thought process

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10: 16 pm

It's chilly in my room.
Winter is setting in and I'm working my space heater to the max.
My skin is dry and starting to itch, I hate low pressure.
Most nights like this I wish that someone I love were here with me.
To keep me warm.
My roommate brags about how much sex she gets.
I get nothing but jealousy.
Every day I think about things, people, I shouldn't think about.
I can't help it, I'm sorry.
As I begin to feel like I have control of my life, it starts spinning, slipping.
I'm losing it again.
I thought about talking the other day.
It was a bad idea.
I don't even want sex, I want love again.
I want my love again.
Moths beat themselves against my window.
The lamp is so close to the glass, they just smash right against it.
I am making a cake tomorrow.
Chocolate with buttercream icing.
"Happy Birthday Jade"
I am terminally depressed.
Sometimes I wish I would stop talking myself out of suicide.
Maybe I'll really go to Pastry School.
Who am I kidding?

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