I don't give a fuck . . .
Today is 11 September 2001, approximately 2:20 a.m. I'm losing it. No, actually, I've lost it. I can't recall ever being so consistently depressed, so devastated ... This is going to seem sad and pathetic to anyone who isn't me, but I can't begin to describe how hollow I feel, not being at my college with the people who understand me, the professors who teach me, the freedom which makes me remember why life is worth not giving up on. I don't have any of those things right now, and it's devoured me whole. I'm at home, friendless, loveless, completely devoid of any sense of satisfaction in what I do or who I am.
This isn't a cry for sympathy or pity. Wait, no, I'm wrong, It is a cry for sympathy. I'm bleeding on the inside, and it hurts like a motherfucker. Knives and guns take on a whole new meaning when you get this down. I can't believe I just typed that.
I'm safe, and I'm fine. I'm not dying anytime soon - at least, not by my own hand. But wishing I was ... wishing I was not in this situation ... that speaks to me on levels I'd rather not admit.
Yeah.
This isn't a cry for sympathy or pity. Wait, no, I'm wrong, It is a cry for sympathy. I'm bleeding on the inside, and it hurts like a motherfucker. Knives and guns take on a whole new meaning when you get this down. I can't believe I just typed that.
I'm safe, and I'm fine. I'm not dying anytime soon - at least, not by my own hand. But wishing I was ... wishing I was not in this situation ... that speaks to me on levels I'd rather not admit.
Yeah.