I'm beyond frustrated. My writing isn't happening at all this semester and right now I'm about ready to rip out my hair. I'm a disappointment. Beaten before I even try, I sit here wondering why I even attempt to make sense of what is going on in my head. Writing used to be my escape, now it's become my enemy. Where I once looked forward to spawning new ideas and characters now all I have is bitter frustration and forced words about my life and past that I can't think about without cringing. THIS BLOWS. Time and time again I sit here thinking about how I want to quit school and more recently about how I don't want to write anymore. The truth is I don't want to do anything. I have nothing more to say. I'm uninspired. I'm tired. I'm walking into the gallows tomorrow knowing that I've fucked up again but there isn't a damn thing that I can do about it. They want me to open my mind but I'm afraid that there isn't a creative bone left in my body. Part of me feels dead and that hurts me more to say than anything I've ever let myself admit. I've got nothing left and I'm drowning because of it.

This has been the worst year of my life. Everything leading me along this downward spiral. Maybe tomorrow I'll get hit by a bus.