Depressed again...

Fucking a. Here we go again. In bed. Tears drying on my face. Cat by my side. Liquor on my breath. I.fucking.hate.men.

I hate them because I think like them but I'm not one. I act like one, but I'm not one. I want to get down and fuck and be weird and whatever, but I don't want to fucking talk about it. As soon as anything is discussed, I lose it. And I become the little lame girl that I am.

Why must we talk about things. Why must we talk about sex, or feelings, or anything. I just don't really need to do that all that often.

So last night Hanna and I took a small amount of mushrooms. Things were good, things were great. A bunch of biches hanging out, being girls. And then I invited him over. I like him. I like him in a weird way. I was actually trying to be respectful and not super out there. And I am talking about the course of a few weeks. I really wanted to be nice.

I thought I was. But apparently not.

I thought that I wasn't depressed anymore. I really thought I got over that.
 But apparently not.