made of fail.

My half-assed resolution to try and be positive has seemingly come to a halt tonight. Ha, no amount of screaming, posi lyrics, writing and rocking out will hide the fact that I’m just not happy. I can try, but it’s invariably futile.

Whee.

It’s telling, really, the fact that I write so much and yet still have to rely on other people’s words to feel that sense of catharsis that I so desperately need. Nothing helps with this. Nothing except destroying things. Throwing things around.

There is no cure for my depression. So I turn angry. When I’m angry I act destructive. It helps. Then I’m depressed again. I try to sleep. I cry, perhaps. Curse at every living thing on this planet. Then I realize that I’m not going to get any sleep at all. So I wake up.

And it all repeats.

Fuck.

If waking up tomorrow means another night like this,

then

I don’t want to wake up tomorrow.