Six Feet Under

Hold me now
I’m six feet from the edge and I’m thinking
Maybe six feet ain’t so far down

Have you ever been so low that, as you drive over a bridge, you envision yourself driving off? I have.

I told the boy. The one that I’m interested in. And guess what. He isn’t. He is dating someone else. Who he likes.

“He’s just a boy.” My friends say. “You’ll find someone.”

He’s not just a boy, though. He is representative of every single person in my life who has ever rejected me. He appears to want to stay my friend, but honestly, that doesn’t matter to me right now. It hurts too much.

I have never, in my adult or teenage life, felt attractive. Perhaps for one fleeting instant I felt pretty in my bridesmaid’s dress for my friend’s wedding, but that went away as soon as I looked at my legs, or my arms, or when people started taking pictures, or when I passed a mirror.

“When you find the one, he won’t care what you look like.” My friends say. “It’s about personality.”

It is. I agree. But there has to be an attraction there too. That’s the way we’re built. And I cannot believe or accept that anyone could ever find me attractive. The girl he likes? She is skinny and pretty. She seems nice, which makes it worse because then I can’t listen to the green monster inside me and hate her guts.

I am so tired of being heartbroken. I am so tired of feeling not good enough. I am so tired of feeling like I am unimportant. I am so tired of being theĀ fat friend with the good personality. I am so tired of being unhappy. I am so tired of feeling worthless and that I am undeserving of love and affection. The older I get, the more difficult it is to believe that a loving relationship is in my future. And it fucking sucks, frankly.

So, those are the moments when you find yourself standing at a crosswalk on a busy road, wondering if maybe you should jump in front of the oncoming semi.

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