Broken
My wins are not worth anything.
It doesn't matter whether I get a job. I'll find a way to cry in front of my manager and lose all chance of respect or upward mobility.
It doesn't matter if I move out on my own and achieve independence. I'll find a way to squander the relationships I have with everyone I rely on.
It doesn't matter if I maintain perfect grades for a semester. It will never be enough to improve my GPA such that my advisors stop doubting that "I may not be cut out for this career path."
It doesn't matter if I submitted my work to the school's art contest. After all, they have no incentive to support someone with a fallback who is just doing this shit to vent.
It doesn't matter if I make friends or relationships. They'll find out sooner or later when I get desperate for attention my sad backstory and the reasons behind my scars.
It doesn't matter if I seek help. All it does is put another label on me that tells everyone I'm broken.
It doesn't matter if I haven't harmed myself in six months. I harm everyone around me everyday with my lies and manipulation.
TIMID MURDERER LEECH FAILURE WEAK MALNOURISHED LOSER FAGGOT.
I'm already broken, and no amount of bandages to cover up the discrepancies is going to change that. No amount of lies, threats, or tears. All I have is to deceive myself that maybe things are going to get better sometime. Always maybe. Always soon.