down here at the bottom of everything

We like to make mistakes. It's so ingrained in humans to err and fuck up and generally JUSTGOFUCKINGBANANASEVERYONCEINAWHILE, and yet some people still look down on me for my outbursts, idiosyncrasies, and general bad taste and lack of any sort of contemporarily accepted morality. You know what, fuckers?

Eat it.

I am dylan andrew thomas holycross, and I am a bastard.

I am unequivocally self-centered, rude, unforgiving in multiple respects, greedy, lazy, quick to anger, and cowardly.

I am nastiness and hedonism, amalgamated into one evil, nasty, little body. All these negative character traits I am going to blame on race. I'm one asshole of a person. But yet, people like me for some reason, and so I went and decided to supremely throw the biggest monkey wrench into my life that I could.

I'm sorry.

To both of them.

Neither one deserves what I did to them. Hell, I didn't think it possible, but in one fell swoop, I've managed to make myself feel more lonely than I have felt in about two years or so. Even with all of these people surrounding me with friendship and love, it's still too incredible to me that the two that mattered got steamrolled under my gigantic idiocy.

I have no soul. Just a black void that feeds off my bad decisions. Curse you, infernal bad-decision eating void. Curse you so fuckin hard.