I'm knocking this on the head for a while.
It's just not mentally possible to do what I want to do, which tears me up inside because I love - actually love, no bollocks I really do - writing.
Even when it's shite. As long as someone point out where I went wrong and I can learn. Great!
But right now, home, work, where I live - it's slowly killing my soul. I can't write when its this bad. And thats all I actually want to do.
Crap eh?
Maybe when I move away, if I ever can, I'll get back to this blog, write some funny, good stuff and do it regularly enough to feel happy to promote it.
The nice thing about this post here is, no-one's following me, no-one's reading my posts. I can say what I like. Who'll know (for now?).
My flatmate is my good mate, but she's been going through hell and taking me with her. I've brought some hell to the party too. We're not often in a good place.
Work is a great place to be, but it's killing me again.
I'm trying to deal with my mental problems while looking after someone with mental problems.
Yeah.
So in short - once I get the chance to move, if I ever do, I will, and I'll come back to this and write and feel like Andrew Tate again.
Till then, see you later...
(1st draft. fuck it).
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