For as long as I can possibly remember, I’ve always, “That one guy.” I mean this, for everyone – I am that “One guy.”

Please, ladies, explain this to me: How the FUCK can I possibly be the, “One guy,” if there is ALWAYS going to be people who are better than me; if there is ALWAYS going to be another guy; if there is ALWAYS going to impermissible circumstances for an actual relationship to take place. Tell me: What. The. Fuck?

Seriously, no matter what I do, even if I try my hardest, I will never reach the top. Never. After so many attempts, and after so many failures… I can’t handle this. I’m bleeding will to even bother with friends, family, work… life. Everyone will always just bury me under other higher priorities, right?

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I suppose what I want to establish here is a formal, “Fuck you,” to life. I’ve tried, and tried; and even when I thought I was at the height of my happiness, I still manage to be overlooked by someone. I’m just not perfect, and thereby, do not fill the necessary requirements to keep current status in other’s lives. I’m unappreciated. I’m insatiable. I’m. Just. Not. Enough.

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Another thing I would like to say is: I somehow find myself working under the radar. I constantly try to help people, I constantly try to remain a decent human being.  I do this in a manner that also goes unnoticed. I’ve helped people conquer drugs, family issues, relationships, self-imagery, death, and so many other problems. I don’t care that I’m not being recognized as anyone important for this things, I just want to be told that what  I did helped them. I don’t need them to spread the word about me, I just want to be told that I played a factor in how they’ve changed they’re life…

The really depressing part about all this? The people I help, the people I’d willingly, openly, die and sacrifice for… they are the ones who:

  1. Hurt me. I make people too good for me. <– Quite a pathetic occurrence, considering I’m a major roll in why you are what you are today.
  2. Get precisely what I want. <– God, I can help people get what they want, and I can help them get what I want; but I can’t do it for myself. That’s also pathetic in itself.
  3. Disappear. <– Poof. They’re gone. I’ve helped them – they used me. That’s all they wanted. Now they can move on… whatever.

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Being (metaphorically) repeatedly stepped, stomped, and ran over has it’s tolls. My head swells, my body aches, my ego fractured, my life permanently scarred. Handicapped from what I once was, and will never return to normal. I hate this, and yet it’s the only thing keeping me alive.

I’ve lost meaning, and with that, I’ve lost hope. I’ll sit back, watch the waves fall and topple over me… If someone cares enough, maybe I’ll drift to shore and be saved. Until then, I’m letting go.