I can't remember the last time I wished December was over before it even started. I'm so sick of this stupid season.

All this month means to me is concerts that I can't afford to drive to and perform in and endless days of doing nothing at the house other than pacing the hallway or picking fights with my boyfriend. There's a holiday next weekend and I don't care. I was asked what gifts I want, and I said I don't know. It doesn't really matter what I want because I don't deserve presents anyway. I'm nothing but a drain on everyone and everything around me. I can't even make myself useful enough to clean the house. It's a wreck even though I'm home all the time, filthy kitchen, laundry piled up everywhere... you'd think I could at least get that done, or my writing project, but nope! I am a disgusting slob with no sense of direction in my life and I might as well be swallowing tic-tacs every night because I don't actually have an illness, I'm just lazy and a failure, and I need to stop whining about how horrible my life is all the time because it's my fault anyway for walking off my last job.

That is all I think about, all day long, going in these high speed circles in my head. All the time. The only reprieve I get is sleep and my brain has decided that it sleeps when it bloody well wants to, Seroquel or no.

I'm trying to stay positive - only two more concerts and I'm done for a while! - but the constant self-loathing is wearing me down. Most of the time I just want to scream until I'm hoarse. Or cry. I seriously feel like I'm going to fly out of my skin. I'm supposed to be out Christmas shopping for my sister's kids tomorrow morning, and instead I'm wide awake and ranting about how much I despise myself. At 5am. Fantastic. I might as well just pull an all-nighter.