When you yelled and told me you were done with me, the funny thing was that I had already been done with myself. You said you were sick of me and tired of my inability to keep my life together, I didn't deny it. I'm sick of myself, too. I am truly a sickening person. I didn't deny that. I really am unable to keep my life intact. I can't. I mean how can I? When I'm constantly in a battle whether or not I should just simply blow my brains out.

Well, doesn't that make you laugh? That I had given up on myself before anybody had realized that I truly am worth nothing. I will always be that whining girl, so desperately wanting change. Because really, I am done. I've been done. I am sick of myself and I'm done with myself.

I don't really know why I began to cry as I walked out. I don't know why I sat in my car, crying for god knows how long. Because I am entirely apathetic. Like I said, I'm done with myself and I've been done. I guess it just scared me, that I really am over everything and accepting the facts that I will continue to seek for change and never get it.

As I was driving home, I began to think of my options. Or maybe some fucking solution to this mess that I have, once again, created on my own. Really, there isn't that many. And it is quite a battle, whether or not I should just fuck it or wait and see if there really is some sort of fucking god out there. Oh, but for fuck's sakes, would people stop asking me to seek church or whatnot because quite frankly, I'm done with putting my hopes up for someone else, too. I'm done with myself and I'm done believing that somebody actually gives a fuck.

All I really want is to lay in bed all day and sleep. All I really want is to sleep for a couple of days and quite possibly wake up to something different, if not someone different. All I really want is to listen to music all day and smoke too many cigarettes. All I really want is to smoke some weed or quite possibly pop too many pills. All I really want is for somebody to blow my brains out. All I really want is to drive myself off some cliff. All I really want is to ask somebody if they'd kill me.

But it's funny. That in all this mess, what I truly, truly ask for is somebody, any-fucking-body, to ask me how I'm doing. And for them to truly mean it. For them to actually understand or at least, try to understand what the fuck is going on in my head. To listen to me without judging or without asking condescending questions that I would rather not answer. Just somebody to fucking listen, for something to be able to fucking see what the fuck is up.

But like I said, there weren't many options and absolutely no solution to this.