This is why I hate the night. This is why I can't do this anymore. What's wrong with me. Why can't I simply live. Why can't I not care. Why can't I care enough. I have no hope right now. Nothing to sustain me. I don't want anything tremendous. I didn't ask for much. And apparently the only thing I wanted was way to hard to give. I've made it so simple. I've writen five thousand recipes as to how to make Megan content. They're so simple. One instruction. Just one. And fuck. I have nothing to help me be cathartic anymore. Everything has done it's job for the time I had it. Everything has soothed whatever it is inside me that doesn't want to make me happy. But I've run out of ideas. And all I want to do for the next hour is cry about everything wrong with me. Everything stupid thing I've done. Every mistake I've made. Everytime I've told you that I love you. Because it doesn't matter how much it means to me. And I know that now. Fuck.