Maybe I am a fucking martyr. What the fuck is wrong with me? Too much apparently. I have been doing so well. I have been so consistent and stable for the past week, and this evening, for a reason or two, everything blew out of my hands. It’s entirely my fault. I don’t know. I do know. I do know. But telling myself that it’s just a night, and tomorrow will be a day, and when I fall asleep I won’t be thinking, and when I wake up everything will be just fine, didn’t help any. It just made it worse. I want to be elsewhere. I’m getting really tired of this and writing about it is stupid and pointless, but I suppose I’ll listen to myself a little better if all my emotions are put on a page. Then I’ll read them and realize how stupid I am, that I am a martyr, that everything is fucked up because I am impossible. It seems there isn’t much I can do right. I’m this stupid, privileged kid who is completely selfish and prideful and I have so much potential and so many opportunities, and yet I never fulfill them, I rarely see anything through, and I just want to sleep all the time. I used to adore my obscure sense of sobriety, but not anymore. And then other people will read this and think, “How melodramatic. What is she trying to prove by writing this? Is this some cry for help? Maybe I should call her… I mean, does she think she’s the only person out there with issues?!” Yeah, well, fuck everyone. And fuck me. I want to be dead right now and I don’t apologize for thinking that.

there’s nothing wrong that wasn’t wrong before.

I’m damaged. bad at best.