I get into these moods sometimes where I absolutely, positively hate myself. Like, hate myself for everything I do or stand for. I stare at the mirror like some retard and feel sick to my stomach looking at my reflection. I want to throw up but there’s nothing to force out so I just gag stringy spit into the sink that taste like lime and disgust.

I’m a mess. I’m failing because I drink too much and play too much. I play and drink too much because I’m failing. I look at people and think of the best ways to make use of them and get whatever I want. I sit alone at 4am in my living room, in the dark, with the TV on letterman, and just smoke until I get chest pains. I use people to get what I want, but I don’t know what I want.

Some nights like these, I think about suicide. I think about downing shots of detergent and lying down to die. Or putting a bag around my head so when they find my body in the morning, no one has to see my pathetic face, no one has to pretend to say goodbye. And then like a coward, I wiki up articles on seppuku and blue suicide, asphyxiation and self inflicted gunshot wounds, and put it off and off and off until I get so fucking tired, I fall asleep and dream wonderful pink dreams of dying that un-frost like a cold window when I wake up.

It is disappointing to open your eyes and realize your eyes are open, and you’re in bed, and still alive. So I flirt and I laugh and I talk and smoke and drink and write, and it is all just a mask, I am just pretending to be normal and wishing I were dead.