Entry #7

15 3 6

by oechyejoo

by oechyejoo

Suddenly, writing those suicidal scenes in my books feels easier.

Am I becoming suicidal?

Probably.

Will I cut one day?

Most likely.

Do I hate my Blurryface?

(The next few thoughts will be filled with some language. Be warned. Sorry, DansLeftLung for cursing.)

Hell, yes.

He makes my life a living hell. I honestly wish he would - excuse the language, folks - FUCK OFF FOR ONCE INSTEAD OF GOING AND ATTACKING ME AND MAKING ME FEEL LIKE NOTHING.

Am I nothing?

I think so.

But the question is, do other people think so?

I have no idea.

If people DO care, I guess that's nice.

I just don't know they care yet.

WIll they tell me soon?

Maybe they will after they read this.

Anyways. Do I really matter? This is a question I've been asking myself for a while now. I don't really know if my life matters. I think it does, but other times, I think it doesn't because at some point, it's going to end.

So what's the point of caring about a life that will eventually end?

-Wizardkitkat, 3/8/17