Thoughts: Blah

I hate my life. How much longer do I have left? 60 years? 30 if I'm lucky? If I'm very good maybe Santa Claus will kill me this Christmas.
Ever since I first learned the definition of the word suicide, I wanted to do it. But god wont let me. Every time I try I just end up loosing something else that makes this world bareable for me. I'm afraid to try again because I don't want to see how much worse it can get.
I used to be proud of how different was from everyone else. The older I get, the harder that is. Finally ready to be monagamous with a lover, after all these years, and they don't want me because I'm too weird. When will the crying stop? Three days now, at least I had no nightmares last night.
Old friends don't know me anymore and I guess they never did. Friendship is a sham. I've said it before and I say it now, as a lover picked her friends over me, "They wouldn't understand you Jane, and they are more important to me than you." Of course they are. Until they get lovers, then let's see what's more important...
Oh, the letters. The letters from all the people who tell me how amazing I am and how great I make them feel and how much they appreciate it, but they have a train to catch to their future and there is no room on it for me.
Have I a friend in this world? I think not. It's everyone out for themselves. We can pretend to be friends, as long as it suits us, but in the end you will find something more important. Leaving just me. Always just me.