Journal entry, written 7/18/2015
“I’m not sure what I’m doing.
Laying on an unmade bed writing to an imaginary person that reads this garbage & cares…
no rather feels sorry for my existence.
I think the only thing anyone can sympathize is that I haven’t gotten laid in nine fucking months. I had to throw all my condoms away since btw they fucking expire.
Clearly I”m feeling sorry for myself today. Not quite sure why.
Perhaps drinking at 11am?
Perhaps seeing old flame with new girlfriend @ the store? (prior to drinking of course)
I feel like a fucking waste. Just a waste of skin, waste of space.
I feel as thought the universe mocks me.
Have a drug, get addicted, be unable to obtain that high ever again.
When I look at myself, usually I think I’m not terrible looking. Then this whole planet makes me feel like a god damn troll.
People have bigger problems than my narcissism, vanity, jealousy, and insecurity.
The love of my life is out there. Walking around & has no idea how fucked up & amazing his life will become when I barge in.
Until then, I wait & whine about my fucking OK life & how mundane it is, while someone is burying their child or being murdered.
My mountain = mole hill.”