Maybe, just maybe, I've been told that I'm good looking my whole life. Maybe I get my dick wet a lot. And maybe after having meaningless casual sex for so long I feel like a piece of worthless shit who lies, manipulates, and uses people to get what he wants. I say ALL the right things. I do ALL the right things. I know exactly how to get what I want.

And maybe, just maybe, I hate myself for that. I hate who I am. And I hate anyone in that circle, because at 31, I'm realizing that they're all superficial, shallow, narcissistic pieces of shit. I have no friends. Just acquaintances that I party, drink, and do drugs with. They're all shallow pieces of shit with no substance, and I hate them, and I hate my lifestyle. And some times, I hate myself.

If you wanna go down that road, be my guest. Go do it. Have fun. Get it outta your system. But don't try and tell me that it's fine. It's good. It's redeeming. Because that means that you either (1) haven't done what I've done (2) have done what I've done and think it's cool, or (3) have no fucking idea what you're talking about.

If you think it's "cool", then be my guest. But I'm telling you from one person to another, that lifestyle leaves you hollow, empty, and realizing that no one around is real, and no one really gives a shit about you at all, and that hurts.