great job

it's my fault for fooling people into thinking i'm good.

i resent every single person that believed in me. they're the reason i keep failing because they define the standard that show my shortcomings. it's unfortunate how people who regard me positively are actually those that don't see me genuinely. i feel bad that they are happy for things that actually cause me misery.

at this point, i much prefer the company of my doubters because they see me for what i actually am: a fraud that does an excellent job of counterfeiting quality. at least, i don't have to disappoint them. i just have to prove them right - as how the natural state of things would have done.

this has been a much worse existential crisis than having a lover cheat on me with a bastard that she's trying to pass off as mine. at least that was a unanimous injustice that everyone got behind.

my desire for death has been at its strongest recently. i fake every smile, laughter or cordial interaction. i wish for a truck to run into me every time i'm behind the steering wheel. i see in every bottle of alcohol fleeting and false hope. i look forward that the pain in my chest is the last sensation i ever feel.

it's my fault for doing a good job of becoming someone i'm not.

i need to die because i don't truly exist.

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