Sick of it

I’m sick of it. 

I’m sick of being the only one who is capable, has money, understands the world, doesn’t freak out every single fucking second, has people skills and friends, isn’t a fucking asshole... I’m sick of working for others’ benefit. I’m sick of being the only one who does things, or they just don’t get done. And I’m sick of being treated like I’m the problem and being unable to point out I’m not the problem without some little bitch stealing my feel bad. I’m sick of the self-pity. I’m sick of every single good mood I’m in being ruined by some dark angry cloud hanging over my life. I’m sick of coping with food, because I can’t even fucking drink or smoke because of his fucking issues and his fucking moods. My life is so restricted by being “supportive,” and I wouldn’t care if it was reciprocated. 

I don’t even have my fucking noodle, because this controlling ass fucking idiot made me leave it hundreds of miles away for no fucking real reason. 

I hate him.