forty-seven.

things are weird. all the time. i am going to get help, i think. because i think i need something. something bigger than someone to lean on. all i see is bad. i don't trust anyone, i've realized that i don't think anyone who talks to me has any good intentions. i can't find the things that make me feel okay. i want to get help. i've never wanted help like this before. i'm ready to not be so stubborn. i'm ready to understand that this is something to help me, not to change me, not to hurt me.. to help me.
i always get these feelings, i've had them ever since i can remember. and the only way i can describe it is "i don't feel like myself." they used to be few and far between, now i get them at least everyday. and it makes me feel so uneasy. it's just a bad feeling, and i don't feel okay, and i don't feel right. maybe getting help will make that go away.


jesus christ, i'm not scared to die. i'm a little bit scared of what comes after.

forty-six.

nothing's getting better. it never will. i can't do this anymore. i'm tired of the same thing all the time, i can't get better. i feel like every bit of good i had left, is slipping away. i'm losing.

dammit.

forty-five.

so perfect, i miss you roogiepie.

i just want to feel at peace with things, and i don't think i ever will. i'm not at home here. things are never good. they are such a family without me, i feel so out of place. i can't keep doing this. i can't stay here. i need to have a car and i need to move out. before the fall, i think it really needs to happen before the fall. i'm losing every ounce of faith and hope and optimism. i'm not going to have anything left. i can't do this. i can't stay here. i can't.