pretty handwriting

Last night, I remembered why I always say I don't want friends anymore. I don't think I'm a good enough person to have friends. I'm quite evil and flawed and nasty.
Thing is, I don't mean to be all of those things. That's not what's inside my heart. So maybe evil is too strong a word. But there's some black rotten stuff in there somewhere.
And it took me by force and I lost it. It ran away from me. It controlled me and caged me in it's intensity.
Abby was scared. She said I was frightening her and that made me feel worse and try as I might I couldn't stop it. I wanted to die. How awful is that? And how scary and stupid.
But you see blog, I can't keep blaming other people. This is me. Debs and I'm not good and I'm not worthy. Think of all the people I lost along the way. A husband, many friends , friends who were as close as is possible. Then initially from desperation, I made friends online. That's what you do with no where to go, no one to talk to. A pc and internet connection.
But my choices were made with a head out of alignment and maybe I portrayed something I wasn't.
I'm not clever or funny or witty or fun. None of those things are me. I'm bad and mad.
It's been a while since I felt this way. I've been going around with my head in the sand and humming the song of the stable one.
The girl in work yesterday? The lovely one I had a problem with. The misjudged one... hung drawn and quartered by stupid me?
She said that over the years she's always admired my handwriting.
And that says it all really.
Nothing inside just the ability to project an image. I have pretty handwriting.