September 26, 2025
I always wanted to absorb other people’s pain — to listen to their problems so they wouldn’t feel the weight. I tried to help them, to fix everything, to experience their suffering in their place so they wouldn’t have to. I drank all their pain, misery, and bad emotions, hoping that by doing so I would finally be accepted as a normal person. I thought if I carried their burdens, people wouldn’t hate me, bully me, or make fun of me.
But after all of this, what I got was the opposite of what I wanted. I got hurt. It scared me. The pain I felt was horrible — as sharp as physical pain, maybe even worse. It was a pain of the heart. I cried and cried and even wished for death. Their actions weren’t even that terrible on the surface, but my reaction — alone, in isolation — was unbearable.
And in the end, I would forget. Yet they would still use me. And I would get hurt again. Then the cycle of depression would start all over.
Please, for God’s sake, for my own sake — stop. Stop treating me like I’m less than human. I’m afraid I won’t stay the same person; I’m afraid I’ll turn into the very thing I always hated. But I don’t want that. I hate it. They are trash. I will never be like them, not even in my dreams. That is my way of showing hate — by refusing to become what they are, even if it kills me.
But I don’t want to be miserable like this. Why does it only happen to me? Why do I feel so much? When did I become so sensitive? Why does it hurt? Why do I feel love and hate at such extremes? Why are they so insensitive, so careless about how others feel? Why do I hate them so much?