So I'm trying to come to grips with everything, but winter is never over in my life. Spring gets further and further away. And the wind blows around me, and through me, and blows me aways like sand falling through fingers or like beautiful roses dying. I don't know whether I am capable of change. I have changed so much the last three years, and especially in the last year, but things don't look so different anymore. I still cringe when I look in the mirror. I still want the same boy to fall for me, again, to notice me and love me like he maybe once did but never will, now. I still fight addiction and somehow succeed in ways that I used to think were failures. School fights back at me, trying to erase my pride and success. I have drifted far from any friends I used to have, to the point that I have hung out with only one person in months. I have one friend, and I distance myself from him too. I isolate myself, and have started to question whether this is to committ suicide without hurting as many people as badly. I didn't even notice I was doing it until recently. I stood up for myself to the one person I have loved, and in doing so, put a wedge between us so big we will never be close again. We will never have what I crave with him. I won't even get the casual sex that made me feel alive at times when all I feel is darkness enveloping me. All because I saw what he said once, in a place that I never read, but was shown anyway. And because I responded, and told him how much it hurt me. I drove him away a long time past, and now I've severed the few strings still connecting us. But that's not even important right now. I ask for help, once again. I know I've done it before, and I know that most people are sick of helping me along once more. I know I will stumble then rise then fall then who knows? I am getting so tired these days. I have no passion for anything. My hair is long, my beard scruffy, and I wouldn't sleep with me if I saw me in a bar, at a party, even if I was really drunk. And the person whose opinion matterred, the only person, said I'm ugly, and it's true. I feel ugly, even if I'm not, so I am ugly. That makes no sense but it makes sense to me. I want drugs, to feel like I'm not me. My skin crawls, and my body craves differences, doesn't like the way it is, the way it acts, looks, loves. I would trade it in, at the Mortal Record and Existence Exchange, but no one would take it. Someone... please take me...