I want to die part 3

The loneliest mornings are the ones you wake up too early, maybe still drunk from the sloppy, nothing night before. You squeeze your face up tight - the sun is peering just under the blinds, scraping across your soft, sleepy eyes. You toss and turn in the buzzing uncomfortables surrounding your body, on your shoulder, in your brain. Nose. Lungs. All you wanna do is be awake, fresh and ready. But your alarm just don't go off, and you sink into the sleepless cycle of dream-indulgence. The loneliest mornings are the ones you wake to after a wasted night of trying to be somebody by the end of your drink. One after the other. A stack of cups a mile high- all with cracks running down their sides.

It's impossible for me to find satisfaction. I am attempting to lose weight. Attempting to look in a mirror and not want to bloody myself with it. Attempting to . to.

Dear diary,
I am not good at this.