Always feel like I’m doing something wrong. It never goes away. It follows me home and lives in the closet. This place isn’t healthy, mentally or physically. The distress, the people, the smells. I don’t know if I can take much more. Maybe I’ll give it a year. Maybe not. We’ll see.
I’m well aware that no one likes me; you don’t have to keep trying to imply otherwise.
I’m trying to come back.