Dear Diary

I’m depressed. Whew, it feels good to get that off my chest. It’s hard to talk about my feelings these days because I’m constantly being bombarded with super depressing shit from all angles. It must have finally gotten to me.

When I was younger, I enjoyed talking about sports. The drama of the game, not the non-sports drama of today. I’d talk about heroes, underdogs, and perseverance. Not drug tests and violence against women.

I’d talk about innovations. The Wright Brothers. The space race. Not half of America fundamentally hating the other half for something they’ll never change their minds about.

I used to spread the word about crime and corruption, but only after it was verified to be true. I used to have integrity and only pass on information from reputable sources. Now, I just plain don’t know what to believe because I’ve become a platform for anyone to say whatever they want. Here’s the kicker: I’m supposed to be the one telling you what’s real and I can’t tell the difference between real and fake anymore.

I hope people aren’t still taking me seriously. They really shouldn’t pay attention to 99% of what I have to say. I don’t mean to be hateful and attention-seeking, but it’s what I’ve turned into.

Time to go deal with this Trump/Comey thing. I apologize in advance and hope one day I can be good again.

Yours Truly,

The News