I can't even stand reading my own diary entries.

I looked at some papers on my desk. Some of them are endless essays about Gridman, all repeating the same words. Some about ethics and religion-there's one speculating about how to break Islam as much as Christianity has been broken. There's a lot that basically amount to screams trapped on paper. Written records of awkward behavior towards women. Poetry. Pleading.

Today I was going to try to write more. I don't cringe at myself anymore. I just feel depressed about myself. Which is worse, because it strips the hopeful belief that you will do better. Illusion or not illusion, doing any kind of self-improvement requires faith that you can do better, that the mountain of repeated failures is a step-ladder to somewhere.

It's weird, staring at stuff I've written. Much of it is familiar, but a great deal of it is stuff I feel like critiquing and writing a complaint letter about. At the same time I don't feel that I have really changed or improved.