13 years
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I’m alone and I don’t think that’ll ever change because I hate myself with every fibre of my being. It’s not so much the loneliness as much as I regret the way I’ve treated people as a misanthropic teenager. I can’t live down my mispent youth and I don’t see a future for myself that doesn’t involve a banal slog just for the right to struggle through the next day for more of the same.

I have thoughts of killing myself but they will never come to fruition as I’m either too much of a masochist to let myself go that easily or I’m too much of a f****** coward to do it myself.

I might just be done. I haven’t reached my breaking point but I’m coming close to it.

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