3

I am tired. I feel sad. I wish I had someone I could trust. I mostly would like a friend. I stay up late listening to music and I cry sometimes. This is my only space to cry. There is no shoulder for my tears. Things hurt. Things are hard. I feel lonely. I can't say whats on my mind. I feel trapped. I feel like I can't breathe. I feel like I don't belong. I feel empty. I feel full of too many things I don't know how to handle. I have no ambition left. I am tired. I am too young to be so tired. I want to call out for someone to help me, but I know that if I do that no one will be there, people will only run away. I want to talk. I want to cry next to someone. I want help. I feel like a martyr. I just dump myself here. I will keep dumping myself here. This is where I have to go. this is my liberation. My freedom. I care about me, so here I am listening to myself. Crying for myself. the air hurts. I hurt. this hurts. I will keep going. I will keep going until I am spent.

Getting real with life.

Maybe I am just feeling down. Maybe I just need to type. Whatever. This doesn't have to be good. This is just for me. So, how is Kay doing on life. Lets take a look.
Object one:Was the dude I was dating who dumped me worth my time?
Perhaps.
Cons:
Drank all the time.
Was emotionally distant/ didn't know how to handle emotions other than run away from them and wouldn't just sit next to me when I was having a bad day
Didn't like hanging out with Tonya
Friends where more important to me.
Treated me like a chore.
Gave me an anniversary gift and then decided that it was enough to count as my birthday gift. 
 Put less effort in that me.
Was never sure their friends liked me. (Seemed like I was more put up with than liked)
Was a bit pretentious about his great taste of music, and wouldn't have any of mine.
Seldom gave me compliments. (Mostly only when inebriated)
Dumped me on a whim. Hard and mean.
I worked really hard for that relationship, they sometimes did. Only if I was convenient.
It felt like they were with me because it was convenient some days.
They didn't fight for me. They just saw something going wrong and gave up.

Pros:
Held me.
 Made me feel happy.
 Was really funny.
Played video games with me.
Bought me food and things.
Remembered days, like how long we had been together and stuff.
Really good sex.
Was really funny, like we laughed all the time.
Cared about me (said they did).
Played Pathfinders with me.
Had cool friends.
Had great taste of music.
Was easy to be around.
Gave me a place to stay.
Listened to me, sometimes.
Thought of things to do for me in the little ways/ Was really good at the "little things"
Was incredibly attractive. (Those legs, those arms, and that bendability. But mostly that face, when they weren't hiding behind shades.)
Liked me. (I think)
Cooked me food.

I will look at this list and expand it more later.

I am still growing.

This, these words here, is my place. I find my space here. In the past, this is where I ran to. When things got bad, when things hurt too much. And today, I'm sitting here, all by myself at this computer. I have no friends with me, I have no one who loves me here. And somehow, I'm alright. I hurt, yes. But the pain isn't too much. And I'm all safe, here in this secret. My words are the sanctuary. I have gotten use to becoming stronger. I do things on my own. I bear the pestering thoughts without spilling them to the world. Except here. Here I can say anything. No one knows me here. And they don't need to. I look at the old posts, and I see my change. My growth. My becoming. And that's how things are. I'm still the slow learner. I still have my downs. I just got dumped like a bag of bricks by a person I really liked.  And they only talk to me if they're drunk. And that hurts. But I'm alright. I hurt. I cry. I am hungry and it is Thanksgiving day. And that Really hurts. I have no one to talk to. But these words help. This is what I do to live. To keep going. Me and my secret words. I will keep going. I will keep hurting my way through the days. And there are people who will come and go for me. And it'll just be me. But that's not the worst that can happen. I am still the person who runs. I am still the person who hurts. And maybe that will never change. Maybe I will always run, and always hurt. But today, I'm so glad I'm alive anyways. I made it. Eleven years suicidal. Seven suicides. I've never cut myself. I've never put myself in the hospital. I have made my way. So thank you. To who ever you where, in that one moment. The time you made me laugh. The time I got to see a bird sit next to me. For all the cats. For all of the books. Every shred of kindness. Every laugh. Thank you. This world is good enough. Thank you.

Sick

I have only been to the hospital once this year. Now I have to go see a doctor, they say I am getting worse. I have to get medication. I have to get help. I just want a friend. I wonder what I did, what I'm doing to make myself so alone. I'm glad some people care about me, even if they are bad at showing it. I fear all the things one fears when a dusty mind breaks.  I feel so very alone still. I look for little bits of you in everything I see. I feel very alone.

The long haul

Then it hits. You suddenly realize you just don't care that much. All your efforts, all the things you work on, the schedule you stick to, the exercise, seeing people, eating good food, it just stops mattering. The change took place slowly you're sure, but the realization is in all one moment. You sit down, with your books, your writing, your art, your learning, your movies, your shows your friends your phone; Your privilaged lot. And it doesn't matter. It just doesn't. You just don't care. You are surrounded by blessing, and its nothing.
Because we care, that was your dying realization. I'm sorry. I love you. I miss you. I am becoming empty. 

Where did you go?

Some days, I lay in bed, and wait to wake up from this life.
A few days ago, I woke up to his voice says my name.  I walked around looking for him for a long time. I still see him out of the corner of my eye, every now and again. I still love you. My dear, I sure wish that I could see you again.
I have a lot of books by Camus, I should read them.

Far away.

Still.

I want to be better than this. So badly. Whatever this is, whatever I am right now, it doesn't seem good enough. Because no one ever cares unconditionally about anyone. It just doesn't work like that. And no one really cares that much, so I must not be good enough.
I must not be enough. I want to be enough. I hurt so badly. I wish I saw the world differently.
I will keep being better. I will get better. I will rely on no one, expect nothing from everyone, and stop hoping for someone. Its better this way. To hurt silently, to stop complaining, and just work on getting better.
No one needs to know me at all. And for those who do, I'm sure they don't care, and would rather they didn't.

Nothing

I just don't know anymore.

Identity

There's a theory of identity, that states you are more closely related to those who are dear to you now that you are to you in 30+ years or so. I mean, look at 10 year old you. Do you really get them? Do you relate to them, and think the same way as them, and worry about the same things you did then? Now how about your friends? Which is closer?

Some nights, I just hurt. I just sit and listen to music that we liked. And I cry some. Turns out you were a big part of me. And you killed that piece of me. I have to make a new person now, all by my self.

No one ever asked why I loved you. They though you were an ass. They never asked why I would date someone like you. You were kind. You cared about me. You never gave me a single reason to be afraid. You never hurt me. Justin, my dear, were the best human I ever met. I love you.

I will never see you again.
I will never talk to you again.
I won't hold you again.
But a bit of you is still here. In me. Its all thats left.

And if I could, things would be different. But I can't. So it isn't.
I love you. We never said goodbye.
So I'm saying goodbye to who I was. Because that person died with you.  And if I killed myself today, I wouldn't be getting any of that person back. I wouldn't be getting anyone back.
I'll never have you back, my dear.
Goodbye.

I miss you.

Sucess!

You're a failure to all! Your parents are disgusted with you! You are no longer welcome here! Good job! Good Fucking Job!

YOU HAVE NO ONE LEFT. NO ONE WHO CARES ANYMORE. ITS ALRIGHT TO DIE NOW. IT WOULDN'T MAKE A FUCKING DIFFERENCE.

On being alone

People tell me that I should be thankful. People say I have so much to live for. People say lots and lots of things. But I don't feel that way all the time. I go on and be happy and cheerful and keep on a good face. A smart stiff upper lip, and I'm learning not to whine. "Let it all out" They say. "Trust people" they say. "Take as much as you need" they say. But when I do that they all complain. "You don't understand how you feel" they say. "I'm real busy" they say. "Its time you moved on" they say.

So as it turns out, I fake for a while. A right good liar. I speak everything on my mind, I say. I trust all my friends, I say. They all help me immensely, and are always there for me, I say. Because it turns out people don't like me.
(Perhaps not dislike, they just find so much so much better than me. I'm really just not worth the trouble anymore.)

Time certainly doesn't matter. We all change, and how could I ask for someone to care about this thing I've become! We all drift apart, that's how things are supposed to be. Promises don't matter. No one can really be taken seriously if they say that they'll make time, or that they'll be there when I need someone to talk to. Life has far too much going on to make time, and no one really means that they want to hear what you have to say. They just want to feel like a good person for offering.

I'm horribly lonely, again. It seems this is what I can come to rely on. The pain. The empty white room, with no one in it. The fall. I have become Sisyphus, with my rock, and my mountain, to bear alone. Do not tell me I need to learn to trust, you have taught me that I shouldn't. Do not tell me that things will be good, you have taught me that they won't be.

I have learned that I am here to push my boulder up towards the heavens alone. I will tone my being, with every sinew, with every fall, with every success. I will be a worker towards the better. And I will do it by myself.

I will be that lonely rock pusher. Until nothing but my company is all I will remember. For there isn't a damn soul, who has convinced me that they will help me be otherwise.
At least my cat doesn't lie about what it thinks of me. 

Still here.

I've still got a brain. I'm still here. I can see when you lie with your face too, you know. Actions speak quite loudly, you know.  I would like an explanation, I hope you know.

The fog

Then the depression sets in. The numbness is pretty strong. You just feel tired. You want to die now not because of pain but because it just seems better. Nothing because you're dead seems better than the nothing of just empty.

This used to be my favorite holdiay.

But I've worked each Halloween night for the past three years, and the only thing that made it ohkay was that you were there. Today is hell. I'm miserable, I'm tired, I'm stressed and it was a lot harder to not cry in class today than it had ever been. Blackbird came on in art class, and I'm not sure how I didn't lose it right there. It hurt so much. I hurt so much. No one even said Happy Halloween.
Wish you were here.

Its hard

Its hard to escape myself. I think about hurting myself a lot. Right now there is a push pin right next to me, and I"m writing to keep my hands from picking it up and sticking it into my side. I'm listening to cheerful music. I feel sick; I've got a thousand things to do. I can't stand myself. I imagine this is what a lemming feels like. The pull into a greater unknown, a dark sight. The fear beckoner, the sweet enticings of that void crawler. An unknowner licking its lips with my being. I'll be with you soon... Or I won't. I feel like rejecting my stomach. The brain vicegrip clamps tighter each day. To be or not to be, it is indeed the question. Oh Hamlet, I'm sure you were happy for your death in the end. That poison was sweet and warm; a sleep well earned. I've taken up not eating much. Its that slow sort of knife, a simple one, an easy one. Befitting of someone so weak. I hate myself. I hate being around me. I'd like to 'jump ship' as they said about him. Ready to drown.

Help Me

Please. Anyone. Someone. Please. I'm so empty. I dream of changing the past. I think about time travel and miracles. I beg for things to be different. I am so hurt. People keep saying they understand. I don't want that. I don't want understanding, I want him back. I want the kindness back. I want those eyes back. I want to call someone in the morning and ask them how they're doing. I want that smell back. I want the sound of you walking down the stairs. I have apples and milk that are all yours. Just swing by and have some. What were you thinking, what were the drugs thinking before you went? Did you think of me? Could I have stopped it? I was awake that night, I wish I would have called. I wish I was there. Oh please... just come back. The world keeps spinning. I don't know what to do. I hurt. I hurt. I gasp for air and everything hurts. I'm crying and shaking and I still need you. I love you. Its all gone now. No ones here. No one cares. Help. Help....I can't do this anymore. Help.

I said I won't.

I've had a lot of people in my life kill themselves. It started when I was in seventh grade, the cutting, the pills, running away. Not me, but the people I knew. The important people.The ones I cared about and knew. After the first one died I made a promise. That I would never do that. I would never leave anyone behind like that. And each time it happened again, I promised a few more people that I wouldn't. But this is the first time that I've ever desperately wanted to. Where are all those people I promised? I sure don't have anyone one here. I've still got to deal with the same people, who are only friends because they want to date me. I've mentions them before, and I'll say again that I"m not yours. I never was, I was always his, and mine. But never theirs. I've got people I see every once in a while, I have a million faces telling me that they understand. I can't stand a single one of them. I can't stand this life. I hate it, all of it. I don't even have improv to cling to. I've got my sick self that can't sleep at night, I've got a thousand pointless things to do, you know, to just stay busy. To keep my mind off of things. To keep it away from the knives, and the pills, and the running away. The cars that veer off the road, the 'accidents', the going missing. The gas mask and oxygen, or carbon monoxide, either the most humane way to go. No mess, no pain, and just like falling asleep. I want to. I've stared into the void for far too long. Its calling. I would know, if there was something after. If it just ended then it would just end, and if not I might get to know. I said I wouldn't.... I promised I'd live....
And so I'm here. A shell. A mask that has a contract scribbled onto the front in black ink. There's an expiration date on it to. I don't want to die. I need to. Its calling. Its calling. Its calling...
I never got to say goodbye, so maybe I wasn't supposed to.
All that's left is for me to say hello.

Dear boy

I've been really, really, really lonely before. And horribly terribly sad. But its not much compared to this. I've never felt human, except when I was with you. Now I'm just rusting from tears. My gears are slow, and I'm missing my energy source. I"m not much without love. Not much at all.

River flows in you

I first heard this song my sophomore year of high school. I sat and listened to it over and over again, completely entranced. I wept, and I did not know why. I captivated me, and filled a cavity in my chest. I did not know what I was missing, but it filled me and captured my missing essence. I never learned the very end of it, even though I spent every lunch period in the room with a piano, desperately trying to fill myself with this music. I listened to it again today and realized that I had filled that void with love. With improv, with friends, with art, with music, and with you, my dear.  And now most of that is gone. And so once again I fill my void with this song. Its different now, but my tears are the same, while the loss is greater, and I feel my blood trying to escape my veins.