Took 5 tabs of acid (first time doing it ever) and my friend gave me a bunch of acrylic paint. Painted it with my fingers tripping out of my mind. Also I’m colorblind, and don’t work with abstract work at all (I only have ever done drawing). Thought this was pretty wacky.

My dog hates balloons, and my dad and I tied it to him. He sat and refused to move. I painted this for him for Christmas.

Years ago, you told me to stop crying. You told me to get over it, stop letting the small things get to you. I used to cry watching the 9/11 documentaries 6 years after it happened. I remember crying over glass breaking, furniture smashing, the blood (which I oh so fucking clearly remember).

I saw psychologists. I stopped writing journals. My grades dropped.

All that matters is that I stopped crying.

More cynicism. Yelling. Blank stares and blank voices. You throw things at my head and I laugh when you miss.

I genuinely smiled when you announced your sobriety. The doctor told you it was killing you, so you stopped. I fucking giggled my way to class the next day. Your sobriety lasted four days.

Now you have stage IV cancer, and I can’t bring myself to fucking care as I watch you drink yourself to death out of self-pity.

What happened to me? I hate myself.