I am alone.

I've done it to myself. I've been terrified for so long that half the time I don't even realize that it is fear. An old boyfriend once gave me a book about dealing with fear and I glared at him and said that although I've been depressed I'm not afraid. But that is a lie.

I don't write often because I expect people will judge what I write. I'm ashamed of the imperfection of every sentence. My thoughts are too disconnected. Everything probably sounds like some desperate pathetic plea for attention. I should keep it to myself.

Most of the time I hide. To avoid failure, to avoid rejection. Of course this also prevents me from succeeding, from being accepted, from being happy. I don't see or talk to the few people I can still call friends. Most people who used to be my friends gave up on me a long time ago. And at times I'm glad they did. I'd only continue to disappoint. The less people know me, the less people I can hurt by refusing to crawl out of bed and keep trying.

Every day I look at my parents and feel guilty. They take care of me because I refuse to take care of myself. I'm selfish in my fear. I'm not sick enough that I'm unable to do more, but I let the fear wrap itself around me. I wish it was worse, I wish the dark voices could convince me to give up completely.

I'm not a good person. It's good that I'm alone, no one should be around me.