I’m Aly. Alycat, or something like that. I’m not all too particular.  I am obsessed with my two darling kittens, Titus and Sofi.

I’m nineteen.

I like my piercings, tattoos, forgetting what day it is, being a ginger, and working myself to the bone.  I don’t sleep much, so instead I fill that time with a fairly large amount of other things.

 I like video games, moleskines, and curling up with a good book, three things that I never have time for. 

  I like making coffee for nine hours a day, every day. I work at Starbucks- love and hate the people I serve. If I didn’t work there, I don’t think I’d smoke as much as I do. Hm.  I smoke a lot of cigarettes. I probably shouldn’t, but we’re all going to die from something.

I also like drugs.  Lots of them.  And I’m still not sure how I feel about that.  But it feels alright. I think.

Just want to rip out my insides so I don’t have to worry about this. Literally my insides are driving me absolutely insane.  Panic, depression, obsession- I’m never going to be satisfied because I never stop thinking.  Like grinding broken gears even when you understand that they no longer function so there is no point, I cannot stop.  WHY CAN’T THIS SIMPLY NOT EXIST. 

As one can tell, I worry about a lot.  A lot of the time.  It’s funny, I don’t worry about other people much, not possessive.  Moreover that i worry about how I conduct myself, and how I should conduct myself, and how I don’t. 

I don’t know.  I want to simply burn up my insides, rip them to shreds, tear apart whatever this is that keeps me from sleeping.

I don’t “want” because I may or may not deserve to want.  Funny, isn’t it.  Fucked, too.  So very much so that I sit alone, somewhat content, yet wholly miserable, curious how everyone else lives.