You promised…

Hmm. I need something, to even me out. To not be angry, to be able to be in love and cope with it, to be able to have my own life, to do something with it, to not feel, NORMAL, every time she’s having her own life.

Mediocrity kills me.

I know what I want to do, I know that I’m horribly unmotivated all the time, I know that I repeat life so much, in two years I’ll be writing this same fucking thing.

I hate how I cuss.

I am so self-loathing that it makes me want to like myself just so I don’t have to write like this, I wish I was someone’s best friend.

I AM FEELING BAD. I AM ALL CAPPED. I. AM NOT. FUNNY, OR CUTE!

I will private this, shortly.

My hair has brought me down. I feel like shit.

The keyword for “Truth” commercials is: “epidemic”. On AOL, I suppose, let me see.

Nope, not on AOL.

What am I doing with my life?

This has all ruined.

I don’t wanna be here!

lIIIVE!!

Do you have to be good in bed to make people happy? I don’t know what to do.

I wish I had someone hurting my feelings right now. Just to feel some emotions.

“Write” she told me to do.

I’m not talented, and everyone thinks I have something hidden.

For years, I acted like I did.

All I have up my sleeve is smelly armpits.

And I was just putting on deodorant for so long, and I don’t care anymore, well I didn’t.

I don’t like the smell now, and I wish I never knew it was deodorant, I wish I thought I just didn’t smell like shit.

I stink.

Thank you so much for lying to me. Thanks for calling. I fucking hate everything. O hgod/.