I hate my life and all that I've made of it. This farce called Thanksgiving only brings hurt and pain. I am only invited to make things seem normal. It's only my imagination that I am hated by the family. Of course it is.....I've always had an overactive imagination and have always been "too sensitive",whatever the hell that means.
I hate all the damage I have done over my lifetime.I can't undo any of it. I hate the daily conflict and the dread I feel on waking up. I'm sick to death of being tolerated;never loved by family. I'm sick to death of people telling me that it's all in my mind. I'm sick to death of living. FML