the same fucking story

I can be a dreadfully jealous person. Jealous that others are treated  better than me by former boyfriends, jealous of peoples good fortune,  jealous when I scroll through my news feed. Jealous that my life is  the way it is. Not that I’m surprised that it’s not better, I’m such a  fucking whiny bitch. I mean, really, what percentage of my fucking  blog is just me feeling fucking sorry for myself. And I know life  could be worse. But I look forward and things look bleak, and things  don’t turn out the way I want, and god, I know how irritating I must  sound but I can’t seem to fucking stop. Whine bitch moan, it’s all I  ever fucking do. I mean, what is even the fucking point of all this??

What the hell am I hoping to accomplish?? Some fucking pity party??  Wah wah poor me. Comments from people saying “I can relate” or “you’re  too hard on yourself”. But the truth is I’m not. Other people have  more than me because they deserve more. I don’t deserve to be treated  better, I don’t deserve nice things because I just break or lose them  anyway. I don’t deserve a good fucking life. I don’t even deserve to  keep this whiny fucking blog that all of five people read. I deserve  the worst treatment. And even me saying that is partly bait for  someone to convince me otherwise. Oh no Joia, you’re great, things  will be ok.

But great people don’t bait people into compliments
because they feel shitty about themselves. Great people don’t
over share on the Internet and have it come back to haunt them. Good  people does not equal me. I’m petty, and jealous, and insecure and  ungrateful and weird. And then I bitch as if that will make things  fucking better. And I probably don’t have a right to be this fucking  miserable. I should just get the fuck over things. But I won’t. I know  it. I’ll never get anywhere. I’ll just keep writing this same blog  entry over and over, screaming for help I don’t deserve that doesn’t  exist, that couldn’t exist, because the key to my happiness is within  myself. But, I probably lost it, and no matter how hard I scream it’s  not coming back. Things will not get better, I’ll stay in my quicksand  and bitch and moan and bitch and moan so much it literally makes me  ill with disgust. And I will not disturb the status quo just so I can shit comfortably. I will just stay here. And bitch and moan. And get jealous and defensive, and wonder why I’m such a miserable shit. And  disgust myself really.

Because I’m not a writer, because it’s all the same fucking story, again and again.

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About boredgirl260

27 year old trying to figure things out as she goes.
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