What happened to me? Why did I let myself be with someone who, I thought, would make ,but in reality, will break me? I'm messed up. Messed up with something called "love" and that is bullshit. I invested way too much. I spent way too many money that I forgot to spend it for myself, and now there's this -- heartache, heartbreak, pain and regrets. What happened to me? I am the giver. I gave it all. Too much time, too much attention and affection and too much of everything, but I never received anything in return. I gave too much love, but haven't got any kind of love that I think, ai deserved. Maybe I was made to give, but never made to receive. Or maybe I was made to receve, to receive pain, regrets, didappointments and other shits. I was made to cry, or at least choose to cry. That's when I realized, life is not unfair. It's the people who's unfair and that's a sad story. Maybe I was made to be someone's source of everything, but never someone's reason for everything. What I feel? I. Am. Worthless. I am a 25-year old guy full of crazy stuff and weird possibilities and that's the end of my story. I've tried to enter. I entered way too may relationship and end up either 1) broken, 2) shattered, 3) broken and shattered or 4) broken and shattered and broken and shattered. I wonder what's missing on me. Why do they always cheat? Like they will decide to start something magical with me and they will be the one to ruin it all. But why do they have to enter if whilst staying, they are entering to someone else's life? Isn't bullshit? It is bullshit. BULLSHIT! On my 13th birthday, that's when I realized that I am different. I am weird. I am boring. I am delicate. I am sensitive. I am someone who's hated by the world. There's only me.I love myself. There's my sister, she loves me. There's my other sister, she loves me and she loves my sister. There's Mom and Dad, they love us the way they love each other. Growing up, growing old, I'm getting boring and boring and boring and weirder and weirder and starting to see the world differently. They say I am too sensitive, I am sensitive. They say I am too hard to handle, I am hard to handle. They say I am too delicate, I am delicate. "No one would dare to love a boring and weird and delicate and hard to handle and sensitive person like you. They will just play with your feelings because they know, they can, then when they got boring with your boring world and games, they will go and leave you alone and all your crazy shit. You are not made to be loved by someone else, you are made to get hurt, to feel pain, to be someone's past time." They say. I am not good for someone. I will never be good for someone else. I refused to believe, but now I am starting to believe. Right there and then, I see myself in a dark room with dark wall and dark clouds, alone. I have my friends. Few of them. And I am happy, at least. Happy not with the thought that I have friends, but with the thought that there are some who can tolerate me for who I am and accept me for what I am. Thanks to them, I can feel, at least that I wasn't made to be a mess. I always wanted to repackage myself. I wanted to be someone else, someone far away different to who I am. But I can't. That's no longer me. Pessimistic. Paranoid. This are what describes me best. And I hate myself for being one, the way other's hated me. If I am a killer, I know for sure, I killed someone already. Someone who dumped me, someone who cheated on me, someone who drags me down. But. I. Am. Not. A. Killer. At least by choice, I decided not to be one. I am the victim. Always the victim. And people, they are the killer and my life is a big murder or homicide or toture. I can't find the peace in peace and the escape in escape. I want to run away. I don't where to go. I want to escape this mess, my life. But I am the mess. I want to kill myself and just be a little butterfly flying with the wind and just going with the flow and blow, but I can't. All I know is that I will have to deal with this for as long as I live. For as long as I am alive.