I'm a failure, and I honestly hate myself.

I'm 30, ugly, still live with my mom, have a full-time job and can't afford the shittiest of bachelor apartments. I absolutely fucking crave privacy, being alone, having somewhere to myself, and I can't. Whenever I express that, I'm ungrateful, I'm the villain. My sister and mother go "what is wrong with you, why are you such a miserable bitch all the time".

No guys like me, I barely have friends anymore. With Covid, I can't even go on depressing Hinge dates and lie about where I live. I really do wonder if I should just kill myself.

I've felt like this for so long, and it never gets better. Therapy doesn't help, it just feels like I cry about the same bullshit to her every week, and she's nice and kind and gives me a safe place to vent, but it solves nothing.

It really doesn't get better, does it? People have been saying it for years, and it hasn't. I haven't "found the right person". It hasn't "happened for me". Things haven't "fallen into place". Working hard hasn't paid off.

I'm a miserable sad sack of shit, and I hate myself. I watch all my friends get married, buy houses, and I'm stuck at home, not moving.

I just wish I was dead.