he can't live in his own house because he's seperated from wife #3, but she's still living in the house, like months later. So he pays the rent, she still gets a share of a pension because he's on an army pension for PTSD.

I said he should kick her the fuck out. like, give her a month to find a place. I said i'll even go around and tell her. The lesbian thought this was a good idea.

The other thing is his ex is now telling everyone he's an alcoholic. It's not technically true, but he does drink a lot.

There's other stuff happening too that i don't really want to tell you about. I crashed so hard yesterday. It's good to get it out of the way on the weekend i guess. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach like something's wrong but nothing's wrong except for that feeling. I have no desire to write anything. Ever again.

Is writing a diary good or bad, like, does it just make you dwell on things and make it worse, or does it force you to think about things? I don't think it solves anything really. You can still pull the wool over your own eyes.

What I used to have was a handful of lies, but along the way they became interconnected, and that's how i came to manage a web of lies. The centre of the web is me, which is hardly surprising is it? For every lie i tell someone, i tell myself ten, give or take.