~The point is

I don't know that I can do this. I keep picking up that yellow book and tying to read through the pages... and the rage builds and builds...

I don't know that I can keep reading it... I really don't know if I can share any of it. Why put my pain on display? Why open up and allow people to patronize me? Why set myself up to listen to people who don't have a fucking clue, attempting to share what they consider to be wisdom with me?

What is the point?

This is one of those days where I want to burn it all... every last word... every last memento of my past... every last thing that can hurt me....

I'd have to burn myself though, and a lot of other people around me... and they say you're not supposed to do that.