has given that to me. Everyone just tells me to get over it. No one wants to hear about it. I tell my story here just to get it out. It doesn’t come with comforting words.

I’ve been talking to this guy, Marcus. He and I met on a dating site. He told me I was too fat to date. Then he found me on an adult site and decided I wasn’t too fat to fuck. I don’t know why I would even consider continuing to engage someone who insulted me like that. But I have. We’ve never met, but we can talk to each other.

I told Marcus the other day all I wanted while being sick was to lay my head on someone’s lap and watch a movie. The last guy I watched a movie with told me he didn’t want to date me but wanted to keep fucking me. Then he told me it was my fault because I seduced him.

After lawyerboy said no to the idea of getting back together last night, I told Marcus that we needed to stop talking. I could never be disrobed around him—I’d be too self-conscious—and I’m just going to end up getting hurt. We just need to skip this ultimately traumatizing and humiliating event in my life.

It’s one less person for me to talk to. It’s not like I need to lose that, but it’s better this way.

I honestly don’t think I’m ever going to find anyone. I’m too fucked up, too sick, and too me for anyone to ever want me.

I used to believe there was somebody for everyone. I used to think your perfect person was out there, that you would find each other. And the one time I thought I finally found it, it was an illusion. A sleight of hand. And I fell for it like a fucking idiot. Unconditional love was just bait.

I’m just hurting and lonely, missing having that person.

And now the only people I have to share it with are the unknowns and the randoms—and {D}, and his family, and his stupid cunt of a girlfriend who won’t fucking go away. And of course the counterterrorism unit who will use this against me. Look how pathetic I am, all alone. In perpetuity. You guys enjoying it? Jacking off to it? 

Why can’t I just fucking die? People who want to live die every day. People who have families who love them and care about them die every single day. People who have a use in the world die every single day.

I am useless, worthless, friendless, purposeless, and voiceless. What kind of cruel-assed joke does God seem to be playing with my life?

I want off this fucking ride already. I don’t want to cling to just making it to sunrise the next day. It’s infinite and it will never fucking stop.

I am in purgatory. It has to be purgatory—because if this is life, I don’t even know what to think.