I always seem to have bad days. Days that consist of depression and loneliness mostly. That's what I've always known, so I've never been one to complain. I guess you could say I have my happier days here and there, but it's nothing too exciting. When I was much younger, I used to be this happy, carefree, optimistic little girl but now I suppose I'm viewed as this shy, reclusive teenager. At this point, I don't really mind much. I've been called plenty of things in my eighteen years of existence and now, I just don't give a fuck. About what the next day will bring, life in general, and probably you too. May be harshly put but if I care for you, I'd consider yourself lucky. Not that my company is something to hold importance to, cause I'm pretty shitty. I can't hold much conversation, let alone eye contact. I've never really had a heart to heart conversation, so that might be the reason I shut it down with sarcasm when faced the opportunity. But I don't mind much. Life is hell. A slow burning, boring hell.
