I'm not angry. No, I am angry. Not at him. I don't know who I'm exactly angry with. Maybe it's just insecurity, with myself. I'm crying. It's fucking pathetic. I haven't cried in a long time. I don't want to embaress him, so I'm going to stop right now. I wish.

Fuck me. I try so fucking hard, but it's never enough.

I went to Trax, the gay bar, tonight. I didn't really drink, just hung out. It sucked; I felt disconcerted and sort of out of place. I went to Michael and Phillip's place for a while, but similar feelings ensued. I went to Popscene later, in hopes that Erich would show up. But alas, he did not. I didn't feel like making any lame, half-assed attempts to make myself feel better by being a whore and getting with anyone, so I just left sober and alone.

This is sad. I expected this, but no expectation can prepare me for it, when it actually comes. I'll live, but it really hurts anyway.

I hate my friends.

I hate making paragraphs from two sentences. But I'm a fucking loser, so I will anyway. (That was sarcastic, self-deprecating humor, if it didn't really come through in writing.)