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9 years later and I'm still being diagnosed as severely depressed.



I might as well add "contemplating suicide" on my daily activity list.



I still hate this life, I still want to die.



Nothing is getting any better, it's all just getting worse.



I hate my parents for conceiving me, I hate my mother for not having had an abortion. At least that way I would have been spared their ignorance in raising me and they wouldn't have to be ashamed of me.



My own father didn't even call me on my birthday, he doesn't care. He's ashamed of the loser I am. I never got his approval, support or encouragement when I was young and I apparently never will. He'll keep criticizing me even when I'm dead. I'm too much like my mother, he says. I'm just as fat and ugly and stupid, that's what he means. I could never live up to his expectations, always failed him. What about how he failed me by drinking my childhood away? Does he ever consider that? How ashamed I felt to be his daughter?



His sister wasn't any better, my aunt. Always shoving it in my face how much better my cousins were. They were thin, smart, ambitious. I was always the fat pig.



My mother isn't any better, being stuck living with her is not making my life any easier. Feels like I'm 16 and being criticized all over again. I'm this and that, I'm never good enough, that's the message you've given me since I was born, thanks mom.



My friends, then? I had one, she got me through everything in my teens but since I had Ryan it's like I lost there. She's still there but it hasn't been like it used to be, not for 5 years now. I miss her and I can't do anything about it, we still live too far apart and our lives are way too different now.



So I'm alone.



Because I never have the time to go out and make friends, not even sure I would if I did. I would probably just lock myself up in a room and stay there, if it wasn't for my responsibilities as a mom calling.



Sometimes I wish that I had never gotten pregnant only for the fact that's he's the only thing keeping me going, and I don't want to keep going. I want to have the right to lay down and give up, give in, just die. And I can't.



I hate that life is moving past me in a never ending cycle, days going by all the same. Nothing ever changes.



How can I ever fully express all this fucking excess pain I'm carrying around? Medication numbs it down for a bit but then it just comes back full force again. Therapy only makes me cry, doesn't get me anywhere.



Ryan deserves a better life, a better mom, not one with all this shit to deal with. Not that I can cope with it.



I see and I read about accidents happening all over the world, people die, why can't I? Why do the ones who want to die never get to die?



I want happiness but happiness doesn't want me, or so it seems.



Ah rant over, I'm going to sleep before I have to pick Ryan up at preschool.