- I am so alone in this world (Oh no, another angst attack! Run!
It is Godzilla, run for safety in the countryside!). I have no one
I can share my life with except for this stupid computer . The Compaq
Deskpro 590 that sits at my area is where I spill my heart, or most of
it. And it can't talk back. "Mr. Computer, I hate myself and
want to die, help me!" Nope, no response.
Seriously, I trust Nicole completely and assume she'd be the only person who would never leave me for being the way I am. Everyone else I can see just wanting to get away from me. Which is natural -- if you had a loser for a friend who hated himself, and would essentially criticize you for being his friend, would you wanna hang with him? What good is a friend who thinks he's worthless?
Man, I really question the point of my existence on days like today. All the pain could be over if only I could make it up to the 22nd floor and take the express route down. "All it takes is a little courage" -- some dood who killed himself wrote that. But I guess I don't have courage enough.
Fuck, I hate being in this trap. Hate myself, can't get out. It's like having your dick caught in your zipper; it hurts a lot, but you're not gonna cut off your dick, are you? But if you yank on the zipper, it only hurts more. And there's no one around who you feel like asking to help you out. <--OK, in a journal full of bad analogies, that might be the most contrived one yet. Plus, it's kinda inappropriate for my female viewers. Sorry. But it's how I feel.
Do hermaphrodites go by Mr. or Mrs.?