this is actually complete shit.

 Been…anxious?  Lately.  I don’t even know.  Part of it’s the impending wedding, probably.  And my burgeoning relationship with OkCupid boy. 

I don’t…even know.  What to do.  He seems needy.  I need my space.  Like, a lot of space.  Like…all the space.  Like…I don’t have any room in my life for another person.  He sends me little romantic pictures and shit, and I’m just like, “wtf?”

Part of me is paranoid enough to believe that he’s performing some kind of complicated psychological experiment on me.  That he just wants to see if I’ll play along, if I’m pathetic enough to believe that anyone could actually like me.  That part of me is very…persuasive.  And crazy.  It’s crazy.

School is boring and pointless, as usual.  I keep going, though I’m not entirely sure why.

I hate everything I do, like it’s all just bad and worthless.  My papers are shit, the stories I write are shit, my poetry is shit.  Don’t know why I bother.  Even my fucking diary entries are shit.  Half of this isn’t even complete sentences.

I just want something new, maybe.  I don’t know.

Sister’s  soon-to-be husband (next Saturday, good lord) said something idiotic about suicide today, and I considered jumping out of the car to prove a point.  It would have been glorious.  For some reason, the mental image of my spine wrapping around a tree has stuck with me.

I don’t say…anything.  I actually don’t talk.  There’s no point to it, my words actually have no impact on the world around me.  There’s nothing to say, anyway.