October 01, 2016|
Tonight I am in a haze of worthlessness. My back has been hurting so much in this car. The internet is really slow out here, and my phone's connection is bad, too. So coming back to where I sleep doesn't really feel like a time to relax.
My back hurts a lot more than it has in a while. Maybe I'm getting fatter. I definitely feel less attractive.
I hate seeing the neighbors' windows across the street. I hate leaving my car because they might see me. I hate that I feel so completely undeserving of love. My mother sleeps in her bedroom, next to a room I once slept in, that someone else sleeps in now, someone who could pay her enough money to buy whatever she wants. And I just feel pain pain pain, and the shows I keep watching to drown out the pain keep pausing and it's silent, and there's nothing left. I feel like such an utterly repulsive clown in my work clothes. And I think maybe I'm not so repulsive. Maybe it's the outfit. Then a coworker who wears an identical outfit is hit on. And it's like I don't exist anymore. Like my time is up. But the whole time I just saw myself as revolting anyway. And now I am truly revolting. A creature living outside, too shitty to live inside. My brother probably told the neighbors his narrative of me as a drug dealing elder abusing psychopath. So I feel embarrassment and shame when they see me. They have to know I sleep in here. And they probably think I should be in here, because I don't deserve a bed, and legs that don't hurt, and a back that doesn't hurt, and a heart that hasn't been squashed. But I probably worry them, too. An eyesore. All these lights on in here at night. Creepy.
All those notions of romanticism attached to being a freak or being outside of society or being different, they all are gone when it seems there's no choice. I wish I was physically attractive. I think I could be before I get too old, but I also don't really believe I can be. I don't believe anything about myself. I don't think I'm supposed to be alive.