Reality Bites

Parents everywhere lie to their children on a daily basis and I just think that's fucked up. They tell them "You can be anything you want to be, do whatever you set your mind to...where there's a will, there's a way": this is all total fucking bullshit. I wanted to be a fucking movie star, where's my star on the Walk of Fame? I wanted to be a singer; where's my Grammy? I wanted to be a writer, where's my Pulitzer? Hell, I didn't even get college. My parents gave my brother three fucking cars (he trashed them all in rapid succession) and a five year college degree. He's like a VP of something or other at Credit Suisse in New York City now. Has a sweet apartment, a gorgeous wife who sits around and plays with their dogs all day, while my entire adult life has been one struggle after another.  I should have listened to my dad at like 13 when he started talking college. I should never have lost my virginity to Steffen at 18. I should never have gotten back together with him after I moved out of my parents' house at 18. I was paying $250 for a room on Mass. Ave. in Arlington, doing fine just working retail. But my roommates hated him, and they said I could stay, but he had to go.  And like a total fucking moron, I was all "Screw you guys - we're in love!" and with my dad's help, we moved into an apartment that was $700 more than the old one...and we starved but we tried to make it as best we could...but then we got kicked out and moved in with one of his sketchy coworkers - "The Crackhouse" is what I called it.  Jack sold fucking heroin from his bedroom window, there were constantly like 15 teenagers (one was his own son) drifting in and out of the place, the fucking coke whore on the second floor was the mother to two of them...booze and weed everywhere. The relationship strained and broke. I moved home to my parents and was so relieved. I don't even know where I'm going here, except to say that I'm so incredibly down today. I have thought of suicide constantly lately. I've also thought about getting back into therapy and on meds, possibly even going away to a nuthouse for a while to fix things. The other day I was walking in the stairwell, and there were guys here cleaning the windows. They had the roof hatch open, and all I could think of was running out onto the roof and jumping.  I don't know the kind of damage a four story fall would do to a human body. I don't think it'd be enough to kill me. Thinking like this only makes me more depressed. I think I should take a Xanax and try not to think suicidal thoughts. It's hard not to though. I'm just so fucking depressed. And tired. I'm tired of the daily struggle. I'm tired of being a complete and total failure at life. I'm tired of being poor and barely making it. I wanted so much more for myself than this. If I were to go back in time somehow, and my, say, 17 year old self saw how I live now, she'd totally fucking flip out. I wanted to be a success in life, and being such a fucking loser is painful and shameful.  I'm gonna go cry in the bathroom for a while.