He is ugly...

...but he is my ugly.

It's a good thing I wasn't alone tonight. It's a good thing that I'm not living alone right now. A very good thing or I don't know what would happen.

But right now I'm OK. It took a while and it took a lot of pain and tears but right this minute I feel at least OK.


It's strange that it doesn't get better. It's been going on for so long, but it doesn't feel better. In some ways it actually gets worse.

And this keeps creeping up all the time:


I found a bunch of photos and letters and mixtapes and stuff earlier today, and right then and there I just wanted to die so bad. I thought my heart was going to explode and I felt like someone had hit me in the chest with a hammer. I got them in a bag next to me now. I haven't dared to look at them again, or listen to the tapes. And I think it will take a while before I can do that.

Good thing there was cats around. Good thing I have friends around. But up to that point the day was pretty OK. Almost good and nice, strangely enough.

No, time to go to bed. I have cried enough for one night.