Soul-searching again? Maybe?

Back in 2003, when I started this damn diary, I had just gotten off meds for the first time, and I was beginning to accept myself, bit by bit. Those days is ovah, honey. At least, I guess they are. I don’t know. I think I’m just nuts. Totally, irretrievably nuts.

So many problems, so little time to do anything but pull my hair out, scream my voice out, and break every fragile object I can get my hands on….I mean time. So little time. Period. Uh huh, yeah, whatever. I won’t tell me if you won’t tell me.

I hate myself again. Big fucking surprise, eh? What’s there to love, anyway? Not much, if anything. I have no redeeming qualities, or if I do, they’re so goddamn well hidden that I can’t see them and nobody else is courteous enough to point them out to me, so to hell with it. I always felt I was an evil person. This is just the fucking goddamn confirmation.

Elisabeth hates me. I know she does. Mikey, Hank, all of them…insist that Elisabeth doesn’t hate me, but I know better. I’ve had far too much experience dealing with hatred directed my way to put on blinders about Elisabeth. I guess it’s ok. Hell, I don’t know why she WOULD love me, anyway. She’s never hugged me, seen me, met me….so I’m nothing but a fucking pissant in her book. Tiffany loves me, and for this I am happy. Puzzled but happy.

I don’t feel good. Maybe I go to sleep and never wake up again. Don’t wanna wake up. Don’t wanna sleep. Nightmares when I sleep.