When the Lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window and gives you a tub of butter to slide your fat ass through.  I feel like I’m having doors shut and windows open left and right, but somehow my massive body can’t pull through them.  One too many Burger King BOGO Whoppers I guess. The truth is that the God who watches over sparrows forgot to kill me the day my usefulness ran out, which was somewhere around 7 am September 13, 2011. I tried to rectify this about three years ago, but it was a lame attempt, and God, like everyone else said, “I don’t want you.” I really don’t know how I survived my life after the attempt, but I did.

What have I become? A filthy, disgusting government mooch. A sifter purveyor  of garbage.  A hoarder is worse than being a whore in most people’s estimation. If I’m not a financial mooch of people, I’m an emotional one. I want so much to be loved, but all I leave is a path of destruction in my wake. I’m too much of a pussy to attempt suicide again. Anything painless is usually fruitless, and I’m too much of a wuss to jump off a bridge  and have my ribs skewer my lungs. I don’t want physical pain, and the fear of physical pain inherent in humans is enough to drown out the pain of sheer worthlessness. I deserve a painful death. I deserve to die the way my mother did,  to have my body become septic and reject me. That is justice.  

I wish the worthless feeling would go away. I know everyone thinks I’m worthless. The other day social services came to help me clean up my apartment so I won’t get evicted. One woman found my ‘fries with that ‘ college degree.’ Now that’s funny.

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