So, yesterday I was all positive. I told my ex I was ready to get over her, I repaired relationships with some of my friends and family members. I was all ready to just stop drinking and hurting myself for a while. I even ate like 7-800 calories.

But I could never let myself get better. Such a good day must be followed by a bad, it would seem. I wanted so much to find something to prevent me from drinking. No luck. My ex was unhelpful, as always. My friends were nowhere to be found. Family all at work or school or asleep. I was itching for self-destruction. I missed it. After ONE positive day.

My therapist is really helpful. He's a psychotherapist, so it's just talking, understanding what's going on and where it comes from. That's really good for me, because I've been so analytical and logical over the years that I know myself pretty well, but he manages to create new revelations, or justify what I am beyond simply being a **** up.

My ex was pretty much what kept me alive for over 2 years. Now she's moved on. She's so ****ing happy and it kills me because I know I was the thing that kept her down. I'm so ****ing tired of being a burden. I honestly CAN NOT believe that I will get better.

It seems like a ****ing joke. Getting better. Who says that ****? I'm ****ed up, pure and simple. I am the bane of hope. I bring people down. At least dead I they'd have a chance to start healing. This. I can't do this. **** salvation, **** redemption.

I'm broken and I just need to drink 300 calories of rum or vodka and nothing else, and get blood all over the room. My knuckles are still sore from 3 days ago, but I just need to punch something hard until it breaks or I do. I laugh at my one positive day. I mock it.

Happiness is ignorance to problems. Courage means not knowing how weak you are. Hope is make-believe. Life is meaningless to me, and all I cause is harm. I'm ****ing poison.