leningrad

Despite my good fortune, biology and emotional instability lead to frustration.

My head is throbbing and for some reason everything seems like a slight. My threshold for mistreatment has plummeted to near-zero. I hate it. It's unfounded and irritating (moreso, I'm sure, for the people around me). I am unbearable, occasionally.

I wish I were a psychic surgeon, capable of slicing parts of my personality away and discarding them, still bleeding into a steel drain. I would cut out this self-defeating angst and burn it.