I’m angry. Am I angry at myself, or am I angry at the constant causes of my anger and distress, of my hate and misery, of my sadness and self-loathe? I was happy, for four days, nothing could stop me, until the fifth when things got so terrible this hate crashed down on me. I feel like I have already scraped the bottom of the world. Already fallen into the clutches of depression, though only one disappointment has happened, the ending of a happy week. I can never be happy. Whenever I get a glimpse, a touch of it, a taste of it, everything is stripped from me, and it’s all because of what I believe. I feel alone, and hurting, because even when the few people come and try to help me I feel as if that’s not enough. As if they don’t focus enough on me for the amount that I focus on them. That I’m giving much too much without getting anything at all. I feel sick for thinking I can have the audacity to blame my religion for all of my problems. For being selfish and wanting to take control of other people’s lives so they can help me more. I feel stupid for believing that I had a chance at turning things around dangling within arms-length. And now, after the happiness up and left, I feel worse than ever before. I don’t want help, because help implies that I am worth saving, when I’m not. If I turn around and ask you for something again right after you’ve helped me, you’ll see my needs are insatiable. I’m selfish, reckless, and quite dumb when it comes to basic things. My week fell in crumbles today, complete 180