Dear... Me
Why the fuck do I lack any sense of fashion whatsoever?
Why the fuck can't I tell what looks good and what doesn't?
Why the fuck am I randomly depressed?
Why the fuck can't I actually be 100% depressed, to have a reason to be depressed?
Why the fuck am I doubting myself so much?
Why the fuck do I feel like I need to go out but actually don't want to because I'm lazy?
Why the fuck am I so tired all the time?
Why the fuck do I expect people to not talk shit about me?
Why the fuck am I the way I am?
Why the fuck don't I just start over someplace else?
Why the fuck have I been a quiet boy my whole life?
Why the fuck don't i have a predetermined personality
Why the fuck don't I kill myself?
Why the fuck do I postpone everything until my room is a mess and I'm forced to do something about it?
Why the fuck am I the way i am?
Why the fuck don't I have real friends?
Why the fuck are my standards so high while I’m a sack of shit?
Why the fuck am I the way I am, and last of all…
Why the fuck am I even writing this?