Life is so miserable. My mother always says others chose their suffering, when she hasn’t chosen hers I suppose.

Obviously.

Either that or I’m wrong and she’ll call me stupid and somehow it makes sense to choose your suffering.

In any case.

She was busy making me things I don’t need–sort of like dad but… no just like dad–at the last moment before work, a sandwich and a cup of tea, and then yelled at me to make it myself, or finish the second half. Being yelled at felt worse than the sandwich I didn’t need felt good. Never mind the tea.

I’m in a really bad position in life right now. I don’t know how to get out of it.

I was listening to some trance on ear buds my family bought me for a holiday, or maybe my birthday, I don’t remember, and it helped. There were semblances of emotion. The doctor thinks I’m too emotional. I have none. So there’s that misdiagnosis, life-threatening and completely under the radar because all doctors are retards from a retard system with a lot of retard system history to back it up.

Yep.

So I’m fucked. With the medicine. And fucked. Without it.

But I do think it’s better than a few years ago.

But we don’t know that that’s not natural.

The doctors do but we don’t. We get to play that game.

Sounds like someone outside is swearing. Hmm. Someone telepathic. I should stay inside, as usual.

I hope they don’t shoot through the window.

Sigh…

Dinner was terrible. Fish with potatoes. I don’t like food anymore because my mother cooks all of it. Sometimes dad makes an omelette and now I hate that.

I want to live alone but I’m not “allowed to” by the system which is so obviously around the neck of the mentally ill, the one no one recognizes.

In any case.

I could conclude at any point and it would be good.

But that’s total trash. We’re not looking for good. We’re looking for enough.

Maybe I’ll take a bath. I don’t know.

Nick is creeping me out with his ghost. Fuck I hope he dies off at some point.

Not sure it will help my brain.

Meh.

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