| I miss my WdC friends. It's just hard to be on here reliably when I'm drowning in depression. |
| It's not really random. I've been depressed going on three years now. It's just this year has been the worst. I try not to talk about it because I don't want to be a bother, but it just seems to slip out sometimes. Also, I think my reason is fairly standard in the world of the depressed. I hate myself. That's about it. |
| Craaaaaaazy. My account birthday is today. So much has happened since boredom and an attempt to mentally escape from the heated prison of a small apartment in Pennsylvania prompted me to open an account. And I find that after two years of writing here, words, yet again, fail me. |
| There comes a time when the hollow emptiness changes. The piercing is sharper, and more defined. The pain, while still a general black hole in your chest, is also focused at certain points. And when this time comes, one is forced to call it by a name, loneliness. No matter what you want to tell yourself or believe, the words "I miss you," solve nothing. Even so, I say it again. I miss you. |
| It's scary in here. You look around and all you can see are the monsters you made yourself. You know that somewhere beyond, somewhere outside of this prison in which you have trapped yourself, there is a better place, but you can't reach it. You can't see it. You can't even imagine it anymore. And, after a while, you stop hoping for it. |
| I can't believe it. America is in danger of losing a snack cake, and suddenly celebrities, talk shows and radio stations are issuing a call to arms, but we couldn't have been bothered earlier to contribute to a cause like fighting human trafficking. Our comfy way of life is in peril because we suddenly have one less item to shove down our throats, but never mind starving children. America, I am disappoint. |