For once, I have nothing to say. I have nothing to write about. It's been a week since the last post, and I should be brimming with stories. I have been having problems expressing myself lately, and this just solidified the fact that I am slowly breaking down. Not necessarily in a bad way, just in a way that I am not too comfortable with. The novelty is slowly dissipating.
I'm finally 18. I have an estimated 59 years left to live. But when you add in the drugs, cigarettes and alcohol, we can safely assume that number is significantly lower. Happy Birthday to me.
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