It’s never truly gone, is it. For a while the drugs work but then there’s always something. No matter what. Then I’m crying again. And I don’t even care. I don’t care what I do, what I miss, what I wear, what I eat, if I shower, if I work, if I go to school. I genuinely don’t care. At all. Skipping K school because f*** that. I miss him so much. Round 2. I don’t even care enough to try and die. I just don’t care. Even writing makes me feel like shit. Because of him. Always comes back to him. And now these days all I talk about is *******.. I wonder if he’s up there thinking I’m whack. We all die anyway. I just don’t care. It’s whatever.