The sun is out, I suppose I should jump up and down in excitement. Although I see the sun most of the year, the happy optimistic motha fuckas say you should be happy to see another day, but what if you’re like me and you just don’t give a fuck? What if you don’t want to see another day, what if you aren’t happy to wake up. Should you still praise the day which you regret you even had to see? Many people believe life is what you make it, but neglect to mention life shapes in it’s own way and by random selection your life could just be fucked and not by your own hands. Is the little kid that gets abused in control of their destiny too? Did they choose that life, or was it random selection. People try to sound so wise yet they come off like douche bags unaware of their fuckery. I just chill and wait until people step off the soapbox, because it doesn’t stop my misery or depression. I’m still sad all year long and living is torture. Living is a constant reminder of my failed attempt at suicide. Living makes me cringe, it upsets me. I feel stuck and all I can do is write as my worry piles on top of my sadness and pain and overflows into my thoughts like a stream with no barriers. Every time I felt almost free, my mind reminded me that I was far from it.