I just had a stupid fight with my mother about my fucking room. God I know, typical teenager. Go fuck yourself, please. I am such a mess. Mum keeps yelling about how.. I don't even know.. something about cleaning my room. But she doesn't get it, I'm not crying and screaming about my room anymore (thank god), I'm crying and screaming (and probably loud enough so the whole neighbourhood can hear too, literally) because I'm so fucking lonely and sad. When she left I lay down on my bed and cried and I'd put my new book down wrong so the page was all bent and for some reason that meant something. Why can't I ever do anything right? ANYTHING. I mean, fuck, I can't even put a book down right. I can't even make myself happy. I quit my job becasue I thought maybe without that stress I'd be happy but I'm not. I don't know HOW to be happy and I hate it. Maybe I'm destined to be lonely and sad forever and ever and ever and ever. Maybe I should go back to Alex but I don't think it would work. Sure I still get social anxiety, and sure I'm still depressed as hell but I don't think she'd ever be able to help me unless I can help myself, and I can't. I just wish I had friends. You know. FRIENDS? Like someone, anyone, who would call me or email me or anything and ask if I had a nice day, or even wonder whether I had a nice day, or even think about me at all. The future seems so hopeless, like a road that just goes on and on forever without really going anywhere. There's still the same old sparse trees every now and then, and occassionally a wonderer weaving in and out, but nothing else. There is nothing else.