December 13th, 2001


(no subject)

I'm sick of this.

I'm sick of depression.
I'm sick of being lonely.
I'm sick of sadness.
I'm sick of coming back from class and curling up on my bed and crying.
I'm sick of not having anything new to cry about.

I loved her.
I would have done anything for her.
I just wanted to be there for her.
I just wanted to help her.
I just wanted to love her.
That's all.

I've said it all before.

Over and over and over and over and over.

It doesn't help.

I'm sick of pain, of anger, of hatred. I'm sick of feeling helpless. I'm sick of being helpless. I'm sick of relying on friends just to pull me through the day.

I'm sick of not being able to change.

Not that any of this helps matters.
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