How Low am I?

[About Cat Hartliebe]

This is not for the faint of heart. I don’t want bullshit answers. Read to the end or don’t read at all.

Not that anyone actually reads this. It’s like I’m talking into the void, or to a wall, or to my cat. Yet I’ll feel better the more I let free everything inside.

So I’m marked as having moderate depressive disorder. The real psychs have indicated I don’t have such a thing. Yet, I am suicidal. It’s kinda been an always.

Why?

It’s the same reason I write the way I do. I seek acceptance. I have never had acceptance. My life is hard. I didn’t get the silver spoon at birth. I never had anyone push me to actually succeed. Imagine if I published at thirteen. Or if I went into modeling at about the same age. Those what ifs were possible. I went to a modeling agency about that time. I had thousands of words down and decent grasp on poetry. Some of my poems are from that time. There was less good ones, but I had some.

There are thousands of what ifs in my life. Most don’t hold any value. Those two would have been a real chance at something. I had beauty, still do. I had writing, even more now. Dance was pointless given the cost to work ratio. I never looked into any of my other artistic abilities.

I didn’t have friends. I was different growing up. I had this work ethic without a real direction. I had no one to train me to succeed or do better. FYI: Kids need that. It left me frustrated. The adults in my life just acted better than me without helping me go anywhere. I was set up for failure.

No. It was more my family expected me to do the whole motherhood thing. That if I aimed for a work, a husband and kids wasn’t possible.

I would love a life where I had a spouse and kids, a real family who loved and supported me. I don’t. I don’t see how I could.

It’s not like my family really understood science either. I went for a field that was out of their reach. The more I learned about the real world, the further I felt from the family I grew up in. That’s a good thing. They aren’t good people. They’re pretend good people. If you’re a minority you’ll understand that meaning. I’m not even out of the closet with them. I’m living here. I’m out to the public. I’m not out to them. They wouldn’t believe or understand anyway.

My big goals were simple, expected, and as far from real life now as possible. I just wanted to have my own life. Whether that life was the mother and wife or scientist saving the world, or writer bringing hope, it wouldn’t matter.

My child is struggling in the same way I was. Watching them fall for depression and suicide as a real answer is horrible. It proves I’m not a good mother. I’m not cut out for this. I know it’s the environment far more than me. They suffer under the same horrible people I did. Even more so since my brothers are now within the horrible people group. They have no one to lean on beside me. They can’t lean on me. I need to teach and train them. I can’t be mother, the sole caregiver, and their friend. I regret having them so much. I want kids. I want more of them. I want a real family. I want a partner to help me raise this troublesome one. I want a home to raise them in. None of that is possible.

I have a BS. I have a degree in science. I should’ve focused in college on that. It was easy though. I didn’t have to focus. As long as I wasn’t caught up medically, college was incredibly easy. I belonged there. So many didn’t. I was the one you expected to aim for a Phd. Because for me, that would be easy. I am one of those people who makes education look easy. I figured out various ways to help others see it as easy. I can teach anything since I can grasp it faster than most. That’s how I succeed in computers. IT is easy when you know how to research and the basics behind the machine. It feels as if I can solve anything given to me. And then I can teach others how to do the same. Yet I have no work within science or tech. Not really. Side jobs and odd jobs don’t count. It leaves me feeling like a failure.

Since 2013 I have been working on a career as an author. Because even if I can’t save the world, I can save one person. I can bring hope. I can change lives. I can succeed in this. I know I can. It’s possible.

What am I talking about? I can’t succeed at anything. Life isn’t possible. Nothing I do or did or will do matters. I’m just a speck of dust unimportant in life. Worthless. Useless. My existence has no value.

The fact no one reads this proves that. The fact I haven’t sold a book in months proves that. Why am I suicidal? Because my life has literally no value. I can’t do anything. I’m just a drain on society. Ask anyone. I’m worthless. That’s what my father always told me. He’s right.

So how low am I? As low as physically possible. Honestly there hasn’t been a day that goes by where suicide isn’t being planned in the back of my mind. This has been going on for years now. The program I’m in isn’t going to help. It only makes me want to die more not less. The hospital won’t help. Even my friends only keep the actions at bay.

The only way to stop this is to have my life be worthwhile. And that’s not possible.

I’m fighting to stay alive. Why do I fight? I am worthless. I’m not a good mother. I’ll never be a wife or scientist. I’ll never help the world or even a person. Don’t give me your little excuses. I don’t need them. I know them. Your bullshit answers are all the same. That is why this program and the hospital won’t work. I know the bullshit answers. And drugs don’t help matters either. This is all logic. I can easily boost my emotions. Those things are easy. You can’t change the situation I am in with drugs. Those only tempt killing me more.

If you really wanna help, buy my book, write a review, ask me for help directly, be my friend. Bullshit answers will never help. You can’t help someone who is struggling because they’re poor with bullshit. They need income. I need a position of value. There are many of them. All of them are out of my reach. If you were in my place, you’d be depressed and suicidal too. That’s the expected answer.


Update::

It has been more than six months since this. Even though I dived deep noticing all my failures again. I wasn’t suicidal.

The group they placed me in made it worse. People I’m normally around makes it worse.
I need to surround myself with support and I won’t be suicidal or depressed. It’s shocking how little my life has changed and yet it has changed enough to prove that’s all I need.

I haven’t been suicidal in months. Because I have a small support network on Twitter. Because I see people fighting for equality and truth to be known. Because I haven’t dealt with my family even though I’m living with them. I force distance.

I’m not mentally ill. I’m caught in bad circumstances. When I realized that (instead of just listening to idiots), my life changed for the better.


[About Cat Hartliebe]

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