4 November entry.

Maybe i'm a masochist.
Even though my tears are falling,
I feel like laughing.
Out loud.
even though my back is aching,
I yearn for the pain to return over and over again.
Do you think knives hurt?
Do you think amputation does more?
Do you think pleasures are pure fun?
Or do yo think I'm going crazy?
Like, uncaring whether I'll get a few scratches or that I'll faint.
Like, doing things as an act of rebellion but it's like I'm rebelling against myself.
No.
Yes.
Which is it?

The worst thing after a storm is the embarassment you'll have to face after everything has been done.
I don't blame them.
It's eternally my fault.
Yes, I don't blame them.
Rather, it's giving me a happy feeling.
Because they gave me something to cry about.
I've been trying really hard.

I don't care if I'm hated.
I've made that clear quite enough right now.
I don't care if they think I'm all high and mighty.
This is the only place I can think of where I can be myself.
Where I could readily excape at this reality.
Where I am not the docile and kindhearted person people often thought off.
It's a lie when I said that I don't want to be hated.
It may be for a little while before I could go out and start pushing people away.
The rate that's going on,
I'd say, it'll not be long enough before I can be alone.
I mean, I don't really push my friends away.
I just don't take care of them.
Like, how they treat me anyways.

Then maybe I should smile when I plan of suicide.
And laugh when I execute them.