The more I think about it, the more I want to hit something.

[somnolentpoet]

Worry. Worry. Worry.

I'm going out of my fucking mind with worry.

I haven't had much sleep, I've barely eaten anything all day, and I'm fucking worrying myself to death.

The worst part is that I'm sure this is nothing. It's all just in my head.

But fuck if I can't convince myself of that.

Fuck fuck fuck.

Fuck.

I hate mysteries in my own life unless they involve me trying to guess what I'm getting for Christmas.

Any thing that is mysterious in a negative way (such as, I can't figure out if my friend is alright or is in any harm, and I can't get ahold of her) is bad.

And part of me is thinking that I may have something to do with all of this.
I can't tell if I do or not, because I can't find out what the hell is going on.

Fuck everything.

I'm going to go eat some food before I get a huge fucking ulcer.