I feel like that word describes my whole life. Constant struggling. I'm tired. I hate myself. I don't want to be in this world. People say everything is temporary except death, so that's why suicide isn't the answer. But being yourself is not temporary. That can only be cured by death. I have good days. I have some great days. But the suffering inside my head will never stop. I will never look at myself and love myself. I will never be proud of myself. I always feel like a failure and a disappointment, to others and myself.

Why should my abuser live a happy comfortable life after ruining mine? I want justice. But the only thing I can think of is to kill myself and leave a note saying it's his fault entirely. I just want him to suffer as much as me. But because he's not BPD, that's impossible. No one suffers like us.