I am a huge tit.

Reaching out is the hardest thing to do. I feel so numb. I am drowning in sorrow. Tears are currently rolling down my face. I am surrounded by many who love me, so why do I feel so alone? I have everything going for me. I have family, and I have friends, though there is no single person on this Earth with whom I can share every thought that crosses my mind. The secrets are continuing to pile on in my brain. I know too much. I am on the verge of exploding. I am a ticking time bomb. One moment I want to unleash my wrath unto the world. Another moment I want to end the pain for myself. I am very rarely happy, and even when I am convincing myself I am glad, I still feel that tinge of sadness creeping in. Or maybe it is worry. I put shit in my head that does not need to be there. I create scenarios that have never even happened or even have any chance at happening at all, for that matter. Fuck feelings. I hate feeling like a little bitch, but a little bitch I am. Negative thinking surprisingly has a positive effect on me. When I remind myself how awful and nasty I am, I do better, and I am less selfish. So fuck me. Fuck me for being the little bitch I am. I need to do fucking better for myself. I need to be better for my fucking self. I fucking suck. Ducks fuck. Cucks suck. Me a shmuck.

Haha, I feel better. I do not know why the verbal abuse towards myself feels necessary, but for now, it is essential, at least until I learn how to love myself—a seemingly unattainable task. Loving myself sounds so putrid. How could I ever? The thought of actually loving myself makes me want to barf. Or maybe my problem is loving myself too much. I am so damn selfish. I am absorbed in my miserableness. It is kind of pathetic, but pathetic is what I am. I need sleep. I need happiness. I need love. The anger, the hurt, and the vile thoughts seem to be winning.

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