Its so fucking utterly pointless. All of it. Every fucking single things. Just so fucking pointless. Im so tired. Im tired of my body hijacking itself and surviving every damn fucking tragic event. Its rigidity and unwavering... She was right. That wretched fucking monster was right. Im always going to be worthless. Unlovable. Undeserving. Unwanted. Unprotected. She will always be right. No matter how many times I try to do everything different. Every thing ive done to be not who she swore I was. And yet here. I am alone still. Made less than. A burden. Im tire. She will always be right. With her disgusting sexual appetite and rancid coffee breath. With her twisted version of discipline. With all the wrong that everyone told me she was when they ripped me from her care. Somehow in my 40s... she is still right. My mother was always right. I am nothing. I am unwanted. I am unlovable. I am stupid. I am undeserving. She was right. I wish I didn't exist. It wouldn't make a dif