I should simply stop hoping for things and just give up.

Every time I think things are moving forward, someone ruins them, and then I have to be evil because that is the choice I’m given: let someone else make the decisions for me, and spend my life unhappy with them…or refuse. And naturally, people get all hurt by my refusals.

I should just do what people want me to do, shouldn’t I? Just let everyone else tell me how things are to be, and accept that there isn’t a choice, and the way I imagined things happening is, of course, nowhere close to reality.

I want to be happy, damn it.
And I was. I was so happy earlier today, and that got ruined before the night was over. Because of course it did. I am simply not allowed to be happy. Other people can’t stomach the idea of letting me be happy because my happiness requires too much of them.

Not that I can blame them.
I am very nearly unlovable. Especially if you don’t know me at all, or if you know me too well…as with our solar system, there’s a “Goldilocks area” where you know me just well enough to like me, but not so well that you see what an exacting, evil monster I am…

I should have learned quicker to keep people in that area, because telling them what a monster I am doesn’t deter them…they think they want to love me, and they’re wrong. Because I will just turn evil on them once they start destroying my vision of how things ought to be, and then (I like to imagine) they will ask themselves why they ever thought they wanted to love me when I am neverendingly awful.

Maybe only stupid people love me. I have not considered things in that light before.

Not, you know…stupid for loving me, but just stupid. Like they are too dumb to understand the fact that I have stated what I will and won’t do for years, and have not budged from that declaration…and they think they can text me and get me to change my mind about significant things like where I will live and when and under what circumstances…

Excuse me? I am blown away that one could think that was an acceptable thing to think about me. If it had been someone who didn’t know me well, okay. I could see it. But someone who knows me very, very well? One would think they’d know better. But no. Of course not.

It’s like they enjoy texting me constantly when I am busy at work, and sending me into a fit of rage that makes me sick to my stomach, and unable to sleep or to stop shaking. All because they couldn’t fucking wait for a time when we could have a real, in-person, calm conversation about it.

I just want to die because I can’t stand it anymore. I can’t. I can’t make anyone else happy, and I’m certain nobody else gives a fuck about my own happiness…I should just give up and hope that everyone else will do likewise and save us all the trouble.

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