Sometimes I worry that people will think I've always been the way I am.

I can't let anyone into my house because it is disgustingly unkempt. I don't mean clutter. I mean remnants of rotting food clinging to paper plates stacked up entire the place. And the remnants of rotting food that is left on the carpet every time any of those stacks shift. I'm not an animal, I haven't always lived like one, I'm going through a tough time.

I hate that I'm so obviously needy. I hate that I cry all the time, over nothing, over a goddamn episode of Scrubs, over EVERY episode of Scrubs. I hate that I am more afraid of serial killers, armegeddon, and yes, piranha. I hate that if someone doesn't talk to me for two days, I suddenly think they hate me and/or have severely injured themselves somehow. I don't cry like this usually, even when I'm depressed. I'm not a cry baby. I'm not this neurotic. Except that I am. Currently.

I can't let anyone notice I wear the same two (unfortunately similar looking) pairs of pants every day because I've gotten too fat for the others I own and am too stubborn to buy more. Or the all too obvious decline in my personal hygiene.

I hate that I have to make excuses like this, so that I don't hate myself any more than I do already.

I'm not like this. This is not me. I'M NOT THIS FUCKING WHINY. It is temporary. At least, I hope it is.