All my life I have been deprived of attention and love. I do not have the capacity to tolerate, in the slightest bit, incompetence of any form. It seems selfish of me to want it all and it’s damn near impossible for me to receive this, to receive ‘enough’ at any given time. I think I require so much because of a long term deficit of basic interaction that would have expanded my threshold and induce a reasonable enough response so whatever I would receive on average, that of the bare minimum would satisfy someone like me. Instead I act like an addict, tantrums and silent treatment for those who have such little regards for themselves that they see a broken person like myself, and think to stoop to my level and try to change me. I often feel irreparable. These events feel cyclic and trauma is possibly the most consistent entity in my pathetic excuse of existence. My very being oozes a negativity that engulfs a room and digests the atmosphere into a stifling void of misery and I fear the people in my life are only here against their will. Whether it’s by blood relation or that unforgiving string of fate that intertwined poor strangers into my ‘life’, I feel am inconsolable and unworthy yet, I continue to soak up and drain anyone that will give me the chance to. I do feel guilty after every encounter, I feel like I manipulate even myself into thinking, that for a slight second, maybe I am worthy of any of it and that is the brief window in which I succumb to the tenderness shown by my pitiful parties. How am I so content with being alone but the moment I engage with others it becomes an obsession worthy of being scripted for the role of a sociopath on television. I tend to pick apart myself in hopes that no one can do it better than me, instead I become hyper aware of all of my flaws and I appear ‘down to earth’ and ‘so humble’. Nothing can prevent anyone from picking me apart or thinking bad of me so why do I still do this to myself? Self loathing. A terminal disease that is constantly eating away at my self esteem till it ceases to exist. I long for acceptance with an expectancy of rejection. I find comfort in discomfort and I resist anything good because it’s unlikely to last and this mentality lessens the blow but completely disregards the entire experience. This journey has been exhausting and it’s still ongoing. This emotional turmoil has manifested itself into physical pain and the recurring anxiety renders me useless from time to time but truthfully I’ve learned to function throughout it all. It’s become apart of me and I often fantasize about my potential and better productivity levels, had I been stable. I feel like I don’t have enough time, I don’t know where to begin and I’m so scared. I am so scared.

-Anonymous