June 2009
I have this feeling inside that I wouldn't like me if I met me.
I'm my own worst casualty, everything i touch can get broken.
The truth is that I'm self-destructive. I'm insecure, I'm out of focus.

July 2009
Three times a day I would take pills that would make me happy.
I want to be happy.
I want to be happy.

I am not crazy. The worst of all this is that I am not crazy. Not even drunk.
Just self-destructive. Just fucking everything-destructive, that's all.

Dear Jesus, I'm scared. Of course, I'm scared.

November 2009
The world is bleeding colors and I think I'm on self destruction again.

March 2010
It's coming back again.

April 2010
How can I hate that side of me so much, yet embrace it with such silent and twisted relish?

May 2010
I need a break. From everything. From duties, decisions, school, people and life.
I need a knife, some pills, a bathtub for dramatic setting and a white tiled bathroom.
I need an ending.

August 2010
I think it's time to come to terms that I'm unhappy. There are many things that make me happy. But I'm not. And I'll probably never be.

October 2010
Sometimes, it become a form of release to hate yourself. A habit. A vicious cycle you can't break out.

November 2010
These days, I draw a box around me, four lines, one square. And punish myself for everything I hate about myself today.

January 2011
Fingers across the keyboard.
When all they are doing really is begging to pull the trigger.

February 2011
You will never ever ever be good enough.
Remember that.

This happiness is only a dream.

March 2011
I will always destroy the ones I love. Everything I touch turns to stone. Medusa hands, killer mind.
Everything falls apart eventually because I'm too fucked up to do anything.

April 2011
There are no gods and hope round here.
Just a fucking barrel to my head, a rope around my neck and my legs are begging, pleading to leap.

June 2011
I'm terrified. Fucking scared out of my mind.
Scared to live. But too afraid to die.

I want to stop waking up in the middle of the night, caught between emptiness, exasperation and despair.

Today, October 2011
This isn't a suicide letter. I just want to get real close to Death. Touch his hand and know that I was alive.