July 31, 2003
I'm so sick of doing this shit day in and day out. I'm so tired of this fucking house. I just want out. I want to be gone, so very far away. It's not the people, it's not the place. It's not the dog, either. It's everything and the fucking situation. It's the pressure and the nausea. It's the anger and the regrets. It's the shaking and the crying and the emptiness and lonliness. It's everything that I don't want to feel anymore. It's nothing at all. There's nothing to love, nothing to hate, nothing to feel, nothing at all.