The Nature of Existing

I hate that I exist. I detest that I'm alive and conscious. I resent my parents for bringing me to this world and I hate myself with what I've done with the chance.

I wanna consume my intellect because it's the reason for my misery. I wish I could lobotomize myself so I can no longer think, and therefore no longer be.

Is this real? Am I real? Does anything have meaning when I'm unable to give myself one?

I hate how I think, how I talk, how I act and who I pretend to be. I've been slipping in and out of this all encompassing numbness and I'm terrified every single fucking time I pretend to be happy.

I don't want to exist like this. I don't know what I can do to get better.

I hate myself more than any emotion I can have for anything else.