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509356

Sunday, 11 February, 2007

No reason to live. No reason to die.
Placing my faith in those with good presence has proved a consistent failure. I cannot believe how desperate I become.
I think if I were less “in touch” with my self, this would be the time in which I feign suicide. I’m not much with the faking, really, so …
I don’t know what to tell you. I’m still here. God, I hate all this. I don’t know how to make it stop.
Oh yeah.
I can’t even fake it any more. I hope I don’t shut down tonight. What if I do.
I can’t really speak well right now. I don’t know what that’s about. I’m having trouble writing, too. It’s even worse than the usual. Where can I hide for a few years?

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