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I feel yucky.
I hurt.

I want things to be better. But they won't.

I don't wanna cry, but it makes me feel better. I wish I had never learned to cry, it makes me feel spoiled. Stupid counselor, never helped me anyways...

I wish things would fast-forward. Or that I could make things happen the way I wanted them too. I'm capable of it, I know. It's just not working.

I'm sorry I'm not perfect.
I'm sorry I'm not a picture of goodness.
Please...I'm trying, but I hurt.

The problem keeps coming up. I feel so stupid pinning my problem with a name. It's not even a problem. I should just be happy. Should just ignore it. But I can't. It's a part of me. I hate it.

They say Heavenly Father chose us, his prize children, to stand steadfast on these last days of terror. That we were the strongest of all...

I think I was near the weaker end. Here I am, complaining. Feeling sorry for myself...I hate it.

Go away, self.
Go away, you just cause trouble. Be happy like everyone else. Go on, it's not that hard.