Fuck, fuck, fuck. I'm going to group tomorrow morning and I'm nervous it's going to suck and I'm going to have nothing to say or too much to say or just really not want to say anything. Or that the facilitator will be horrible. And then I have to go up to see my psychologist, and I don't have anything to tell him. Except that I keep thinking about not seeing him anymore. Hell, that might be a good thing to finally bring up. I read something that someone wrote around here, a letter to their therapist about how they didn't feel right keeping up a paid friend relationship. I understand that a lot. And I don't know that I need him right now. Maybe I can seem him every two weeks.

It's going to be hot out tomorrow and I don't have any clean clothes and I'm so conflicted about talking to my mother and I'm feeling guilty as hell and I just want to curl up in a ball and die. 

Yeah, this whole "let out your worries" thing isn't working. The more I think, the more I realize is wrong. That's pretty much always the way it goes. Hence the feeling like I'm doing "okay" (more on what the fuck that means later) and then I go and talk to a professional and all the words and fucked up thoughts and tears come pouring out. I really do want to die right now.

Fuck.