Dear readers,
I do realize that there probably isn't anyone actually reading this, but I like to imagine there are people who I can confide in.
And If anyone reads this, I'm kind of in need of some advice.
I'm thinking of telling my parents, when I go home for winter break, that I need to start seeing a therapist.
But the thing is, my parents don't know anything's wrong. And I don't even know if they'd be able to afford it...
I mean, am I being over-dramatic? I know that plenty have bigger problems than I do, but... I just can't see the point of it all anymore. I feel like no matter what I do, I'll never be happy. I doubt I'll ever even be satisfied. That's my problem, I'm always looking for the greatest reward with the least effort, and when I don't get that reward, I'm always so angry and disappointed, but never willing to change, and put in that effort. I know this. I know how much of a detestable person I am.
Which is why I really wouldn't blame people who started up reading this and then stopped when they got to know me better. I'd stop.
That's one of the reasons I never understood anyone who ever wanted to be friends with me, or go out with me. I wouldn't want to be friends with me.
I'm a lazy, self-centered, self-pitying bitch with no self-esteem and bad hygiene.
Jaa, mata.
YOU ARE READING
Dear Readers, part 2
Non-FictionThis is exactly what it sounds like. Basically a diary that can be freely read by anyone on Wattpad who wants to read it. Everything written here is true and it is all from my point of view. It is me, writing what I think, when I think it. Respond...
