I am a big, fat, out-of-control, fucking failure.
I pray daily that someone will put a bullet in my head or that a chunk of SkyLab will land on me.
The day started with the reinforcement of the perception that I am a big, fat, out-of-control, pig-faced, fucking failure.
I sat in my car and sobbed. Wailed actually. Wailed to my father, "Why did you leave me? Why can't I go, too?"
A co-worker parked their car next to me. I buried my face in a paper towel and acted like I don't exist.
Honestly, I wish I didn't (exist).
And to be blunt, I'm tired of sticking around to make others happy, or to make others not have to deal with all the requisite unpleasantness my untimely exit would cause.
Fuck all of you.
