I had the panic attack that I expected.
I was so tired all day.
Even though I went to the gym.
I was just so tired due to my mind.
It was eating me.
I am sad that no one loves me like I do.
No body new.
My Cali skat pack sure does, and I know that.
And Clara is the only friend that I made in Ny that has held true.
But it makes me sad that no one thinks I'm special.
I do not understand why people don't want to be friends with me.
I give them everything.
I give them gifts.
And I am deep with them.
And I am nurturing.
And I care about them.
And I think of them.
I throw parties.
And I always share my tequila.
But no one reciprocates.
No body cares for me the way that I care for them.
And that hurts.
And it makes me feel sad.
And it makes me feel unloved.
And I think that I am.

I wonder if they can see the degradation inside of me.
They can see that I'm used.
And dirty.
But that's not fair.
It's not fair because I didn't know what was happening when it happened.
And I haven't been dirty here.
Or in Santa Cruz.
But I bet that they can see it.
It makes me embarrassed.
And sad.

And I feel so out of control.
Because I can't cure myself.
Not this time.
It makes me feel out of control.

And so I am walking home from the L train.
And I can feel it.
I know it's coming.
I start to hyperventilate.
And this man says something to me, but I didn't really hear him.
And then he says you can at least say thank you.
And then I just started crying and crying.
I cried all the way home.
And this man told me I was beautiful.
And he realized I was crying and said don't cry, baby.
And I had to hold myself back from turning around and asking him for a hug.
And I cried and cried and cried all the way home.
I get home,
And I run into all my furniture on the way to my room.
And I slam my face into the pillow and scream my pain.
And I hyperventilate and hyperventilate.
And I scream my cries.
And I cry and cry and cry and cry.
And now I feel a little bit better.
And I am listening to Back to Black by Amy Winehouse.

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