James is in the shower. He's going out for beers with the guys tonight which is fine. We spent the day together, and I don't think he realizes how often he makes me feel like shit. Or maybe he does and just does not care.
Maybe he'd like me more if I smoked, did drugs, dyed my hair purple, kissed girls and called myself CAM. Maybe then he'd treat me better, have sex with me (it's been nearly a month), compliment me, find me attractive and actually want to be around me.
Maybe I should just OD on my meds, slit my wrists and put us both out of our misery. He could comfort Cam all the way into BED; which is where I'm pretty sure he wants her anyway. To be honest, he makes it kind of obvious (he doesn't look at me like that). It's really a shame he never pays much attention to me... Whatever, I don't know why I even bother getting my hopes up in this case. It will never happen.
Heh, just a few days into my new years resolutions, and I've already broken them all. In ONE FUCKING DAY JAMES!! ONE DAY!!!! I overmedicated, started cutting, and stopped eating (and I don't intand to start again anytime soon: fuck you)
Life is wonderful.
Drown myself in music and I write down all my pathetic poisons.
I don't blame him for not liking me, I'm not smart, or pretty, or fun, or musicly inclined. I don't smoke, do a bunch of drugs, play videogames or quote South Park... I'm ugly, too many scars, stupid, scared. Too clingy, needy, whiney. PATHETIC. I should be dead.