It's not fair

I've put so much love out there into the world, and it's still not good enough.

I'm a good man. Really, truly, deeply. I'm considerate and kind, I examine myself constantly, trying to become a better person, and I'll help a stranger in need. I care.

I think I care too much. The world has given me little except hate, and no matter what I do, how hard I work, how strong I am, how smart I prove I am... no matter what I do, I'm left with nothing. Women who cheat on me and don't even think it's wrong. Women who cheat and simply don't care. Women who don't cheat, but pretend to, just to see me get upset about it.

I don't have the energy to hate anymore. I want to. I want to be angry, I want to cry out in anger, frustration, and pain, but all I have left is the pain of self-pity and the tears of abandonment.

I thought she was the one. I was so good to her... I never ever called her a name. In the end, on that last night when she decided it was over and I knew, I showed my worst colors to her. I was defending her from her best friend. "Don't call her that" I said, and it all blossomed from that. And all she said to Slutbag was that she was a bitch. And that she questioned her friendship with her.

But it doesn't matter. It doesn't matter how good a man I am or how emotionally intelligent I become. It doesn't matter that I'll shake a homeless man's hand or wait for the smile every time I tell someone to have a good day. It doesn't matter that I treated her better than any woman has ever been treated by any man. It doesn't matter that I conducted myself with mental health, reasonable requests, and articulated feelings in the absolute worst of circumstances.

I was in the city tonight dancing. Every single girl in that club noticed me. I danced with half a dozen at least and could have made out with most of them.

But none of them were Slutbag. And so they all fell short. Roxanne, Amanda, Lynn... too tall, too drunk, too married. The others were all just too much like Rose. Too full of themselves, too slutty, too blonde, and too yuppie.

I don't know what to do. I'll never move there. I can't stand it -- that crowd, that aura, that feeling. That ignorance. That bliss. That superficiality.

I don't think I'm going to make it. I think about my life, what I've done, who I want to be, and where I can go from here, and I feel empty, hopeless, and choiceless.

I'm so sad I want to die.

If it were easy, if no one else would be hurt, if someone else could benefit from all my hard work in spite of my emptiness, I might just do it myself.

It's sad, I know, but true. I have nothing to live for.