I shall begin typing, and I am not allowed to stop, nor backspace anything other than a typo.

Here we go:

World, I hate you.

I'm sorry, that just slipped out.

I hate everything that's happening around me.

I'm so goddamned tired all the time. I have no idea why; it's inexplicable.

On a sidenote, this entry is supposed to be honest, as implied by my set of rules.

I can't sleep and I can't cry; there is no cure.

Other people are so content with their shit and I have no shit to content myself with. I try to numb my brain with TV and movies, but there's only so many movies out there. I'm miserable, and when I rest, I feel like I've squandered my time. When I'm active, I can't help but feel completely exhausted.

Shit, this was too honest; the ruse is over. All right guys, I'm putting my hands up. You got me. I'm no artist, I'm no writer, I'm a FAKER.

And this was the only thing I had going for me anyway. Isn't that funny?

I'm going to take a lot more walks. Poems are good. Notebooks are good. I'll try to bastardize myself into some artist or something. Because then I'd be worth paying attention to, and if there's anything I hate it's being forgotten.

I'm leaving suburbia within a year; it's sad. I anticipate it without any concrete idea why.