Daily 9 pm meltdown

My 9 pm meltdown is here. Right on time. Every single night it’s a repeat of sadness, despair, tears, hurt, anger.

I was proud today. I made it the whole day without crying. Then 9 pm got here. D went to bed. The lights all turned off and I was reminded… It’s just me. Alone. In the darkness. As usual.

Will I ever be good enough for a single person? Will I ever be a priority for ONE single fucking person. Just once in my life, I want someone to think about me before they do something, say something, act. Is that really asking too much? How much hurt can one person handle? How long can you feel alone before you’re broken beyond repair?

The people that have that. They have no idea how fucking lucky they are. I cannot think of a single time I was that person for someone. That someone revolved what they wanted to do around me and my needs.

The correct answer would be my family. My mom. My dad. Ha. What a fucking joke. My mom was arrested by the time I was 2 for distribution of cocaine. My dad was long gone by then. My grandma’s thoughts revolves around what her God wanted. Not what was best for me.

I’ve emotionally fended for myself as long as I can remember. Literally. Yeah, my grandma provided the physical basics. There was never any emotional basics tho. Nobody ever thought – Hey, that would hurt her feelings or hey, that’s not fair to her or hey, we need to include her. My earliest memories are me, alone, playing with dolls wishing I had friends. Wishing adults cared about me. Wishing my own mom would invite me to things. Wishing someone, anyone, loved me.

Here I am – 40 years later – still existing without my emotional needs met. Still wishing my family would invite me. Wishing ANY family would invite me.

How in the fuck does anyone think it’s okay to exclude someone? Especially someone that did nothing wrong. Someone that tries so hard to be loved. Yet, it’s became a daily occurrence this week. Literally.

I have no doubts on why people end their lives. I fully understand it. The loneliness is unbearable. The hurt is all consuming. The actual work breathing takes is too much. There’s an ache that you can describe. You can’t imagine how awful it feels until you’ve experienced it yourself. The thought of all that pain ending. The thought of the loneliness ending. It’s almost like a dream. A fantasy. A relief that can’t come soon enough. I don’t fault anyone for giving up, I simply commend them for even making it that far.

No, I’m not going to end it all tonight. As much as I’d love to I’ve given away my firearms per my therapists request. Yes, we’re actively working on these feelings. But sometimes. Late at night. When I’m so alone. When all I can do is cry. I pray that someone I’ll just go to sleep and never wake up. I won’t cause it today but I sure wouldn’t prevent it if it was an option.

I hate the dark. I hate the loneliness. I hate feeling so excluded. I hate being the outsider. I hate 9 p.m.