I’m such a fucking idiot.
I’m tired of not being able to manage my moods.
I’m sick of the fact that I have zero social skills,
and can’t really “read” people.
I’m tired of pills that don’t really fix anything.
I’m tired of not having the balls to kill myself.
(I’ve come pretty close though)
I’m tired of doctor’s who think they can heal me.
I’m tired of the voices I hear, which I’m convinced are demons.
I’m tired of people not believing they’re real.
I’m sick of the fact that they’ll never stop until I’m dead.
I still believe in God.
I still think I’m going to heaven (but not certain anymore)
I sometimes don’t think heaven is going to be as good as they say.
I’m tired of writing useless shit like this.
I have notebook after notebook of writings like this.
I think of them as poems that no one will ever read.
I checked the “Poetry and Art” box for this thing here, but is it?
Worthless fucking words on paper.
I never know how I’m going to feel from moment to moment.
My moods can turn on a dime.
I can’t handle everyday life, the smallest things overwhelm me.
I’m really just so very tired.