I'm again questioning my purpose as a human being. Sometimes I think we're all here for a reason, and those who suffer, those who experience nothing but grief and pain, do so for some important purpose beyond their understanding.

But other times, I think we're all just, here. We have no purpose, and thinking so is just an excuse to keep trudging through the mud.

I'm on vacation 3000 miles from home, across an ocean. I'm in the beautiful city of Edinburgh, Scotland with my dad and brother. I should be relaxed, I should be happy and having fun.

Instead I'm sitting here every night, lurking my "best friend's" Facebook and wondering why she doesn't seem to care that I'm gone. I look at myself in the mirror, compare my body, my clothes, my personality to those of the chique Europeans all around me and I feel disgusting.

I hate myself.

I'm convinced no one I love cares about my existence. They're relieved to have me gone for two weeks, why wouldn't they feel the same if I were gone forever? Every person I've ever trusted has left me after promising they never would. I refuse to believe the heartfelt sentiments of any human being I meet, because what a person sincerely means one day may completely change the next. No one will every stay by my side. No one ever has, so why the hell should I keep trying?