I hate that I literally hate weekends cause all I do is sit at home. While everyone I know does stuff and hangs out with everyone else I know. Love being left out of shit or forgotten. Whatever. I just spend the whole weekend feeling like I’m on the brink of a huge anxiety attack. I can’t take this shit anymore.
I have no friends. Haha.
Rolex Monterey Motorsports Reunion (Historic Races) - Laguna Seca
My co-worker was there to help get this car tuned and set up for that weekend.
"With him you went flat-out from the first stage to the last - no excuses. A good fight, a fantastic time!" - Markku Alén on his rival Walter Röhrl
And it’s only after I waste time posting some stupid thing like that, that I realize the people I was thinking about while I wrote it out won’t ever see it. And even fewer people will give a fuck about anything I post/say/do or anything else.
I don’t even know why or how I always end up putting myself through this shit. I put myself through hell for literally no reason. I do all this shit to myself, and the best thing that’s ever come from it was me getting myself all sorts of let down and depressed over something I knew was just going to fall apart in the first place. Even though I go into it expecting nothing at all, I get this little idea, this tiny spark, and then it takes nothing but probably the most innocent action or mistake and blow every little bit straight to hell. I just want to be happy and have no one. Why is that so fucking hard for me? Lord knows I’m not going to find ‘that person’ or ‘the one’ or whatever you want to call it. Even the slightest little glimpse of some stupid thing that I know won’t turn in to anything can and probably will ruin me. I fucking hate it so god damn much.
It doesn’t help that I feel like I bore the hell out of every one I talk to. I don’t know how the few people that put up with me, continue to do so. I feel like a burden and a bother to just about everyone. I just end up sitting here at night over thinking every little thing that’s happen over the past week or two and get anxious about all the ways I fucked up. Or didn’t do something I wanted to, or not know what people mean by something.
I really don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. Fuck this.
Yes he did.