Last Saturday night was spent at a party in Davis. Met some new people, had a bit of fun, but it all came back to the same thing.
I wish people deviated from my expectations. It would be nice if people weren’t so predictable. It would be nice if they could read my thoughts instead.
At the end of the night, I came back to the same thought as always: there’s nothing that can stop what has to happen. I have to kill myself. There’s no other way for this to end. However, before I can do so, I must make sure to help the good people I’ve met. Once I’ve done all I can for them, it’ll be time for me to take my leave.
It’s okay. Nobody will even notice I’m gone!
Nobody will care, and that’s okay. I only exist so long as I am needed. That’s how it’s always been, and that’s how it will always be.
It’d feel nice to talk to somebody honestly. I haven’t done that in a long time.
It hurts so badly. I wish it didn’t have to be like this.
As much as I wish they could, I don’t think there’s anything or anyone that can help me. They shouldn’t try; they wouldn’t try, anyway.
Oh, well. Everything will be just fine.
Let me go out into the night, pick a fight, try to feel alive. There’s a power outage out there. What I’d give to feel the electricity coursing through my veins again.
Fuck this! I don’t want any of this. I want to feel fucking happy. I don’t want to chase any more of these damned ghosts. Every single time, I see an old friend’s face in somebody else’s. I ask them if they’re related to so-and-so, but I know for a fact that they can’t be. It couldn’t be them. I hate wandering around empty neighborhoods and buildings hoping to find somebody that I recognize, and that will recognize me, too. I don’t want to die alone.
But it doesn’t matter.
Miss those days where everything was golden. Adventure and amazement everywhere. We’ve forgotten that, haven’t we? Can’t we just play around like kids again? What were their names? Do you remember them?
What about the bedrooms? Do you remember what they looked like, what they represented, or what feelings they held?
“He tore our images out of his pictures. He scratched our names out of all of his letters.”
I’m so scared. Maybe I just need some time to calm down again. That’ll do it.