This week the list seems to be growing by leaps and bounds.

I don’t like myself even a little bit.

I don’t like how insecure and neurotic and pathetic I am.

I think I am ruining Noah’s life and he would be much better off pursuing the laundry list of people he’s had to give up for me. They wouldn’t be the fucking asshole I am. I’m the problem. The other people he wants to date are generous, kind, and tolerant. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem. I am the problem.

Maybe I should stay home for a while. When I leave the house all I do is hurt people.

Bleeding didn’t break my suicidal ideation this month. That’s because I am such a pathetic fucker I am hurting fucking everyone.

I don’t think I deserve to have friends, let alone lovers.

I’m ready for a new mood.

I don’t know that there will ever be a time in my life when I’m not the reason people can’t have nice things.