This is it. I can't take it anymore. I am so sick of life. I am so sick of upsetting myself, my family, my friends, and my girlfriend. I'm sick. My head hurts, my throat hurts, my body hurts, and my soul hurts. I literally have nothing to live for. I have no goals. I barely have aspirations, all of them are jokes. My dreams have faded, I don't know what they are anymore. I guess if upsetting people were a dream of mine, maybe it could work.

Maybe if I didn't feel like so much of a ******* burden all the time, I'd talk to my friends. Maybe if I were useful, people would talk to me. I don't have any ******* skills. I'm literally good for nothing. All my friends are going to med school, making names for themselves, and yet here I am stuck in limbo.

I'm sure nobody would mind if I died. Not even my girlfriend. She's probably sick of all my ****. My constant mental breakdowns, my self-harming, my anger, my everything. I'm nothing more than a burden to her. It's so hard to love a burden that you might just be better off without it.

My problems aren't even as big as other peoples' problems. I don't get why I'm getting so worked up about mine. I don't get why I cry so hard about things when clearly I don't deserve to. I don't deserve anything other than death because I'm such a good for nothung sack of horseshit. I need to die. Someone needs to ******* hit me with a car, or I might as well just crash mine into a semi-truck.

I'm a joke. Who am I kidding when I say I'm gonna be a great artist or a writer? I can't make great art. I make ****** paintings and ****** drawings. Who the **** in their right mind would buy anything from me? My poetry is ****, who the **** would buy that? I **** on Lang Leav a lot, but she's sellijg more than I am with the garbage she puts out. I pour everything I have into my work and nothing happens.

I'm a flaming sack of ****.

I deserve to die.

I deserve to die.