In crappy times like this I always wonder if I should start writing again. My health insurance don't have too many good options on therapy (yes, Unimed Paulistana is a piece of shit) and I don't know if it would be beneficial anyway. I'm living with someone who can't get me, and I can't even scream in pain on my own house when I injure myself without having to justify my "fucks". Fuck!
So it's ok to smoke and stink and ignore me all the time but it's not ok if I say "fuck" when something isn't as supposed to be. What the hell did I do with my life? I don't recognize myself anymore. I don't even know what I should expect of myself, in fact. I can't imagine happy endings with grandeur. I turned into a crazy cat lady without self pride, self respect and self esteem. Only my cats would miss me. And they have been my only joy for a long time.
Good thing nobody read blogs anymore. Only the gloating of a fake life on Facebook. I can do my depressing posts from time to time, just like 10 years ago. Pathetic. And good also (at least for me).