Ugh part 2

Oh dear, I don't feel good again. What's wrong with me? I can have a few days' respite from the problems, and just when I think they're gone, they come surging back with such intensity that it almost bowls me over and right out the door. I quite honestly feel no adverse emotion when I think of killing myself. I know it's not good for me to feel this way, but I don't see what I'm going to do about it. If I can distract myself one way or another the gloom goes away for a bit, but then it comes back full force as soon as my distraction goes away. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do. I almost want to die. Isn't there some way to get over this? I just want to be better. There's nothing even wrong with me; I should be perfectly happy, and that makes it even worse. I feel like an attention whore for feeling this way, when there are people with real problems, but I can't make it go away just by wishing. Hell, if that were the case, I'd have been better a long time ago. What is wrong with me? Melissa compliments me often on my strength of character, and everyone else tells me admiringly how sweet and even-tempered I am, and that's laughable. I cry more than would be strictly sensible (although, as established, it's more of a pathetic drizzle than anything else), and I walk around 70% of the time contemplating the least troublesome ways to kill myself. I feel so fake. I look like I have my act together, but I'm just a gross, pathetic, mess behind the polish. And I kind of want someone to see past that and help me out, but then I also don't, and I'd feel needy and whiny and selfish and weak and all that if he did. What could that someone do, anyway? I just need a good slap upside the head, really. Then, too, I don't want to be that vulnerable or dependent. Letting people into the innermost sanctum requires a level of trust I don't possess; I have enough problems of my own to worry about without having to think of new ones, courtesy of uncaring people. Because, although you might try to contest it for the reputation of human nature, no one really cares at all. No, it's better for me to stone-wall everyone and deal with my stupid issues on my own. I'll never let anyone see what's going on behind my hypocritical smile and my attentiveness to any and all problems that aren't my own. Why would anyone care, anyway? Sure, some kind soul might offer a few saccharine bromides about everything happening for a reason, or how everyone goes through rough patches, but those mean nothing. And how would I explain that there's no reason why I should feel so horrible, but that I do? I'm so stupid and pathetic. Why was I born this way? What earthly purpose do I serve? Maybe I should die, wouldn't that be better? Dammit, I hate this so much. I hate myself so much. Maybe I'm just a defective prototype, and once I'm gone, the real Jasmine will take my place. She'll be pretty and smart, but she won't have any of my problems. It'll be like Rembrandt– once you see her, you can't go back to the mediocrity that's me without feeling let down. Fortunately, no one will have to, because I'll be gone at that point. Don't worry, I'm not going to kill myself. It's just something I think about a lot. I'm going to shower, and then I'm going to bed. I'll be fine in the morning, for awhile anyway. We'll see. Goodnight, then.