I got word this morning that I'm "graduating" (as it were) with something called a lower exit degree. I'm not going to get my MA, and I don't know if I can appeal. I wasted so much money, and time, and resources, and it's all my fault. Sure, it's easy to blame the pandemic, or the strikes, or my mental health, or anything else besides my stupid fucking self, but at the end of the day, I can't escape the reality that I'm nothing but a lazy dumbass who couldn't get her shit together for one fucking year to complete what's probably the easiest degree in the world. It's my fault, and anyone I talk to will know it's my fault. I deserve whatever scorn I get, I know that, and I will face it, but I'm so disappointed and angry and I'm really trying hard not to cry, because I need to hide it for now. Emily isn't feeling good, and I have to be normal, just for now. Plus, I don't want to hear the I-told-you-so, not yet. I know it's my fault. I do! And I have no right to be disappointed or upset, and I'm trying really hard to hold it in, but it's so hard. I feel like such a failure. I really do just fuck up everything I try. I'm quite literally not good at anything. Even the things I'm decent at, I'm still not good at, and nothing is enough, and I'm not enough.
I'm not trying hard enough, I guess.
How hard would it have been to just get out of bed? Just get out of bed and go to class, and turn in literally one assignment. Then I would have my degree. I can't believe how fucking useless I am. Is there anything I'm good at, or successful at, just one single solitary thing? No matter how hard I scour my brain, I can't come up with anything. It's too late for grace, too late for understanding or empathy. I don't deserve that anymore. I've been given too many chances already, and I wasted them all. I wasted my whole life. There's nothing for me now. No PhD program will accept me, and even if they did, I would probably just crash and burn there, too. You know I've wanted a doctorate ever since I was a kid? How do I let go of that? Jesus Christ. I've never met anyone so literally devoid of value. I'm a leech, a drain on society and everyone who knows me. It's not the homeless population, not the chronically ill, not the addicts or even the Republicans. It's me, little Miss Privilege, aiming too high and costing everyone money. I wasn't even good at working in the warehouse. I can't even do something like that. Tell me, what the hell am I good for?
I deserve to die.
I'm not being cute or coy with that. What was it, Kitty told me? Stop trying to kill yourself every time something doesn't go your way? They're right. Actually, they're right about a lot of things. I'm a horrible person, and I deserve every single thing they've ever said about me. They're right; very few other people would want to put up with me. I'm lucky that they stick around. Shouldn't I just put myself, and everyone who knows me, out of our misery, then? The world would be better off. I can just imagine my mom's reaction, though. Couldn't she have done it earlier, before she wasted so much money? And I should have. I should have succeeded back then. There were so many chances. So many attempts. And I failed at all of them, just like I've failed at all my attempts to live. I'm not destined for success in any state of being. Which is kind of funny in a twisted way, just another reason my existence is a joke.
I'm tired. I'm tired of trying. I'm tired of keeping my head up and taking another shot, knowing damn well it's not going to land. I'm tired of it all being my fault.
