The dishes are growing mould in the kitchen. The glasses have been soaking in the same water for weeks. Yesterday the sink blocked up. How does one even imagine cleaning it up? Maybe I could hire a cleaner, just for a day. But how could I let anyone see that this is how I live? Messiness of my home stresses me. Still I just can’t clean, I just want to sleep.

My dog stares me with blame in her eyes. Like she was saying “I could have had a better home, and a better owner. Instead I got you”. She has to sleep on the bed now, even though it’s too hot for her. There is so much trash on the floor that it has to be uncomfortable to sleep there. Again I’m apologizing her, and crying my quilt for being like this.

I disgust myself. I fight with my hair and skin. I always feel so dirty. I basically eat nothing but chips, just enough to stop feeling hungry. If I feel very weak I may buy a sandwich or something. No wonder I’m fat. I’m so incredibly stupid and rash, that I can never think about the consequences of my actions. They are always bad, often definite and without exception irrevocable. I regret and mentally punish myself. I can never forget how stupid, ugly, fat, disgusting and repulsive I am.

I have never been able to resist temptations. I steal and I lie. I’m a bad person.

But this is how life is? Isn’t it? At least this is all I know. I don’t remember being happy. Like, genuinely, not just because of a drug. I’m so angry that no one helped me when I was a child and wanted to die. Why did no one notice? A child isn’t supposed to understand that it isn’t “normal” to want to kill yourself, right? I’ve been told that I have always been a little “weird”, that I spent time by myself. That I didn’t like hugs. That I thought about stuff a lot and when I told about them to mom and my siblings, they didn’t understand what I was babbling about. Maybe that was the time I learned not to talk about my stuff. I’m usually quick these kind of things. Maybe that’s why they didn’t notice; maybe I was faulty from the beginning. I’m sure I could’ve been helped as a child, and now I hate my parents for not doing that.

My mind tells me I’m a coward. Lazy and bitter. “It’s so easy to blame the parents, when you’re the one that’s flawed. Take some responsibility. Be an adult”. That’s the way it is… My brother and sister are okay, so there isn’t something wrong with our parents. It’s me. I’m the one to blame, I always am.