Umm, please disregard this entry up til now. Hopefully my woeful brain will have the capacity to muster up something more meaningful. Or at least interesting. I suspect any tiny amount of creativity I ever had has vanished.

I’m sad. My mood is: sad. Not depressed. Not angry, not pissed off or unhappy or distraught. I’m just sad. Plain and simple. There are so many things going on in my head...so many thoughts, about the future, the present…about my past. I don’t know where to start in letting it go. I don’t know where I’ll end up.

I’m a lonely potato. Laugh as you will, but that’s what I am. I just wish I had someone to be “mine”, as ridiculous as that sounds. I miss the friendship…the trust (though it’s gone), I don’t know…I miss knowing someone was there. And now, it’s so odd…it’s as though the air beside me is empty and cold, a void where none of you step. And if I reach my hand out, I grasp at nothing, the fog of my visions misting away as my fingers curl around the vanquished thoughts. Decrepit soul, I miss it.

As opposed to studying biochem at this ridiculous hour, I decided to waste my time and think. Note to self: Do not ponder at such a late hour. At this time of the night, I tend to have unwell thoughts and…well…you know where that ends up. The disturbing sketches…the dark poems. You know how it is. Two steps closer to the end of the …

The expression “we’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone” is really starting to take place. I understand it now. No one is actually there for you…you’re always on your own. A friend is merely an illusion to soften your senses and dull your wit, and then tragedy strikes, or depression, or the pain…the wretched, agonizing pain. It’s like being hit when you least expect it. Always always alone. Died: Alone. Died: Unhappy. Died: Tormented. Died: Broken. From the cradle to the grave, we are alone. While we struggle to survive in a world that is full of hatred and murder and overpopulation, we all are afraid of being alone, when we’re alone out entire lives. I want to touch each of you, and see if you’re really there, but I’m afraid, that when I reach out…the fog…of my visions of you will mist away…as my fingers curl around the vanquished thoughts…the souls I thought were you…and the cool air will surround me and I will succumb to the loneliness once again. I don’t think I can do that again…if it gets me this time, there’s no turning back. The nauseating memories of being abandoned, deserted and forgotten are pulsing through my veins, pounding through my temples and coursing through my heart. I'd like to throw them up, but they will tear out my insides before they give in. I might tear out my insides before I give in.

I was safer when I was cold. When my heart was a rock, encased in ice, and I had no feelings, no sense of conscience or guilt. Nothing could get me there. I watched so much happen, I saw more than anyone should have to see, and I walked out unscathed, my memories naught traumatized. The ice has melted...reality hits hard, too hard sometimes.

I hate it. I hate being here. I hate the thought of growing up and having to watch people I've grown accustomed to die. I'm not ready for that. I'm sick of death, I'm sick of seeing people die, and take their lives, and worse, trying to take their lives and failing. I cannot face that anymore. My mind has become tender and distraught with the sick thoughts I have to filter. I hate being a screw up. A failure. A never-was going nowhere. I’m awake because of you, but I’m not really alive.

There’s so much more to me than you see…but I won’t tell you, because you don’t give a fuck anyway. After all, why should you?

I wish you would just put me out of my misery. Just shoot me. I don’t give a fuck. Poison me. Just do it right. Don’t make any fucking mistakes. I’d do it myself, but I back out last minute.

The fucking chain is beginning to looking appealing again. I wonder if it will break my neck before I stop breathing. This is the way I pray.