Dear Journal,
I hate you. Now, die!
I'm sorry, Journal. Don't die. I didn't mean it. It's just all this stress that's getting to me that's making me passively homicidal. Passive because I didn't try to kill you. I just instructed you to die. If I were a homicidal killer, I wouldn't really be into that "hands-on" kind of labor. I'd rather be a pharmacist or something.
Anyway. That had nothing to do with anything. I still need to finish my summer homework. and I never got a job. How ******** is that?!
I don't know if I can ever enjoy life right now as much as I want to. Because nothing really brings me day to day. I keep thinking that I'm ready to die, but I know I'm not. I don't feel like dying. Maybe it's some weird secret rebellion I'm secretly fighting inside me. I hate how my outlook is on stuff. Secret rebel here. But no one believes. It's cos I'm too nice.
and I honestly do think I'm bipolar. But my conscience is too ******** strong for me to ever be demonstrative. I'm going to be alone for a long time either way.
murderous_me Community Member 
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