Finding the Light

As I sit here and go back over my life, I realize I never really had one. I’m pretty sure I was just born to be someone’s punching bag. I mean, that’s what I was for 30 some years. I was told I need to talk about my feelings and tell people why I’m so unhappy. But when you do that, it makes everything worse. I understand my feelings DON’T matter because everyone else is happy. Like people say, it’s all in my head. I mean, yes, I love being depressed to the point of wanting to kill myself. I mean my kids would be so much better without me saying I want to die every day. I can talk until I’m blue in the face and nothing changes. I say what I want, what I like but I get a better response from a dog than my family.

I am at the point now that I just won’t say anything anymore. I’m so sick of the defense back, like I don’t understand what I did. Again, it would be better if you listened to me instead of getting all defensive about it. I mean, hell, I want to make it work, but one person can’t make it work when only one listens.