It's been five months since I've written anything other than whiny scribbling in my journal. But here I am. Feeling sorry for myself. Ready to postulate the validity of my feelings to the internet at large. (Fun fact: no one reads me anymore.) I'm listening to Green Day and I'm hungover and I want to punch myself in the face five thousand times. This is why I don't really drink anymore. I'm a hot mess. And what was the benefit? I guess I talked to some people I might not otherwise have gotten a chance to talk to but I could just make more of an effort to talk to them sober. Because no amount of talking is worth this. I'm fucked up, man. But I'm here. And I wanna be here more. I wanna be less scared of my feelings and my ambitions and my dreams.
Maybe I'll never achieve everything - or even anything - that I want to do but it's important to at least admit your dreams, right? Why am I so ashamed of what I want? I can't even fucking think straight.
Fuck cider and fuck vodka and fuck fuckboys.