------- X_X7 -----o

Dear, Diary


I've tried to make changes to my life in the hope of reclaiming some optimism, or hope, or sustained happiness. It's all been for nothing. Dread is the constant, happiness the rarity. I find myself returning to my suicidal ideation to get through the day; days that self discipline seem to prolong to unbearable lengths.

Everything I want is wrong. I've long accepted that I'm far from the ideal human being. I don't belong here, not in this time, not in this place. If left to nature I would have been dead long ago. This me should never have existed. There might be a million variations of myself that might have thrived here, but I don't believe I'm one of them. I don't have what it takes to be a human being. I just want to give up. Every negative thing you could say, I'll validate it as truth. I'm a coward, a loser, a pervert, a racist, a bigot. I'm vile, I'm evil. I'm a waste.

Nothing gets rid of shame anyways, not really, no matter how much I wish I could rid myself of it. I haven't mastered how to persuade myself into a delusion of choice. I just want to light up a smoke, drink some liquor, and fall into a deep, endless sleep. I get excited from knowing it's a possibility. It's like the stoic philosophies big red fail safe button. If things get to be unbearable, pull the trigger.

Big Dick David,

Signing off.