601am050703

I don't know what I'm doing. Probably just trying not to kill myself. That's about all I do every day... come up with reasons not to. Fear and guilt help. You know... afraid of the pain of it, not wanting anyone I care about to have to deal with my corpse. Hope dwindles daily... as does my tolerance.

6:27 AM

I keep thinking about the thousands of pages of writing I have... binder after binder. I keep thinking about how good it would feel to get rid of it all.

I'm not sure what I'm afraid of. I have a brain. I might fuck up now and again, but it does hold onto some memories accurately. Do I really need to keep years of e-mails and forum posts? Does it really matter? What's it all worth? Even I can't read through it all there's so much. If I trash it, does it completely invalidate my life? Who am I trying to prove what to? Do I really need proof that people are assholes? That for some odd reason I've met a lot of people who seem to enjoy shitting on me?

I remember going to San Fran... how good it felt when I was down to just a few bags of stuff. Now I've got so much I need a whole room just for it.

Then, am I desiring to be rid of my stuff just because my head feels cluttered? Is it one of those psycho things?


*opening another beer*


It's not that I don't want to "fix" my life... I don't even know if it's really broken. I know that I'm not a happy person. I know that I'm full of pain and bitterness. I know that I'm, as Jk. used to say, "tortured".

So, what is a "tortured" person supposed to do? I'm tortured by my own life... my own past... my own surroundings... my own head. What should I do? Blow it off?