Sipping at green tea and reflecting on how quickly the end of my freshman year of college is approaching, I recently decided to read back through the blog I kept during high school. I'm a big advocate of blogging, journaling, or in some way documenting your thoughts and goals. For me, having undergone a dramatic transformation since high school, having a record of my growth has been an inspiring, motivating, and uplifting aspect of my life, as it has served as a reminder of how things can get better, and of how malleable the future is.
However, as I read through my (often stupid, and almost always over-dramatic) accounts of my junior and senior years of high school, I was taken aback by a number of posts. Not only because of their content, but also their quantity. Beginning in the Spring of 2011, my blog was updated with posts like the following on an almost biweekly basis:
How I feel about life: A rant.
I’m a failure. Please note choice of words — I haven’t failed. I’m a failure. The noun. The type of person who doesn’t deserve to interact with other people. Or eat. Or even breathe. I don't deserve to exist.
And I know that other people think it’s okay, and will be my friend anyways, and won’t hate me because of it. But it’s not about what other people think. I want to think it’s okay, and not hate myself because of it.
I don’t deserve anything. I don’t deserve friends, I don’t deserve anything I have, I don’t deserve to eat. And right now I don’t feel like I deserve to live. I'm sorry to everyone who has supported me for letting you down. I don't deserve your support, and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for taking up space in the universe.
I don't deserve all the good things and people in my life, I don't deserve to be alive, and I don't want to be anymore.