12:12 a.m. - 03.24.2003
I hate my mother. Damn, there's a lot of those.
I want to move out so bad right now.
My mom was acting like such a bitch the other day, and I got really depressed and starting thinking about killing myself again.
This is what I wrote in my written journal that night:
Thoughts of killing myself are starting to penetrate my being and my soul.
I'm a fool. A failure. A fuck-up.
Almost 19. Showing little or no effort to better my situation.
And of course it's my mother who lets me, allows me to realize this.
Because any and everything I do isn't good enough.
Would I do it just to make her feel guilty?
I've thought about it. I want her to feel guilty.
I want her to cry when she sees my cold dead body on the floor.
Reading the note which solely blames her.
My fucked up life, my shitty job...
No. It was you, mother.
I want to stop being, stop living.
Because sometimes the hard times seem to outweigh the good times.
Don't get me wrong; there are some good times in my life because of my friends.
But it all feels shitty again when I come home and the kitchen is clean, the basement is clean, and all my mother can do is find SOMETHING to bitch about.
Oh! I left my shit on the dryer. So throw it on the floor!
Yeah! Do that!
Completely disregard any and every little thing that I do for you.
But find the flaws.
That's what you're good at.
And now that's what I'm good at.
Find the flaws in myself.
My life.
My entire existence.
Slit my wrists, swallow some pills, whatever.
Life feels so hard sometimes.
Even harder with an asshole mother.
Who never supports me, but only discourages me.
So thank you mother.
For allowing me to realize what a complete waste of human life that I am.
-Erica Glatting
