Apparently me leaving was a personal affront to Kitty, both times.
I hate women. All women. It doesn't matter, if you have a vagina, I probably hate you.
I should probably place the hatred where it belongs, on myself, but you know what? It's easier to blame others. I learned that from Damon.
I'm so exhausted. I just want to lay down and drift away to another place. Does that mean I'm suicidal? I'm indifferent to the idea of life or death. If I knew where a razor was I'd probably take up cutting. I'm tired of trying to scramble out of this hole because no matter what happens, I'm pissing someone off or making someone unhappy or what the fuck ever and I'm just tired of it.
I guess all my complaining doesn't matter because the only thing that does matter is all the bad things I've done and all the hurt I've caused to others. My inner turmoil isn't meant to be considered or even acknowledged.