FicWad

I;ve been fighting the feeling of being a failure for so long. But the more I try, the more I see that maybe being a failure is all I've ever been destined to be. I failed at having a social life, failed at doing well in school, failed at making my parents happy. I've failed at even achieving my own goals that I've set, either reaching them years after I've set them, or not at all.
To me, it seems that the only thing I'm even vaguely decent at is self destruction, and I can't even do that properly. Half a dozen suicide attempts, none successful. Throwing up my food for the past two years, and not even fainting once, much less rupturing my esophagus. Skipping meals and counting calories compulsively, but never losing more than a kilo or two. Cutting myself for almost 5 years, but never hitting a blood vessel, or ever going deep enough to need stitches more than twice. Drinking alcohol like it was water, or swallowing handfuls of pills when I want to disappear for a while, but neither even making me sick enough to see a doctor.
I guess that all I am is just a failure, at everything that I set my mind to. It would be much easier if I just stopped living, just stopped existing. But I can't even do that. I've tried, but I've failed at that too.
I'm coming apart at the seams, and I can't help it anymore. I can't leave the house wtihout terrible anxiety washing over me like a dreadful wave. It's not like I've got anywhere to go anymore. Not really. I have no friends left, having failed at being a good person. It's been like this for the past two years. Maybe all of this is finally taking it's toll on me.
I've been suffering from depression, too. It's only been getting worse as well. Most days, I don't even want to crawl out of bed anymore. Truth be told, I just want to die. I can't see the light at the end of the tunnel. Not anymore. Sometimes I used to see a glimpse of it now and then, but I've long since stopped seeing those little specks. There were days I questioned if that light was a train coming to hit me head on. I've stopped questioning it anymore. Does it really matter?
There's nothing left here on this earth for me. Nothing besides suffering for being who I am. Some days, I just want someone to save me. I want to reach out, to get help. I want to stop feeling like this. But yet I can't. For starters, there's no one to reach out to. I drove them all away. And even if I could reach out to someone, someone I don't really care for, but at the same time, still around, such as a teacher, or one of the librarians, it's not like they'd believe me anyways.
Even worse is the fact that to ask for help, in any capacity, is considered weakness. I'll look worse than I already do. I'll seem like a fucking hypocrite. I've been doing 'so well', and if I ever told how I feel, the feelings of failure and depression and anxiety, I'd never hear the end of it, My so-called family would make sure of that. I'm trapped, and I can't get out. The only way out is through death, but apparently, I can't even get to that stage, being the failure that I am.
There's no help and no hope left for me.