I cannot fathom a reality in which I do not die by my own hands. In my mind, it is only a matter of when. Every day I am reminded of how pathetic I am. I must muster all the courage and will inside me just to do simple fucking things. I wish I could just die in an accident, but I worry I will survive throwing myself in front of a car. Last night I tried to take a friend out and was beaten and thrown out when I tried to get into the bar. Honestly, I am not very upset about this, but it serves as yet another testament to my incapacity to get along with others. I have no reason to live besides my family, who want more than anything to see me be successful in life. The knowledge that I will most likely fail makes me feel as thought I am not even deserving of this. I often wonder which would hurt them more: my suicide or my transformation into a complete degenerate. My suspicion that it is the former is the only reason I still inhabit this cold, sorry world.