Really, what is it?
We all know at this point I'm going to grow up to become a homeless acholic.
It even runs in my family's blood.
Hell, my bio grandpa died from overdrinking.
It's my blood, destiny.
Perhaps it's better.
Better than the endless work, all to achieve that perfect social acceptance of 'you're okay I guess.'
I might as well admit I'll never live being seen as who I am. Well, I'll always be seen as a failure, so perhaps that's a win.
Not even sex could save me from the permanent hell. I don't have the parts I need, why even try? I'd need prosthetics, and even then I wouldn't be able to feel anything.
There is no point.
No purpose.
No reason to stay.
BUT FIRST I gotta finish my books or else I'll make people sad that they were never finished :C
YOU ARE READING
vent :)
Randomliterally just me venting about my life :D This can go from shower thoughts to suicidal thoughts very quickly. And the reverse. I mostly just type to myself, kinda like some online diary lol. Honestly I don't really update it that much @_@ mostly wh...
