Oh Why Not
I don't think I'm gonna post in this thing much more. Only about 4 people read it and I find the whole process of an Internet Journal to be remarkably shallow since no one says what they really want to say in fear of someone reading it.
Well anywho I'm in one of my suicidal moods right now. Oh no need to get worried. These moods come and go. Nothing bad happens, I've come to live with them, usually I just escape with a couple shallow cuts on my arm or leg, no big deal. Right now theres a nice X cut on my right tricep, that way I can hide it under my T-shirt.
Its part of who I am, what can I say. The cutting, the angst, the fear, the loathing, the lack of Las Vegas, it's all gonna be part of my life until I'm either A) satisfied or B) find someone who understands me and is not just full of shit, which to be honest, no matter what my friends, family, or lovers say, they have all been full of shit. Eh, oh welll, makes me an odd spirit. And I'm glad to not be like the other fucks who worry about University and money and all that, me, give me happiness and I'll be content.
But see there in lies a great quest, I don;t think I'm even capapble of happiness. I don;t know why, perhaps the masocisitc part of me (I do get some form of sensual satisfaction from drawing blood, if even a drop), or the pity part of me (PITY PARTY!! YAY!!!) or hell, maybe I just like the attention. Who knows?
I just like to think of this little twist on words.....
Life's a tragedy. Deaths a comedy.
Later On:
Drinks worn off. Life reconsidered, rest of post considered just my love of DRAMAAAAA. Going to watch Annie Hall now.
Well anywho I'm in one of my suicidal moods right now. Oh no need to get worried. These moods come and go. Nothing bad happens, I've come to live with them, usually I just escape with a couple shallow cuts on my arm or leg, no big deal. Right now theres a nice X cut on my right tricep, that way I can hide it under my T-shirt.
Its part of who I am, what can I say. The cutting, the angst, the fear, the loathing, the lack of Las Vegas, it's all gonna be part of my life until I'm either A) satisfied or B) find someone who understands me and is not just full of shit, which to be honest, no matter what my friends, family, or lovers say, they have all been full of shit. Eh, oh welll, makes me an odd spirit. And I'm glad to not be like the other fucks who worry about University and money and all that, me, give me happiness and I'll be content.
But see there in lies a great quest, I don;t think I'm even capapble of happiness. I don;t know why, perhaps the masocisitc part of me (I do get some form of sensual satisfaction from drawing blood, if even a drop), or the pity part of me (PITY PARTY!! YAY!!!) or hell, maybe I just like the attention. Who knows?
I just like to think of this little twist on words.....
Life's a tragedy. Deaths a comedy.
Later On:
Drinks worn off. Life reconsidered, rest of post considered just my love of DRAMAAAAA. Going to watch Annie Hall now.