I can take no more.

To quote “Audience of One” by Rise Against, “we slammed the breaks, but the wheels went on.” Well, not we. Me. I slammed the breaks. Now, they say survivor guilt is when you survived and someone else didn’t. Well fine. I still say I can call my feelings survivor guilt. I flipped my car 40 feet. The roof should have caved in. I shouldn’t be alive. My passenger came out injury free. So why do I feel so guilty? The state trooper couldn’t believe I was standing in front of him. He’s seen people die after sliding 10 feet. So, my fall was four times greater than theirs, and I came out virtually unharmed. Why? What is so special, so important about my existence that I got to live? Words cannot express how much I hate myself for living. And what have I done with my second chance at life? I’ve become quite a slut. I drink a lot. I’m possibly an alcoholic. And if it came down to it, I’d do awful things for money. Because “There aint no rest for the wicked. And money don’t grow on trees.” Thank you, Caging the Elephant. And I’ve even tried to commit suicide a few times. Great way to say thanks for the second chance at life.

My most unattractive quality is my eating disorder. I’m horribly bulimic. God, why the second chance if it came with so much hatred for myself? So much baggage. I hate my eating disorder. I hate my attention deficit disorder. I want to control it all. I still cut myself sometimes. I did it today at work. And a few days ago. I’m apparently unbearable to live with. I think I shouldn't be alive, since no one can live with me. I try so hard to please others and to do the right thing but I just fall short every time. I can’t keep doing this. I won’t. If I do ever actually kill myself, I'll make it look like the biggest mistake in the world so no one has to deal with how much I hate myself.