is difficult. Life with mental illness is even more difficult. Are you surprised I am even capable of WRITING with the mental illness I have been diagnosed with?

I mean, seriously, I am so abusive with my words, have such a negative attitude… and imagine horrifying, horrifying things.

Maybe I’d be useful somewhere? Like maybe my day job could be even better than it is?

Cuz my personality doesn’t fit my company, as-is. Science, that is. Hasn’t for the last 5 years. =X yikes


I want to be in the right place. I’m tired of my paranoia. I’m tired of the loneliness? Would it be called that? Being rushed by… nothing?

It’s so odd.

It’s ever so odd.

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