King of the Box.

Just to show my dedication, when I die I want a Simpson’s quote written on my tomb stone:

Jaime Mitropoulos
"It was the best of times, it was the blurst of times."

Winter, inspecting my new lamp.

I feel nothing short of dead inside. 

Crappy Easter y’all.

Once again, my only friend is the Internet. If this week doesn’t kill me, the fact that I won’t have eaten will. Why am I so fucking stupid. I have nothing to live for and no one will care if I am gone.

Photo flashback from 2011.

In three days I have eaten a regular fries from McDonald’s, a slice of lasagna, and a slice of pizza. I’ve cried out the entirety of my body’s liquid content, while also having to deal with my parent’s in house ‘divorce’, my Mother’s smashed iPhone, contemplating hanging myself, and feeling abandoned. I’d love nothing more than to slip into a coma, not that anyone would notice. Bye.

Eyes.

And every part of me feels like I’m doing something wrong.

I’m lying on my bed watching American Psycho while scraping ice cream from a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Triple Caramel Crunch as it slowly melts in my hand. I give zero fucks right now, and it shows.