DAMMIT.

These demons that engulf my soul. Why do they want it so bad? I am changing the title of my memoir to “What The Hell Did I Do?” It’s more suiting than “Sad Clown” anymore. And, that publisher from NYC keeps haranguing  me for my manuscript. I don’t even even have and editor! First off, I can’t even afford a fucking editor.But, yeah, tonight I talked a young Pakistani girl out of committing suicide. So, that was an accomplishment, I guess? Putting my years of free therapy into use. I am not good at editing my own work! I need it to be looked over and polished and primed and whatnot.  When I can’t even manage to take care of myself. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I am useless in a sense, but hopeful in a naive way.

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