Depressing evening with a pillow

I suppose I am supremely privileged. I get this internet access without any additional cost to myself. I mooch off my brothers who are better off financially than I probably will ever be. I start a lot of sentences with the word "I" and can post them on a blog with the internet they give me freely.
Wireless Network Connection 5 is now connected. Or so the box in the bottom right of my screen informs me. The signal strength is low.
I am melancholy about my dependence on younger siblings to provide for me. My pillow is stained with leftover mascara, moistened with tears and a bit of snot. They think I'll never amount to anything. I'm the one who should have graduated and been in med school by now. They used to think I had so much promise. They used to look up to me. I'm more of a joke, now. A cautionary tale for lazy younger ones. She's not the role model I want, says a sister. I'm not going to make her mistakes. More tears. The mascara is already gone.
I really have nothing of value to offer the world. I've given nothing that might make me worthy of keeping around. I have no plans to do anything that will earn me distinction, or at least meager purpose. I've failed. A sniffle. The penguin pillowcase (am I still such a child?) is too dirty to sleep on.
They named their network "twins," and the signal strength is low. I know it's theirs. I know they're paying for it. Thanks for that reminder, little bros. You're awesome. I'm contribute nothing. Eat a pillow to muffle a sob.
Waste of space, money, attention, time. Of air. Fat, lazy, stupid, irresponsible, unreliable, unlikable, unfriendly, unwanted. Can't forget self-absorbed. A stinging smack to own cheek. Deserved that.
Worrying about myself is wrong. I should care about everyone else. My problems aren't big. Not worth crying over. Accept that I've failed. Keep moving anyway. Keep getting out of bed.
The alternative . . . isn't.