There's a place that I lock myself in my house every time I feel sad and I listen to sad music and send text messages to no one in particular and write letters to no one in particular and I cry a lot and I sit there and pity myself because self pity is what I'm good at and I wish I wasn't bi-polar and maybe didn't have bathroom anxiety and I cut myself because I'm pacifist and everyone asks whats wrong the next day and I'm sad because I'm ugly and I hate myself because I'm a bad person. And I wish sometimes that I believed in a reason to live but I don't and I always pretend it's fine but it's not. It's a horrible thing. I don't believe that I have any reason to be alive besides that I'm alive now and I've always been alive and that's enough. But I don't have drive because what's the point if I don't even want to be alive? But then it sucks because I think I'm happy and shit and I start fucking doubting myself and I ask people stupid questions about whether they like me and shit and everyone has the same answer and it doesn't help, since they're just saying it to be nice and stuff. But it doesn't REALLY make a difference. I'm always going to be fucking weird.
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