I hate myself. I want to erase myself with that poison. I want everyone who tries to abuse me and ask me for anything see no response, for I burned myself to death. I wait for some time when I would be just free, but whenever it comes, I’d just drink through it so I wouldn’t even remember it. It feels like I had no free time at all, and here comes another morning, another Monday. I want to die.

I want to isolate myself from all this noise, these requests, these fucking routines. And alcohole helps me there. But then I have problems even waking up, a racing hearth, a bloody nose, these flashes in my already tired eyes. I feel like I pushed it too far, I eat vodka instead of a proper food, and it feeds into my generally bad acceptance of food.

I feel like it’s nothing. I can race, I can growl, I can hate for whatever this diete of vodka and barely something can carry me for.

It makes me prepared to still work the job I hate. It makes me do work for people I love. It makes me not alone.

I feel embarassed by people around me, for they can smell that I’ve been drinking from me. In elevators, on the ladders and especially in the office space. Many of them are so kind to ignore it, but I know all of them know it. Even persons I don’t know personally know I’m a drunk piece of shit.

I hate myself, why I’m even there? All I can think of is hate, Hate, HATE. But if I’m unfit to my job, where I can even find a job with that bad temper.

Honestly, I just want to drink myself to death, when I wouldn’t care of all these things and my self-hatred.