I've been thinking a lot about suicide these past few weeks. I can't shake this feeling like there's a whole world out there being jolly and social and being able to talk to girls without them feeling creeped out and, for some reason, I was born without whatever special password you need to get into the club. Here I am, spending night after night staying up until some ungodly hour spinning my Julie Doiron records until they spin smooth. I know I'm not going to kill myself, but I think about it a lot. I'm going to Chico this weekend, so hopefully that will clear my head a little.
I have this wonderful, wonderful friend who is a very busy woman, but when she has time to talk, I've never felt more listened to and understood in my life. It's like I'm really alive and I'm a real person for once and the things I do in my life matter. Anyway, she just posted this link on facebook about a friend of a friend of hers who was raped and murdered a couple of years ago in Mexico. She sounds like she was really cool and she had neat hair and I bet she had a really great laugh. Now she's gone. Thanks a fuck of a lot, universe.
I feel necessarily ugly. Ugly in spirit. I feel like I'm trapped in this sort of Calvinistic lover's gloom where I'm not capable of doing anything that's okay. I am designated as the anti-love. I ruin the life of everything I touch. I try to really be a wonderful thing for someone, and the devil just laughs harder.
Your blood is on my hands. You're better off without me.