In the midst of eating a late Thanksgiving dinner, I suddenly felt the urge to burst into tears. I realized how much I hate my life.
21, a hopeless writer with a career that will most likely never take off. Talentless.
21, can’t drive. Too afraid.
21, can’t go out by myself. Too afraid of people.
21, can’t interact. Family members are like strangers.
21, and I still can’t assimilate myself into a classroom.
21, with a fear of death.
21, with a fear of life.