Firstly, I'd like to say FUCKING SHIT. Sometimes I'm willing to throw it all away for reasons only thought of by maniacs. I'd throw it all away just to be some kind of emotional martyr. I'd shoot a hole in myself and everybody else around me just to weep over myself. I can't help but feel that life has reached its apex a few years ago and now everything is on the decline. I find moments of happiness in so few things that all I feel like doing is wasting away in a dark corner somewhere, and when people call, I will make them worry about me and feel sorry for me. Poor Dena; she's been through so much. Poor me, for having to struggle emotionally. Poor fucking me. It's all burning inside, as it does every so often. But I know an hour or two from now I'll feel differently. I'll reflect and swear to never be illogical again. And about an hour from them I'll be throwing a pity party for myself; thinking about sitting in the garage with the door down and the car running. I'm sad just for the sake of being sad. It's not artsy or at all interesting, and it's something I will continually succumb to until the day I die or get a full frontal labotomy. Piss.
Martyrism
1:58 a.m.//10.21.04
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