Time meant to be spent with family, eating good food, feeling loved.
Im in bed, alone, wanting to die; just a little bit.
The initial haze of melancholy has turned into a heavy smog. Even Max can't make this better. In fact, i think he is making it worse.
I'm starting to resent the fact I cannot talk to him about being irrationally sad.
He can't ever understand insecurity, crippling self doubt, hating oneself so much that the only release is to hurt myself physically and mentally.
My sick obsession with his ex-lovers is a mental self-flagellation; something a sane person can't understand.
My parents didn't answer the phone when I called this morning.
All I got was a cursory text.
That really hurt. Hurt more than i thought it would.
Do they care anymore or have I finally got what I asked for when I was a petulant teenager, that they would just leave me well alone?