Nothing is worth saying anymore.

Sometimes I don't say what I really mean. Now is not one of those times.

I fucking hate life. Today sucks. I hate Fridays. I hate strawberries. I hate people. I hate pharmacies. I hate medication. I hate friends and strangers. I hate dealers and drugs. I hate everything in this awful world.

I have a bony ass.

Just call me Eeyore.

So I'm living in NYC for 2 more weeks, and I have $0. My mom refuses to give me any more money than that.

...and I'm supposed to live how? My last two weeks before I go back to hell and I'm flat fucking broke.

I feel sick. Really sick.

Love almost always involves two people who have no idea what they want from each other let alone why they want each other.

Answer this for me...what would happen if you (yes, you) fought a robot with a chainsaw?

I think there must be a window open in my mind, because my thoughts are scattered as fuck and have been since yesterday ( Read more... )

I think that I'm out of words.

It had to happen someday.

It is really hard to try to remember to write down every fucking hit I take in one day. I tried. I gave up a few hours ago when I suddenly realised that I smoked at least twice without counting. So basically...how many hits does it take until you can't keep track anymore?

My number is 19.

Dear Diary,

Today I reorganized the icons on my desktop. It was strange and a little fun. I'm also in the process of finishing my house in The Sims 2: University. Oh, what a noneventful day.

Love,
Dominique.