I buy these things. I don’t use them later. Because for some reason I’m this brand of spoiled, like, I buy myself things, I have them, I want them, I like them, I can’t use them, because I can’t, because it’s too hard to do so. It’s just too hard.
Am I faulted for things being too hard for me? I don’t know. It might be a gray area.
I need my brain cells back, though.
I need to figure out how to be sane.
I need my sanity back, yeah, that’s for sure.
Anger. It shouldn’t get this far. It just shouldn’t get this far. I’m not a criminal, I’m not in prison… but having a mental illness is definitely similar. I see that now.
And it scares me. That I could have an outburst. A violent outburst. I don’t want to. I don’t want to be strapped to a pole either.
Aside; Dad is just a vile person and I should fuck everything he says. He’s so gross. So just ignore him.
I don’t know why. So many people spy on me.
I need help. More than I get. And I don’t know where or how to get it.
I guess for now I am in fear, suffering.
I guess that is all for now.
And a risk to society, on top of that.
Good luck, everyone.