With the help of God, I know I can be strong.

I’ve been on the internet since 10:00 this morning.  I wrote a research paper.  It’s utter crap, but it’s a rough draft so it’s alright.

I don’t want to get up tomorrow.  I have nothing to look forward to.  I’m going to wake up at 5:15, shower, dress, and then go to school.  I will go to Jazz band.  I will attend classes.  I will go to work and be miserable for 3 awful hours.  I will do homework.  I will sleep.  It’s a miserable cycle, repetitious and boring. 

But that’s really not the reason I don’t want to get up.  I don’t have the energy, and it all seems so bloody pointless.  I’m not applying at U of M.  I’m not getting senior pictures done.  I’m not going to New York.  I’m all together too willing to just throw whatever chance I had a decent life away.  There are happy people who haven’t gone to college, who don’t live in nice houses, who don’t drive nice cars.  I don’t know what I want to do.  Or how.  I am completely lost and completely without help.

I can’t keep going like this, though.  Always the best, the brightest, the hardest working.  Always so nice.  So fucking perfect.  I’m not perfect.  I’m vindictive.  I’m cruel.  I’m stupid and fat and ugly.  Lazy.  Boring.  Plain.  Dull.  Useless.  I want nothing more than to inflict my imperfection on others.  I want them to suffer this fucking cancer.  I want them to hurt.  I want them to die, screaming my fucking name.

I’m angry.

Mostly I don’t know why.  I tell myself it’s their fault.  They’re so stupid and blind.  But I know, deep down, that no matter what happens, no matter what goes wrong, it will always be my fault.  Mine.  Because of my bloody, inherently flawed character.

Fuck it.