I hate everything and everything hates me. And that’s fine. That’s just fine, because this shit just ain’t worth it. I don’t know why everything has to be so damn horrible. I don’t know why people are being shot to death not just in other cities and other countries but also just ten minutes down the road from my house. I don’t why my friend with M.S. is being treated like shit at our university. I don’t know why the woman I kinda-sorta-maybe-love is crippled with depression and self-doubt. I don’t know why my mother can’t find a new job. I don’t know why my family and I have spent our entire lives living in fear of not having enough money for the rent, or the next electric bill, or groceries. I don’t know why we find kittens killed on the side of the road and I have to stand there and watch my mother make herself violently ill with grief over their little bodies just so she can later watch me make myself violently ill trying to dig through hard red clay in 100 degree weather so I could bury them. I don’t know why my brain no longer works and my sense of purpose or motivation has evaporated and the one thing I have worked for my whole life no longer feels like the right thing to want. I don’t know why everything is so damn hard.
I just know everything IS hard, and it sucks, and I hate it, and it hates me. And I am too fucking tired and angry and despairing to give a flying fuck WHY.