Something fake
2002-10-09 || 6:56 a.m.

Fuck everything.

I just cannot be bothered to carry on anymore.

What is the point?

There is so much wrong with me that I don't know where to begin to sort it out. It's easy enough to sort the material stuff, bills, house, etc but the other stuff is impossible.

I honestly feel that I've been forever abandoned since the day I was born. That I am alone. That no matter who is around me, I am still alone. Nothing can touch me - in any way, let alone a nice way.

There's things I want and that's the torture of it all. Knowing that what I want I will, and can, never have. Why is that?

I just don't like this 'thing' that is me.

The things I want and yearn for are so base and awful that there's no point in even writing about them.

It's no wonder I can't read. Books are for real people. Not fake things like me.