February 22nd, 2019

Dear Diary,

How the actual fuck am I not dead yet. I cut everyday, I hear voices and I am suicidal. How?

Miracles are a thing but not for me. My life is just me wanting to die. But who doesn't think that at least once in your life.

I can't look at Mark because I messed up again. This time I wrote the wrong words under the wrong category. Why me?

And now he thinks I'm just this lame gay guy that he got stuck with as partners. Why can't I just die?

But to be fair Mark made a hell load of dick jokes. And whore jokes. Like my ex.

Well. This does it for this fucked up writing. If only people knew the hell in going through.

Cut count,
14

Love,
The one who's done nothing right, Jack.