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feeling: a tired that sleep won't cure, a lonely that friends won't help, and a sober that all the drugs in the world couldn hearing: modest mouse - whatever the new album is called.
writing this out made me feel the smallest bit better.
how many different ways can one communicate that they absolutely hate their own life and wish they were dead?
i've kind of noticed that some of the pages that bounce people to this diary are very specific search terms, people's names and whatnot, and they don't point to very flattering depictions of them. i've been recording my thoughts into these zeros and ones for more than three years now, and i've noticed that i can really be a dick when prompted, sometimes when not prompted, so if you're ego surfing one day and end up here and don't like what you read, you can email me and i'll lock out that entry. most likely, however, you don't care, so i'll move on.
i miss the warmth of a good hit of lsd.
drugs feel pretty empty lately.
life in general feels pretty empty.
maybe i'm just seretonin deficient again.
i feel like such a chump and an asshole and a prick and just kind of empty.
i don't like where i am at. i don't like my job. i don't like where i am going. i don't like what i see.
what's going to solve that, another girlfriend?
i fucking hate myself and i want to die. who wants to be near that? i don't think i'd want to be around someone who would want to date me.
wallowing in self-pity, again. never get what i want, again. hating myself, again.
i fucking make myself sick.
i see all these happy people, or all these people who appear happy on the surface, much like i must look, and wonder if everyone is as fucked up as me.
from what i can understand, i have a pretty good grasp of my own reality, i just hate my life and i want to die.
i'm not stupid enough to kill myself, unless you count suicide by time, so no worries, you stupid drama hubs. i'm in it for the long haul, but that won't stop me from pissing and moaning about how much it fucking sucks here until i give up the ghost.
the moments between when you squeeze the trigger and you hear the explosion, between when you hear the explosion and when you feel your skull implode, between when you feel your brain get ripped apart and when you die...
that has to be incredible. incredible freedom felt, a choice, freedom of choice. no one can make that kind of decision but you. no one can carry out the action, suicide, except you. power. freedom. choice.
how did i get so fucked up?
why does nothing make me happy anymore?
when did my life get so empty?
kenny got into a fight over politics. actually he got snuck during a discussion over politics, got knocked to the ground, and got up and administered an ass-whupping. then we got high, except kenny.
i'm back at the parent's house.
attended a concerto saturday night. highly uneventful. mildly amusing, but nothing actually happened. kind of boring, actually.
so i'm about to go smoke another cigarette, take a shower, and go back to not enough sleep to wake up and go back to a job that doesn't challenge me except to make me walk around too much and doesn't pay me enough.
but that's my life...
a fucking magnet for the shit end of every stick ever made.
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i really want to go into manhattan this week to watch the chaos; acting like an asshole does nothing to get your point across, and usually reflects poorly on your cause. look at peta. morons. - what do you want to do today? violence.
be destroyed by yourself - 2005-05-30