I was on here a few years ago. I was a lot younger then. I thought I had felt the worst of it… I was wrong. Life has not necessarily gotten worse. No, that not the case. It just that I get these moments. Moments where I can’t breathe or think or move because of thinking of the millions ways that I tucked up. From the things I say to the things I don’t or just my fucking thoughts. It takes over me and I can’t move. My worst fear is what others think of me. I know it’s not good, I’ve made sure of that. I’m tired and I hate myself. I hate the people around me. I keep promising myself that there is going to be this great breakthrough and I will figure everything out. That everything will be okay and good and whatever. I keep waiting and pushing. It’s not coming though, I have to live the life I’ve got and I’m not sure that lfie is worth living.