we are an emotional wreck. and we’re fine. and we’re not. but we’re living.
too exhausted, too emotionally drained, too trapped in some pit, too tired to fight anymore right now to write. to write about our day. our fucked up day. how everything with us is just messed up. to write about what a shitty fucking crappy ass friend we are to our friends.
what does it matter. it will happen. it’s always a matter of time. a total disappointment. a total frustration to people. irresponsible, immature, piece of crap.
why. why write such niceties and not say what the heart screams. the mind reels in its own tear stained self-hatred of such yuck. i don’t care. this is what our real journal would say.
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