To Rome?

I don't know this feeling inside me. It's not jealousy. I'm not the jealous type. It's...disgust. I'm disgusted at him. But its fine. I'm a good girl. And I feel so sick. So sick, infected with my tears. Infected infected, how can I even hope to accomplish anything, when all i ever do is sit here and type? How am i one person, striving towards an undefinable goal, rocketing chaotically through life? I'm going to die. It's simple really. I don't know when, or how, but I'm not afraid. I can't be afraid. I'm terrified. Not of dying..maybe..I don't know. I don't know anything really. I like it here. It's nice. It's cold and bright and sterile. It feels like a hospital. It smells like sleep. I'm tired, I'm angry and I'm lonely. Not for the company of others, I miss my Self. Where is she/he? Where did you go? I need you so much, now more than ever, how can this be a hell hole, disgraceful, impertinent little whore. I hate you. I love you. I want to die. Kill me. Please? No. No. I want to live, i love life. It's amazing. Simply amazing. Complicated, its not. It's fear, and love, and hate, and security, and It's hopeless. I can't feel this. I can't feel the words I'm typing, I can't see myself. I want out. I want out of this shell, I want to roam. To roam freely, to roam. To rome.