I’m tired but I don’t want to talk to my therapist he probably sent me a message but definitely of all my doctors one of them sent me a message just one because that’s how the notification system works I get an email.

I don’t want the demons to tell me what to do. They want me not to write and to not enjoy my life. My father is one of them manifest in human form.

What does it take to be happy.

I woke up stoked for the day.

Less than an hour later, I’m bum fuck depressed.

This is amazing record speed.

It’s been done faster elsewhere, trust me.

Says dumb black bitch from the corner.

Shoot her shoot her! Stupid dumb black bitch. Fat. Stupid.

I don’t want to talk to my doctors. It’s too hard.

My decaf downstairs–the only reason to be downstairs in that filth father engineered in first floor–is ready. I will drink it. That is the pattern.

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