"Please love me," I want to quietly plead.

"PLEASE LOVE ME" I want to scream at the top of my lungs.

"Please.  Love me."
I want to beg over and over and over again.

What a nightmare it is, to be living out your worst fears.

That you're too much.
That notifications from you are an annoyance.
That you're broken, because you're not happy enough, or because you're depressed all the time.
That promises made to you are not worth keeping, because you aren't worth the effort.

Living the majority of your life on your best behaviour, because being "good" and doing the right thing is what makes you worthy of loving.
Not for being who you are.
No, that's not enough.
You have to follow the rules, you have to put on a smile, you can't feel any "bad" things, you basically have to be perfect to be worth loving.

And then someone comes along who seems to be different.
Someone who cares for you immediately, without even really knowing you.
And then, as they continue to get to know you, they still care.
You haven't - by some miracle - scared them away by being yourself.
Instead, they seem to find your weird quirks and general strangeness...enduring.
They seem to love you for simply you being you.

Flaws, darkness, and all.

You think 'this can't be real.'

After all, no one can really love you for being just yourself.
But you take a deep breath, decide it's worth the risk, and allow yourself two things you never allowed yourself before:
To feel.
And to love without abandon.

After time, like most things in your life, things change, and you're proven right.

It's not worth it to feel.
And you truly are not worth being loved for who you are.

All the promises made.
All the nice words of saying that you'll work through things together, of saying that you're worth loving even if you never change, of saying that you're the love of their life...

and when things get difficult, when the guilt becomes too much to bear, instead of digging in to fight through it, to prove you're worth fighting for, they throw in the towel.

Guilt, I've come to notice, drives people one of two ways.
The first is that it becomes too much.  It's too heavy, it smothers, and because it becomes unbearable to them, and they don't have the skills to cope, they give up.  They quit.
The second, is that they see guilt as the sign of showing them where they can do better, be better.  Instead of quitting, they use the coping skills they have learned, to drive them to actually improve, so that guilt no longer has a hold on them.

My worst fears - and truly, things I have known my whole life, but have hoped against hope they weren't true - have been confirmed.

I am not enough.
I am not worth fighting for.
I am not worth loving.

What is even the point of staying alive, of bothering to try, when the truth has been so solidly confirmed?

You put your entire self out there, you thought - for once in your life - you were finally enough.
Just you.
No skills, no bribes, no gifts.
Just your own self.

And you were wrong.

You are too much.
You are not enough.
You are not worth the effort of loving.

We are all going to die someday.
Why not just speed up the process, and just get it over with?

This pain and hurt and confusion is not worth it.

I am not nearly as intoxicated as I wish I was.
To numb out the pain.
To make writing and processing this easier.

Do you know what a tremendous amount of hurt comes from facing the fact that the person who was supposed to be your person, doesn't want to talk with you?  Doesn't want to hear from you, thinks notifications of your texts are just another annoyance, that you aren't worth giving the time of day.

What did I do wrong?

I cannot express what it feels like to have some of your worst fears become reality; that you aren't worth loving, you aren't worth fighting for, that you're too much, that you're annoying, that you aren't worth loving.

My whole existence is a joke.

Ignored for the majority of my life except for when I misbehaved or didn't live up to the standards of those around me.
Ignored when I'm with friends, when I start to answer a question, only to be interrupted in the middle of it, and forgotten.
Overruled by my family members who, when I talk about things that I think about myself, or things that may be true about me, are ignored and/or rejected because clearly they know better than me (right?).
Ignored by the one who was supposed to be on my side, be my teammate, be with me through good and bad, because he doesn't like me for me, or wants anything to do with me, and has become completely apathetic to the struggles I face with mental health.

I am worthless.

I am not worth loving.
Not worth sticking around for.
Not worth anything.

I can't believe I fooled myself into thinking otherwise, even for a short while.

Idiot.

 I hate autumn.

I didn't always used to.
In fact, more than 10 years ago, if asked "what's your favourite season?" I would have answered without thinking: "fall."
But ever since she died, I have hated this time of year.

Fall used to be something I looked forward to.
The cozy warmth of the house in the morning, contrasted by the crisp, cool air as soon as I stepped outside to head to school.
The concept of fall foliage, sights fulfilled by pictures online, as I lived and grew up in an area where things stayed green year round (despite cooler weather during the cold seasons).
The smell of chimney smoke from houses as they warmed the evenings with a fire, ours included.
Grabbing apples off the tree in our backyard, biting into their crisp and tart flesh, the taste bringing a small moment of joy to remind me that this is what life is about.

Autumn brings nostalgia.
I don't know why; but it always has for me.
And before, nostalgia used to be my friend.
I used to fondly remember things in my past, used to love the comfort it brought when I reflected on anything and everything.

Now it's my enemy, and the only thing it gifts me is heartache.

So whenever the season of fall arrives and is in full effect, nostalgia arrives with it, and so does the heaviness of things I'd rather forget.

Being where I (geographically) am now, it's worse this year.
If you had asked me a couple months ago, I wouldn't have been able to tell you why.
But I have realised why the autumns in the past three years were much more bearable.

For one, I lived in an area where the fall season actually happened. 
Same cool, crisp air mornings, but accompanied by trees that actually changed with the season.
(Beauty in nature does wonders for the soul.)
But I was also with someone who, for a time, made life better.
And the combination of those two things, somehow made the bitterness and heartache of the fall season something I was able to completely forget.

Now I am both without that person, and in a place where fall - although it still occurs out this way - is not as prominent.

I am not okay.
And I just want this all to end.