A very dark self depricating crosspost.

I only exist because suicide is wrong. I acknowledge it. I know this. I know that people would miss me and eventually they will get over it. They will go about their daily activities and they might shed a couple of tears for me now and then, but they won't miss me for too long. Why is it a crime that I have realized what most people learn when they turn thirty or forty that life sucks, it's pointless, you do the same crap every single friggin day, you get up you go to work you hang out with your kids (if you have any) you pay bills you walk the dog and then you go to bed and then you do it all over again...why is this fun? Why is this something I have to look forward to for the next sixty seven years of my life? I don't want the 'miracle' of childbirth in my life, I don't care to raise and coddle babies, I don't care to share the rest and best years of my life with another person. I want to be alone.1

I have caused a lot of pain and sorrow in my 21 years on earth...and that is something I have to cope with. I'm hard to handle and extremely misunderstood...and I'm still trying to find myself.2

Things that used to make me happy don't make me happy anymore. I miss going to random car lots and jonesing for a car that I will never have parked in the drive way. I miss looking up random useless bits of information about a corolla or a sebring lxi coupe ((1999 if you must know...)) or a 2001 expedition. I want to go to the car lot with my father all excited because I'm finally getting the car of my dreams. But those dreams will never come. I work a dead end job ( though I love it, I really do Sandy) with great people, although the upper upper management sucks ( and Sandy, Sarah and Donna know who I'm talking about) but I love the customers ( especially the regulars) and they love me.3

I miss writing an intensely dark poem that scares the bejesus out of the reader and getting satisfaction that I am truly eloquent and prolific. I miss having the mystique that I'm weird, sensitive, angry, crazy, a little fucked up and even a great person to talk to.4

I miss the random chats I would have with my former...where we would spend hours deconstructing the finer points of Buffyisms and the fact that I just might be Drusilla reincarnate. I miss having the talks that despite my better judgment and my morals and ethics and the fact that I swore off marriage that I do want to marry him. Though I know about twenty people who will refuse to come to the wedding because they hate him.5

I miss being happy. I don't know if I am ever truly happy anymore. Happiness died on September 17th. It was buried with my mother.6

I'm barely surviving. I am here on earth against my better wishes...I am not living. I sleep for copious amounts (( how i love those two words strung together)) of time get up, go to work...put on my happy facade and do what I have to do...I drive home on this incredible high from great music and the motion of the car...and then I come home. I come home to the same OCDish routine that drives me out of my mind. Pull of my wig, sit in front of the computer, log onto to my various favorite websites, talk with my kinksters and then get my grandmother ready for bed. Then I go upstairs plug in my phone read a little attempt to write, read some fan fic...and then go have a couple of cigarettes...then attempt to sleep. Sleep fails I get up go on the computer...smoke a few cigarettes...three thirty rolls around the paper man comes...and then I realize I have been up almost the entire night. I stay up and watch an episode or two of seinfeld or NCIS...depending on my mood...and then the sun starts to come up. How much I detest the sun...7

I enjoy living with my grandmother...I enjoy living with my grandmother because for the most part, I'm basically alone. I have an entire upstairs to myself...where I can just...be. I like to be alone with my thoughts, no matter how terrifying they may be. I like going out to smoke and just listen to the train or stare up at the stars on a quiet night.8

I like dissecting my relationship with my former band teacher...I like knowing that no matter how much I screw up, he will always be there to talk with me and try to get me to realize that no matter how much I screw up he and God will love me. I love knowing that he knows that our relationship is superficial at best and that he wants me to have a good relationship with my father. But I know deep down in my heart that our relationship isn't superficial. He has taught me things and made me believe that I am a good person. I like visiting him and just spewing out things that are bothering me without worrying about it going into some file. I trust him more than I trust anyone in the world.9

I love how I can construct beautiful words together but the people that matter most have never seen them. I'm not sure they would ever want to read my poetry....I'm not sure if they dismiss me as a person...because my thoughts are so jumbled and not thought out as they are on paper...10


I hate and love at the same time that certain things remind me of my mother and I have virtually no one to talk about it with. I was walking up the ramp to enter my grandma's house yesterday and I caught a wiff of laundry detergent and crisp air and I thought ' wow, that reminds me of summer with Mom' the memories I have of her will last me a lifetime but they're not enough. I am extremely selfish...and I want her here with me. I want to give her a hug and I want to bug her about her green sweats with pink socks, or her stupid lima bean casserole. I miss being carted around in the Mitsubishi ( if I could find one to buy I would buy it in a heart beat) or the Station wagon...or the windstar...or hell even the little Subaru loyale and go up and wait for Mrs. Bonaker to give Megan and Joey their piano lessons. I miss being small. I always tell the little kids that come through my cashiers line to never grow up. When I say it...I mean it.11

12

I wish I could express myself, grab peoples faces and say, I am Rosita. I'm a former orphan ( yes that is how I see myself.) a former crack baby who has defied all odds to be here today and I can't get my shit straight. No matter how much I try, my depression, my self doubt and my self deprecation gets in the way. My siblings, my father and my mother god rest that beautiful soul are all better than I am. I am a broken human with no direction in life. I am a disabled, handicapped ( fuck you handicapable you're not a word) and I hate life. I am full of negativity. I want to be happy I truly do, but I don't ever think I'll be happy until I'm dead. Because then I'll get to see my mother again.