I was truly in love with you. And now, for the rest of my days working at this stupid casino, I have to worry about whether or not you are looking at me, thinking I am undesirable. It haunts me, every fucking day. Comparing me to your new girlfriend, thinking she is smaller and prettier than I am. I hate every single day. It tears me apart.

Good thing I haven’t started a garden yet. Although (due to laziness and lack of knowledge on such endeavors) I am relieved I couldn’t do it today, anyways.

I want to get an apartment, but if I am being honest with myself, I don’t want to move in with my boyfriend. So either I change my mind about that, or at some point this will become an irreconcilable issue.

I am finally perfecting the delicate art of drinking heavily, but not heavily enough to completely debilitate me at work the next day. Good for me. I will never be able to make myself content with anything. If I ever get invited to anything, I just think, “I’d have to drive there, no.” All of my stupid phobias and anxieties make it very difficult to fucking do anything at all.

(Source: our-amazing-world, via coinfarts)

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I haven’t isolated myself from my friends intentionally, but I guess it just happened naturally, and I have to be okay with it. I really don’t know how to interact with anyone properly. At work, I try to be funny, and usually I just get blank stares. I know how it becomes when you have a group of friends. Eventually, you get to find out all of the horrible things they really think about you, and it’s worse than being alone altogether.

I tried to crawl under the house last night to retrieve a cat that kept mewing. But really I just fell into a lattice panel, realized I was too drunk to be doing anything, and threw some bologna by the porch to lure the cat out. I hate birthdays and myself.

(Source: kitschyofficial, via rotting)

(Source: xytl, via deadvibe)