“Because at the end of the day all you have is yourself and that has to be enough.”

At the end of the day I have me, myself. If everything were to cease existing there I would be clutching myself until the end of my days.

Is that supposed to make me like myself?

Because

it doesn’t.

I’m a trash person.

To the core.

I treat those around me worse than I treat myself -

and I’m an anemic, depressed, polyp with an aptitude for whiskey.

When people ask me how I actually am I look them in the eyes and say, “Oh, I’m fine”, as if life is a gumdrop-rainbows-and-fluffy-kitten filled world with happiness and giggles.

Why would I want to spend a lifetime with a person who can’t find the energy to finish a book these days?

or clean their room?

or pay their bills? Not even pay them on time...just pay them.

I’m lazy.

People say, “you are what you do”.

Well, then I guess I’m nothing.

I’m not even sure why I look in the mirror because as far as I’m concerned there’s nothing there.