Failure - Tuesday, November 19, 2024.

Comparison is the thief of joy. — (Attributed to) President Theodore Roosevelt.

Listening: Tomorrow For Us by Rosetta Stone

When I think of what I've accomplished, then what of my older siblings accomplished at or before my age, I am struck with the overwhelming feeling of inadequacy, of futility. My older siblings hade their driver's license at my age; I still don't know how to drive a stick-shift or parallel park. They had friends at my age; I've been alone for basically all my life. They had several jobs; I've only had one, which I loathed. They had boyfriends and girlfriends; I don't even know how to talk to people. They had cars; I don't even have a driver's license. They were saving money; all I do is spend. They were working and doing college; all I do is the latter.

I could go on, but why torture myself more? It's not the sole reason I tried to kill myself, but it is a factor. I'm behind; I don't know how to catch up; I doubt I even will. I try, but it's not enough.

Sometimes I wish no one cared about me, so they wouldn't stop me from dying, so they would let me die. Love really is a burden. I just wish I wasn't one too.