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Sunday I met some friends I hadn’t seen in six years. We’ve known each other for 25 years. But when they left I broke down. I woke up at 3h45 yesterday morning with terrible anxiety. I wanted to kill myself. Because life felt like hell once more and I’m too inadequate. I can’t do people, people make me feel uneasy. I’m an introvert and a misanthrope.

Monday morning I reactivated my personal Instagram account. I hadn’t posted in almost two months. And I put my website there. I felt like a part of me had disappeared with that account. It’s ridiculous of course, but I’m a social media addict. I removed 100 followers who just lurk or sell stuff and never post and have nothing interesting to say anyway and I really don’t give a shit about them. Or people from a long gone past or who have hurt me. Now my Instagram is private again and my personal diary, like it was supposed to. I regret removing some of the pictures, because I always regret everything I do. But I have the back-up and I put them here. Selfies obviously. People telling me I look pretty is something I like. But I only post flattering pictures like anyone does. Yesterday my nose was swollen from all the crying and screaming.

Fuck selfies.

Fuck social media.

I’ll continue to tweet and post my art where it belongs.

Without A. I would have jumped off the bridge yesterday. He’s always by my side, however cruel I might be. I don’t think this blog needs more readers, there are enough already. But I’ll keep the Facebook page because I like it. Even if I’m no longer on Facebook. Haha. I’m a lurker too sometimes.

Do you know what people really want? Everyone, I mean. Everybody in the world is thinking: I wish there was just one other person I could really talk to, who could really understand me, who’d be kind to me. That’s what people really want, if they’re telling the truth.

Doris Lessing, The Golden Notebook