As long as I can remember my life has sucked. Growing up my family was poor, so we always lived in shitty neighborhoods. I was typically the only blonde-haired, blue-eyed kid in the entire school system, and had to fight daily just to get an education. I've been cut, stabbed, beaten by mobs, shot at, and almost killed on several ocassions. I'm a survivor though, and all it did was make me hard and cold inside and devoid of any feelings of joy.
By the time we finally moved out of the cesspools of innercity life, I was mentally a pretty fucked up individual. I hated myself and everyone around me. I would fight at the drop of a hat, and trusted no one aside my family. I longed for someone to end my suffering.
After the move, I tried my best to become a different person, but it was too late. You can't change a lifetime of hate, violence, and low self-esteem by geographical relocation. I was antisocial to the extreme, and it always seemed to shine through no matter how hard I tried to act like everyone else.
I finished high school, completed college, got a decent job, and married a really nice girl, but unfortunately none of these things made me feel better about myself. I still feel like a complete failure as a person despite these achievements. When things are going good for me, I always seem to screw them up. I guess being happy and successful is a frightening concept to me subconsciously. I've known nothing but misery most of my life, and I don't have the courage to live otherwise now.
No, I'm not homeless, starving, or incarcerated. So I guess I should be grateful, but I'm not. Nothing makes me happy anymore, and I truly wish I were dead. Material things mean nothing if you hate yourself and everything around you. The grass always seems greener on the other side of the fence.