I hate this world that I’ve created.
I hate that I moved across the country with big dreams, none of them being fulfilled. They’ve been destroyed so much that I’ve let them go altogether. I don’t even write anymore. I probably don’t even exist anymore.
I hate that I moved to the south and have encountered far more entitled people than I ever did living in a resort town. I hate that I feel that I can do nothing right. I hate that I don’t have anyone to depend on, so I’ve learned to depend on myself. I hate that my heart aches for a church like the one I left behind. I hate that I can’t find that here. I hate that every promotion brings more misery, instead of confidence. I hate that I complain so often. I hate that I’m depressed.
I miss my home. I miss my family. I miss my friends. I miss my mom. If I had known that moving here would mean losing her, I never would have come. I miss that she made me empowered. I wish that I had appreciated it while she was around.
I don’t want to be alive in this world anymore. I know it’s supposed to get better. I know it always has gotten better. But I don’t like the in between. I don’t like that I’m in the in between again. I don’t like that I’ve gotten so lost, that I’ve disappeared completely.