Don't... Just don't...

Please, someone, lay it out for me. How I'm just unloveable, and gross, and a wank, etc. You don't have to be mean, just be honest. Because in the end I'm a really good person, whom everyone loves, and, well, whatever... Does it even matter any more?

I will not play the politk game, and I’m sure as hell not gonna play the “who is suffering more" game – cause its moo. Like a cow’s opinion: it doesn’t matter.

Finally do the rough winds that shake the darling buds of May (Shakespeare) abate, and for a change I feel cool. And by cool I mean cold. Because I have this disjointed, pervasive voice in my head that feeds me a constant stream of such hits as (and this is verbatim the voice in my melon):

You suck
I wish I were dead
I could just hang…
I’m gross
I wanna go home [where that is – I dunno]
Fuck everything
I’m such a loser

I think you get the idea.

And I’m sure I haven’t even held the attention of that one person whose attention I want to hold. For yous out there who have a daughter – you are fucked. Accept that. Please don’t create in her the inner dialogue that was created in me. Daughters are great – we love unconditionally because you’re this man called “Dad” – and that is magical to us. Don’t take that away from a little girl. Assuming we’re all adults, I know what ruined my life effectively: My Dad, telling me I was a nuisance, a burden, let alone removing himself (proactively) from life. Don’t sign the death warrant for your daughters. What difference does it make if you live another hour or 50 more years? Infinity is a long, long time…

And, as an aside: making love without emotion? It’s easy. Not as good, but works in a pinch. And what's there to be afriad of - directed versus misdirected hurt? Whatever -

I’m crazy. I hate my life. But I’m also a daughter of a starving artist who decided that I was just one more stressor (and therefore an inconvience) that ruined his life. And that has effectively ruined mine.

Anon person, I am so fascinated by you; yet scared at the same time. I don’t do “accidents” in my life, only on purposes… Why won't you let me in. I know why, its because I'm just gross and so not worthy of anything... God, did I mention that I hate my life?

And I really hope my piece is being biked over, with regards to delivery purposes. Maybe because I'm lonely. Maybe because I don't want to be thought of poorly, maybe because I want to see the artists face again (and not just the eyes - I'd recognize the eyes... Whatever Seebo, fuckin' loser). I promise, I will redeem myself as the Seebo everyone knows and raves about…

Now I’m going to go beat myself up about this post until tomorrow when I have to delete it cause I’m too much of a loser for him to even want to be my friend, and go to this stooped wedding… Alone.

Whatever.