I'm sorry...

If you don't want to read this, don't. I honestly don't know what compels me to actually type this shit out. I'm so desperately reaching out for help that it looks completely ridiculous.

All of a sudden I don't want to write this stupid thing anymore, but just a few seconds ago I thought it was the best idea.

I'm going to lay it out there.

I'm going to take antidepressants because I'm so tired of trying to ride this out on my own.

But I know that what I'm riding out is just shitty feelings from being rejected, and unwanted, and trying to find someone that wants me. What a fucking ridiculous thing to be upset about.

I am actually ready to stop being alive today. I genuinely hope I don't wake up. For something as stupid as not being able to fuck the people I want to fuck?!

What's wrong with me? Why am I so damn childish and dependent and constantly looking for someone that wants to be my boyfriend. Why does rejection make me want to abandon living and why do I feel like shit when something that never even happened goes wrong?

I keep nearly crying, but then not crying... because what the hell would I cry for. I wish I'd stop typing, but I feel like if I keep going then eventually someone will go, "Aaah, actually... now I get you. That's totally legit."

I feel sick with hatred for my shitty personality, and my pathetic behaviour.

Burger Van Boys and MMA Guys

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I am SO sorry, Eyeballs of You.

I'm sorry to type more words at you today. Honest to Jeezaz, I feel really dreadful about it. But I'm doing it now, and like a half finished wank, I can't stop until I'm done otherwise it'll stress me out and probably make me sleep with someone that I don't really like.

Well, not really like that, but you understand.

So, I'm a total crybaby. Had you noticed? I just noticed. I was sitting at Jacks, shooting heroin into my eyeballs and smoking a hench crack pipe whilst enjoying a pure codeine enema (all at the same time, obviously) when I realised that I'm getting depressed about nothing.

Obviously, depression is a whimsical creature and sometimes sneaks up on you when everything should be lovely and sunny and sparkly with glittery flecks of joy - but I tend to let myself sink into it.

I made a video a couple years ago about CBT, and how it might help to stop me wallowing in shitty feelings. I'm naturally prone to dithering in it as I most of my life from 8 to 18 years old feeling alternately like shit, and then like someone told me I was a billionaire with a fast track pass to Disney World.

But I realised that I don't need CBT. I need to stop being a soppy shit stick with no back bone and get on with shit instead of dehydrating myself with tears and thinking of glorious ways to top myself that would both amaze and stun the world, and earn me a world record at the same time so that I can die in a blaze of miserable glory.

My sentences are too long.

This might be the lack of depression right at this moment talking... and I'll see how it goes before I cave and ask the doctor for one of the -pam family drugs, but bare with me.... I'll start being funny again one day.

FUCK today. FUCK YOU.

I am having THE shittiest day.

The boy I like is an arse clown (this is a different boy to the one I liked a few weeks ago, of course) and now I've been all stroppy at him. I want to turn around and run away as fast as possible when I start to feel like someone might be making a mug out of me.

Some cunt texted me and acted all weird and retarded when they realised I didn't know who they were. I will find out, and I'll destroy you so fast your eyeballs'll explode.

My fucking cupcakes didn't work properly, and now my massage bar has broken because I tried to get it out too early.

I have to pay for a mistake I made at work last week, meaning that I can no longer afford food with my wages tomorrow. What a treat.

Luke is being a fussy cunt because he thinks I'm seeing someone, and he's super overprotective and moody all of the time.

I can't find my Iphone anywhere, so I have to keep using this Nokia fucking Lumia that sucks wholesale quantities of cock.

I left my notebook at the warehouse, now I don't have ANY OF MY FUCKING NOTES and I'm going to go crazy without that thing because my stupid Arse-burgers means I get all jittery if I can't write my shit down.

FUCK YOU.

Now I'm going to call Howard and he'll have bad fucking news for me.

Shit Worries Me, Dudes...

I'm going to whine here...it's not going to be funny, or smart, or interesting. This is a disclaimer. Sold as fucking seen, absolutely no returns. No warranty given or implied.

I have a headache. I had so little to eat all day and then ate a curry and my belly went loopy and I got a headache. Why is that?

My cat just tried to take a piss on the carpet. That worries me... Why did he try to go there instead of in his litter tray?

I'm going to London this weekend. The cat pissing on the landlords lovely carpet whilst I'm away worries me.

I've got the hiccups. That worries me.

It's my second week in this house and already had to ask the landlord if I can pay my rent on Monday instead of Saturday because I need the petrol money to get to see my dad for Fathers Day. That worries me, but he's pretty chilled.

Jack is coming over later. I hope the landlord doesn't mind. That worries me.

Notice a theme here, kiddies?

Only annoying people with quiffs message me on Plenty of Fish. Guess what? That worries me.

My friend Tom just came back from Australia after it wasn't as awesome as he hoped it would be. He got in touch with me on Plenty of Fish. He said he made it just so he could get in touch again... I believe him. He says I was the last person he slept with. I believe him too... for various reasons that I shall not disclose here. That was a year ago. He had a proper cock block of a wingman in Australia - so he told me about all the times he nearly got to fuck someone but then didn't. He said I was so good that he doesn't even really want to sleep with anyone else. I know he's just kidding about that. He thinks he might want to settle down now. I wonder whether he's for serious. I hope so, actually. He's very funny, and he totally has the same sense of humour as me. He makes me laugh a lot - over silly things that lots of people might not get. We both have a motorbike and a van... we both run our own business... That's three whole things in common. I think about him too much.

I've lost my door key. That worries me, obviously.

My head fucking canes. http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=canes

What The Fuck Is A Lounge?!

Don't answer that - I don't give a flying fuck, really. MFC can tickle my testicles with its tonsils; it's the most corrupt place in all of Christendom.

I'm starving hungry. All I have is chocolate and yogurht. Yoghurt. Yoguhrt... It's NOT Yogurt. HA - Yogurt. What a funny word.

I'm going to go back to watching Nashville for an hour.

In the meantime, I need you to meet me in ten minutes behind Sainsbury's with a rifle, a large packet of pistachios and a dildo shaped like a bass guitar.

See you there.

Half Eaten Pitta Bread

I've decided to take my blog titles from the things that I have around me. Half eaten pitta bread just stood out to me, and seemed to link in nicely with all the things that I want to talk about. That is, my landlord, stomach bugs, moto vlogging and sexual relations. See how relevant it all is?!

Last night I woke up because something was banging in my room... and found my landlord sitting naked and cross legged on my floor. I was like, "What the hell?... Go away?" and he was like, "Okay, just give me a minute.." then waited a minute and got up and left. He came home drunk from a night out. Still unacceptable. I wonder what he'll say about it when he wakes up.

I've had a stomach bug for three days. I was only sick once, five hours after I started feeling ill... but the queasiness has lasted for days and days! URGH! Better today, hopefully all better tomorrow.

I need to get an SD card and a lapel mic to get my motovlogging thing done - but lapel mics are hard to find. I wish I'd just bloody got one of Amazon when I bought the cam and audio recorder, it could have been fucking sorted by now.

Sexual relations are great. I never have them anymore.

The End.

Pukeasaurus.

I had spag bol for tea today, cooked by my new housemate who used to be a chef. Then I got bloated and wibbly, and then felt sick. I rode as fast as I could to Tescos and got some Andrews salts, but they haven't helped at all. Now I teeter between feeling sick, and then feeling a little better for a while. Urgh.

Luckily, I'm not panicking. Maybe that's because I don't feel like I'm literally about to be sick - but pretty close. Maybe this will be one of those times that I don't have a panic attack whilst being sick.

I want to go to bed and read my book but I absolutely hate the idea of lying down; I know I'll instantly feel shit.

Okay - thanks for listening. I'm gonna hurl.