Truth

Fuck. I hate myself. And I keep telling people I don't know why I'm so sad but really it's just so cleshay and "fake" to say that I hate myself. The world is so fucked up now that even admitting that it's cleshay that you fucking hate yourself so much you would..........and the reason I leave that blank is because I'm not not even sure. But that admitting that makes you desperate for attention. And you know what?! I hope it does! NO ONE FUCKING CARES! And if no one else cares then why should I? And maybe that's why I don't. Or at least am trying not to. I wish I could matter to someone, one person of my choosing forever and no matter what have them there when I need them. I don't know if I've found that person, and I don't know if I'll ever know even if that person made it so painfully obvious that they care because I hate or turn down the idea that someone loves me. Because if someone loves you they know you in a way no one else could and knows everything about you and never forgets to pay attention to detail because every moment with them is new. And you only fight because of yourself, not because of eachother. That kind of love is perfection. But I don't think it's real. But not because people are imperfect and we make mistakes. It's because people, including myself, don't know how to love past mistakes.
And maybe we have to hate ourselves to realize the things that make us proud when we read them aloud, alone in our backyard wishing that someone had heard it.