birdie.

I’ve spent the last fourteen years trying to convince myself that I can do this. That I can wake up everyday and work a job I don’t want to pay bills that will never end so I can hopefully live in an apartment with roommates and take uber and buses everywhere I need to go because I can’t afford my own car.

I thought that spending time with my family and friends and watching movies and reading books would make it worthwhile or at least tolerable.

The only time life has felt tolerable was when I was high 24/7 and I just can’t do that anymore.

I can’t do anything anymore.

The only thing I can think about is killing myself. I daydream about it. I want it more than I want anything in life. I hate being alive. I hate waking up. I hate working. I hate speaking. I hate eating. I hate being.

I don’t think I can stay on this earth another year. I’d be shocked if I made it to next Christmas.