I just don't see the point of anything. I'm not sure I ever did. Why didn't you let me die when I was 16 and hit by that car? At least then I was pure. I was still a virgin. I didn't hate. I was naive and innocent. At least I could have been remembered that way. But not now.

I will be 30 soon. I can't even stand to look at what I have done to myself and my life. I have no direction or goals or dreams. I can't do anything right except for being self-destructive. I am an expert at that. How many tattoos do you think I have now? How many men do you think I have slept with hoping to be loved or at least find affection?

I look at the strangers passing by and wonder if they might have the answers. I watch others and wish I could be them instead of me. I pick up the phone but can't think of anyone to call that would make me feel better. Do you think that anything could?

I don't want to be a grown-up. I feel so little inside.

For a few months now I have been looking for a long, non-sheer, opaque black nightgown...like something Marilyn Monroe would OD in. Maybe then I could take these pills.

My life has no meaning and I don't know how to give it any. Talking about it sure hasn't helped. Medication is not the answer either. All I have are unanswered questions and certainly no solutions. And in case you are wondering why I haven't ended it all if I feel so bad, well, first off, I am too scared and second, since I am all alone, who would take care of my cats?

What is my point? I hate you too. Perhap more, even.