Diary of an Oxygen Thief (Oxygen Thief Diaries Book 1)

by Anonymous

Hurt people hurt people more skillfully.

My hope was that if I registered pain, it would be welcomed as a sign of life.

I gave her some hints on how to successfully hurt me back. Love in disguise.

This is just me trying to be honest with myself. Like a 151-page note to self.

They say you’re not punished for your sins, you’re punished by them.

I heard someone say somewhere that it’s possible to write the sickness out of yourself.

Or maybe it’s alcoholism minus the alcohol.

I’ll offer you the possibility that I’m wrong only if I’m fairly sure I’m right. Makes me appear more humble.

It is my humble opinion that a lot of the civil rights protests—and indeed, a good portion of this fine country’s problems, including the Civil War and the assassination of more than one president—can be attributed to the absence of air-conditioning.

I could have written a book about her. Whoops.

Call it a warning to my brother romantics. Call it paranoid ravings. Call it what you like. Call it therapy for me (and you lot are eavesdropping).