Is it ironic that everyone thinks I have this grandiose scheme of my life's plns laid out, when I don't even know how I'm going to finish up the day?
Is it ironic that I write passionate words when everything has died, but when everything is dying, I sit alone in self-pity?
Is it ironic that the one person I love doesn't love me back, hasn't been talking to me for 6 months?
Am I that fucked up? I thought about suicide for the first time in a very long time. I scared myself pretty badly. This happened on Friday. I was in office aid and I was fucking everything up and I kept looking out the window on the second floor of the NGC.
I really don't want to be here. I wish I could leave with Plami... I wish she could pack me in her duffle bag and fly me to Kansas with her. Fuck Texas! Fuck CLHS!
I am finally ready to leave. There isn't anything worth saving or even trying to salvage anymore.