A Waste of Space

In a survey of high school students, the National Youth Violence Prevention Resource Center found that almost 1 in 5 teens had thought about suicide, about 1 in 6 teens had made plans for suicide, and more than 1 in 12 teens had attempted suicide in the last year.

I've been down in the dumps for a few days now and I've been thinking about how I used to get really depressed for weeks or months at a time when I was a teenager.

Looking back,  I realize it was mostly because of the same things I feel now: that I am a waste of space.

When you're a teenager, you have an excuse.
You feel as though you are a burden on your parents, but it is their job as parents to take care of you.
You are in school, therefor not really contributing to society as a functioning adult.
You cannot do as you please. If you want to move out of state, you can't until your out of school.
Plus, teenagers are just evil.

As a teenager, you are in the stage where you are gaining the potential to become a full fledged functioning adult so that you can move out of your parents house, get a job, or move out of state.

As an adult, you are a different inexcusable waste of space.
You're not gaining potential, you're just being lazy.
These last few days, I've felt this way.

I live on my own.
I have a job.
I am inexcusably lazy.

I don't really clean.
I don't cook.
I spend too much money on cigarettes.
I am another mouth to feed.
I am at a job that would not know if I were missing.
I am not in college, gaining potential for a better life.

I have no excuse.
I am not bettering myself.

Personality will only take you so far.
You can make the people around you happy,
but if that is all you're doing
you are probably just a waste of space
just like me.



______________________
sorry this is so depressing today, guys. 
This is my blog, so deal with it.
I need to get things out too.

I'd really like a professional's opinion

I'm not feeling so bold
Can't you see I don't want to grow old?
and my photograph is an epitaph of parody
I don't want to be

I'm in a weird sort of space, tonight. I think it's because I took a nap earlier. Anytime I sleep and can recall my dreams upon waking up, it never makes for a good day. My dreams are just so twisted and demented. In my dreams, I'm always the victim. I'm always stuck in this world that I don't want to be part of but can't seem to pull myself out of. When I wake, although the dream is over, the feeling remains.

This has been a character trait that has haunted me for years. For four years, I believed I had found the cure to helping myself feel better. Anyone who caught onto my secret told me it was "unhealthy" and "dangerous." I took a vow on my 18th birthday to leave it behind. I slip up now and again every once in  awhile, but it's not an easy thing to let go of completely.

Instead, I replaced ugly scars with tattoos. Made promises to myself and others. It will always be a part of me, but it won't be who I am.

I hate the way I am sometimes. I get so caught up in myself and doing my own thing that I just want to ignore all things around me. If someone is trying to get my attention to show me something they know I'll like, I get annoyed and irritated because i'm "in the zone." I'll look, but I know the look on my face says "Get this over with and then leave me the hell alone." I hate this character trait. I know it upsets people, but I do it because I'm stuck in my ways. When I'm in my space, it's hard to pull me out.

Once, my mother told me that I needed to go to a psychologist. She was on the phone with my Grandmother screaming and I got upset and started tearing up. I was probably 15 at the time. I know this is a silly reason for a 15 year old girl to cry, but anyone who knows me at all knows that yelling one of the worst things to do around me unless you're intending to upset me severely. I grew up with my mother constantly screaming, it was practically her natural tone. In any case, she was screaming at my grandmother, i started tearing up, then she began screaming at me and that just made it worse. She told me "You need to go to a psychologist or something." It upset me even more at the time that my mother saw me as being such a demented child that I needed professional therapy.

Now that I look back at that day, I think "Maybe my mother was right." Sadly, we were a poor family for the most part. My mother didn't have the money to send me off to a shrink to get my shit straight. Now that I'm older, I wish she would have. I could definitely use it now. I'd rather like a professional picking at my psych. I want to know what caused this head of mine to be sick and twisted enough to turn on itself.

Maybe it's just part of growing up, but I'd really like a professional's opinion on the matter.