Convoluted, yes. Everything is.
My hypocrisy has ceased to bother me. Yes, I'm intolerant of intolerance. Yes, I know that's a paradox. But if everyone was tolerant of each other's intolerance, what would we be? The word loses meaning. Life loses meaning.

I'm sick of being a yoyo. My moods, my eating. Up down, binge purge.

I'm very mad at my mom right now. Do I have a right to be? I have no idea. Our relationship sure is more healthy than it used to be. But... something's still missing. She's still so touchy. I'm still so out of it somehow.

I have no money, so I drew a picture for my friend for her birthday, colored pencil birds that look to bright to exist in this world. I fell back into that lethargy that comes with art and I remembered, and it hurt. I miss art so much. I miss the pencils, the charcoal, the ink, the paint. I miss three different kinds of erasers for three different mediums.

The birds look okay. At least I can still draw.