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  10323   I think about dying because I can't find a way to live. There has been no one to help me confront certain things which are too much for one person. Professionals have been useless and a waste of time. Waste of energy, a sidetrack. I wish I could have been in a good place where I was treasured and loved. How different my life would have been. How sad. I can't hoe this row anymore. It is an end. And part of me wants to live. Part of me if I could be taken care of and comfortable, would want to live. That seems unlikely and I have been hanging on for three years, hoping for a reprieve. None forthcoming. I feel bitter and shocked by life. I remember when I was in a very bad public high school, which was not suitable for me, I was crying and talking to the principal and saying that I could learn if I was in a good place. I remember she looked inappropriately amused, like Shadenfreud. There were racial and social issues involved. That wasn't the last time I encountered something like that. It's been like that for me, and having incompetent yet well respected parents has been part of that. Badness. Bad. Bad. I was a delicate, sensitive, talented person who never felt properly protected and nurtured. Sure, I discarded some invitations I should not have, but why were such offers so rare? I did the best I could with what knowledge I had. Did my life depend on recognizing three rare, short lived offers to share it? I suppose so. That's not a lot for a life to rest on. They were not so clearly marked and there were caveats. Only in retrospect . . . do I know that these were the ones. Why not more? Why do much dross to run through? What kind of a fucked up life is that? It sucks bigtime.

I've suffered since at least the age of 18. I am 42 now. It hurts to be alive. I feel deprived of everything, even basics needed to function. Deprived, achy, painful, deprived, hornswoggled, stolen from. It is bad and too much for me to deal with. I hate it.
 
 
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