FUCKED UP [II]

I haven’t had a drop of whiskey since yesterday. I’d been drinking a massive sum. I eat like a hog even though I extremely hate the idea of having an immense hideous beer belly. I don’t want to be heavy anymore.
I’m very much aggravated. All I ever did was deconstructing me. The worst obsession I had was keep trying to be normal, which is how I ended in there [secret place]. I want to wake up in the morning and know what I want to do- I want to finish what I started writing and painting, it makes me feel better in myself even if I’m composing rubbish or painting vacant lot.
I never felt under any pressure at all. Every single person in the world must know someone who cares about him/her/it, but …………………………………………………................................................................... ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………
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……………………………………………………… you can make no one do what you want them to do. You just can’t make them! People say to the psychologically ill, “You know, lots of people think the world of you.” But when they don’t like themselves they don’t perceive anything. They don’t care about what people think of them. When you hate yourself, no matter what people say to you doesn’t make sense. They like me? They care about me? I don’t care! I don’t care at all!
I don’t feel much different. I just realized I have little time. I decided to quit everything and alcohol. I want to utilize the whole day. I lost time and sight for incentive and I didn’t have any intent to do anything. I wasted years, lost them day after day after day.
I am so connected to what I create and have the connective sensitivity in my work masochistically. It integrates my life and mirrors it. I feel absolutely fabulous when I create, no matter how depressing it is. I never had the urge to reflect it on my behavior maybe because I’m trapped by my thought. I feel sort of trapped.