Wow, it really seems that the only time I come to SF nowadays is to post my whiny little problems and hope for a response. Well, I guess that doesn't matter much anymore, anyway. This is really the only outlet I have, apart from SH. And I've been trying to keep away from that whilst trying to get a job. So if anyone reads this, bear with me; it's kind of hard for me to keep my thoughts organized. But I'm growing very suspicious of people around me. Lately, everyone I know just kind of overlooks me. I guess I deserve it. They're tired of hearing about my depressing life every single time they see me. But why should I have to cover it up? I don't really see any gain in pretending to be strong and that everything's fine. You know what that gets you? All you get is the grand prize of going to bed at night, all alone with all of those problems curled up beside you for you to battle with alone. Doesn't help anything. But everyone around me... I know what they're thinking. "Either get over it or get it over with. But please shut up." So fine. Whatever. I don't care what they think anymore, it doesn't matter. So what if they call me self- centered. I only have myself, and always have. It's just what I'm used to. I don't care if they're disappointed, or embarrassed of me. I don't care if J. is calling me a sour bitch for expressing my opinions, while every venomous word that drips from his mouth is "perfectly fine, because he's just kidding". I don't care if the only reason they ask me to hang out is because they don't want me to kill myself "on their watch", that they think my blood will be on their hands if they leave me alone. Talk about self- centered. Ha. I'm tired of having to justify myself to people, as well. Every day I walk out of my house, I have to defend myself to people who call themselves friends of mine. It's a never- ending battle. They attack every single thing about me, from my interests to my hair color. And on the days I decide not to pick up the phone when they call, they blow it up, thinking I'm dead. No, I'm not dead. Chill out. I just don't want to talk to you elitist bastards. So I'm distancing myself from them now. It's what I've got to do. It's bad enough that I make myself feel like complete hell day in and day out. I don't need other people helping me out with that. I got this, thanks. Sometimes I really wonder why I chose to wait five years before getting this over with. But the answer is simple: I've got work to do. Maybe my waiting is all in vain. Maybe my "work" is just going to be destroyed once I'm gone. All those pages, just gone. Put into a fire. But what becomes of it doesn't matter. The point is, I can't go until it's done. I don't pretend that what I've completed will be some grand piece of literary gold, or philosophical brilliance. It's more a product of my OCD than anything else, ha. Oh, well. Maybe if I finish early, I can leave early. But I doubt it. I'm mainly hoping that five years from now, everyone will have truly given up on me. That way, they won't feel false guilt when I finally go. People tend to do that. It's strange. Even I've done that. But I guess there's not much left to say, here.