Dear Diary..

Writing is important for me. It keeps me from going insane. Or turning into a murderer. I don't want to be a murderer. Actually, I can't be a murderer. I have anxiety. I'm gonna mess up things. And I hate the idea of going to jail.
However, I have motive. Lots and lots of them. But above all, there's an ancient pile of anger hidden behind the walls of my chest. Buried deep under the floors of my abdomen, covered in the jungle of intestines. And nobody has come so far to tame the beast, maybe make it vanish. Rather the opposite. Hence it grows day by day. Cumulative. Compound.
You may sneer and mock. Or get philosophical. Ah but nobody but you have the power to tame the beast. You are a strong woman. Blah blah blah. Well...
Fuck you.
Why is it always that people are such opportunistic bastards? When it comes to love you have to be open and giving. But when that love sits on your shoulder like a hunchback vulture and shits on you then it's only your responsibility to clean that mess? Well..
Fuck you.
But then I understand. Some people are just cursed. They are doomed beyond rescue. Crumpled beyond any further damage. Even God and gods can't save them.
And you know the saddest part? None of these actually fucking matters in the end. It's nothing but a big zero at the end of this journey. So..
Fuck you all.