It’s hard to sit here and pretend like the worst of my problems is loneliness. The music helps, especially Ryan Adams. And I guess I would feel a lot better if I wasn’t alone, but it wouldn’t fix a thing. It’d be like a painkiller just numbing me to what ails me. Too bad I don’t know how to cure my disease, and all the “pills” I’ve choked down haven’t helped a bit. It just feels more futile with each failure.

I’d love to sit here and go on making stupid metaphors about my life, but I’ve already made myself sound like enough of a little bitch. And who gives a shit anyway.

Civilian out
Peacelove

/thought incomplete