Fuck. Now I'm fucked. I can't write anything. I'm fucked fucked fucked. FUCKED. My boyfriend tells me I write about him too much. I'm writing about him now. FUCK. I CAN'T FUCKING HELP IT. I'M GOING TO BED. I'LL WRITE ABOUT SOMETHING OTHER THAN HIM. MY LIFE WILL CONSIST OF SOMETHING OTHER THAN HIM NOW. ONLY IT WON'T BECAUSE I AM A PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A LIFE. I AM OBSESSIVE, UGLY, IGNORANT, AND CODEPENDANT. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. I NEED SLEEP. I DEVOTE MY FUCKING LIFE. AND HE HATES IT. MORE THAN ANYTHING. AND I TALK ABOUT HIM INCESSANTLY AND EVERYONE HATES IT AND I CAN'T FUCKING HELP IT BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE ANYTHING ELSE TO TALK ABOUT BECAUSE OF ALL THAT SHIT I SAID BEFORE.