work tomorrow. i have to think of how i’ll give the presentation of monday. i hate talking in front of classes. makes me wish i hadn’t even taken the damn class.
i think i’m going out of my mind again. no medication for two days and i’m already coming apart at the seams. i’m eating less. wonderful since i’m fucking fat. maybe i should start collecting pills again. just a few at the time. not sure what for. comfort. comfort. comfort.
maybe i should stop taking medication altogether. i hate this but i miss this. i need this. i don’t know if i can face tomorrow like this. there’s that feeling that something is wrong and i’m in that funhouse again where everything is stretched wrong. i don’t know anymore.
if it takes me two days to fall apart then how long would it take to die? not long. weak, pathetic self. i have no fucking reason, no reason at all. who cares that he fucked me all those years ago or that my dad tried to blow up the house. in the here and now nothing is wrong other than a few fights and the blades in my room.
no friends. lonely. who cares? i’m not a person. i’m a thing. yes, i’ll do this for you. let me alone and let me read my poetry so i can go mad in peace. i’m just so fucking alone.
