Dear Journal,
1/1
I'm bad again, journal. I don't know what is even going on with me. I could maybe understand this feeling if something big and bad had happened, but it's really nothing. It is the same stuff that's been going on forever. Not forever, forever. I mean forever to me.. my whole life. My 19 year life is nothing, just a miniscule fraction of time, so small and unimportant. I could just stop existing, and it wouldn't matter at all. I know that is a really bad, morbid thought, but I want it. I want to stop existing. Don't get me wrong, journal, I wouldn't kill myself or anything; I'm not that brave. I'll just spend my whole-- probably way too long-- life wishing I wasn't alive. And doing all of these stupid things that shorten my life and make me numb. Smoking, drinking, cutting. They're an every day thing. They're things I shouldn't do, I know. But it doesn't even matter. I wish I didn't have insomnia. That I didn't have to drink myself to sleep. I want to be one of those people who could sleep for two, three days straight with no problem. I've certainly got the free time. I want to fall asleep for 20, 30 years, without waking up. I would say I want to sleep for longer, but I really don't want to live for longer than 30 more years. That seems so long... I wish I could just die, right now. Not die. Stop existing. Suddenly fade away, having never really existed. Wake up, learn that this life was a dream, I really did sleep for years. I'm completely different, happy, attractive, popular, okay. I want to be okay.
I need to stop thinking. I am getting lost in my fantasies again. This isn't a good thing to keep doing. I start to wish it was real; I start to pretend, to get lost, to forget about reality. That is what makes it so much worse when I realize that it is fake. If only it
I look up, my writing having been interrupted by footsteps, someone probably having just decided to cut through this parking lot. It's abandoned; no one ever parks in it, the building it belongs to is never used; but occasionally, rarely, people use it as a shortcut to wherever they're going.
"Hey, are you all right?"
I jump, startled at the unfamiliar voice. They never actually talk to me. Why is he asking if I'm okay? Oh. Fuck. That's probably why. Sometime during my journaling I started crying.
"O-oh. Yeah. Hi. I'm fine. Thanks," I finally reply, my voice unsteady, making it obvious that I'm not okay.
"Well.. Um, I know that you don't know me, but if you ever want to, you know, talk, or something, I'm here," He smiles, slightly stumbling over his words. He puts his number into my phone, telling me to call him whenever I want to talk and that he'll leave me alone now.
He walks away, leaving me thinking about how strange the encounter was. I mean, who just gives their phone number to some stranger like that?
Journal, that was abnormal. People just don't talk to me, you know? It just doesn't happen. People think I'm weird and completely ignore me. That is why I am always alone. And why it just wouldn't matter if I didn't exist. I don't form relationships with people, so I would not be missed. Why am I thinking like this? Everything is so much more bearable when I don't think. I just need to stop thinking. To never think again. I want to seal every thought I've ever had in here, journal, and forget about it. I need life to be as simple as "breathe, breathe, breathe, eat, breathe, shower, sleep, repeat". No thinking about pointless things that matter only to me, that won't have any impact on anything. Will I care about the guy I just met in ten years, when I am hopefully about to stop existing? No. Why would I? I'm just going to go home and drink a bit. Bye, journal. Write to you later.
I pack up my things-- pen, journal, phone, drink-- and start my walk home. I'll admit, my mind slips to that one guy, I think his name was Mark, I don't know. But I won't call him. He's just pitying me...
Journal, what do I do? I didn't realize it, but I am out of alcohol. I can't get more until Monday, two days away... Damn it! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? I don't know... Ugh.. I am really bad again, I need to be numb! I can't just... sit here. I have to do something. Something. What can I do? ...I'm desperate.
--
"Uh... Hey... Mark? It's, uh, the person you gave your number to earlier, in the parking lot?"
"Oh, hey! Are you okay? You sound upset."
"Not really.. I need something to do. To get my mind off of this. Of everything. I don't know. Sorry. I'll leave you alone."
"No! It's fine. Meed me at that parking lot again? I'm here for you."
"Thank you..."
I walk outside, to the parking lot, and he's there. Can I really have a relationship with someone? A friendship? I don't know. I guess I could try. I need something good.
--
4 months later
Journal! I'm sorry I haven't written in a month. I've been hanging out with Mark almost constantly. I actually have a friend. I feel a lot better. I mean, it isn't like everything is just fixed suddenly. I still don't want to exist; I still get lost in my thoughts; I still get so depressed. But I am handling it better. I don't drink every night, now. I still find myself relying on it sometimes, but it isn't as bad. I still cut, that hasn't changed. But I'm just trying. That is better than before.
I need to stop thinking. I am getting lost in my fantasies again. This isn't a good thing to keep doing. I start to wish it was real; I start to pretend, to get lost, to forget about reality. That is what makes it so much worse when I realize that it is fake. If only it
I look up, my writing having been interrupted by footsteps, someone probably having just decided to cut through this parking lot. It's abandoned; no one ever parks in it, the building it belongs to is never used; but occasionally, rarely, people use it as a shortcut to wherever they're going.
"Hey, are you all right?"
I jump, startled at the unfamiliar voice. They never actually talk to me. Why is he asking if I'm okay? Oh. Fuck. That's probably why. Sometime during my journaling I started crying.
"O-oh. Yeah. Hi. I'm fine. Thanks," I finally reply, my voice unsteady, making it obvious that I'm not okay.
"Well.. Um, I know that you don't know me, but if you ever want to, you know, talk, or something, I'm here," He smiles, slightly stumbling over his words. He puts his number into my phone, telling me to call him whenever I want to talk and that he'll leave me alone now.
He walks away, leaving me thinking about how strange the encounter was. I mean, who just gives their phone number to some stranger like that?
Journal, that was abnormal. People just don't talk to me, you know? It just doesn't happen. People think I'm weird and completely ignore me. That is why I am always alone. And why it just wouldn't matter if I didn't exist. I don't form relationships with people, so I would not be missed. Why am I thinking like this? Everything is so much more bearable when I don't think. I just need to stop thinking. To never think again. I want to seal every thought I've ever had in here, journal, and forget about it. I need life to be as simple as "breathe, breathe, breathe, eat, breathe, shower, sleep, repeat". No thinking about pointless things that matter only to me, that won't have any impact on anything. Will I care about the guy I just met in ten years, when I am hopefully about to stop existing? No. Why would I? I'm just going to go home and drink a bit. Bye, journal. Write to you later.
I pack up my things-- pen, journal, phone, drink-- and start my walk home. I'll admit, my mind slips to that one guy, I think his name was Mark, I don't know. But I won't call him. He's just pitying me...
Journal, what do I do? I didn't realize it, but I am out of alcohol. I can't get more until Monday, two days away... Damn it! What do I do, what do I do, what do I do? I don't know... Ugh.. I am really bad again, I need to be numb! I can't just... sit here. I have to do something. Something. What can I do? ...I'm desperate.
--
"Uh... Hey... Mark? It's, uh, the person you gave your number to earlier, in the parking lot?"
"Oh, hey! Are you okay? You sound upset."
"Not really.. I need something to do. To get my mind off of this. Of everything. I don't know. Sorry. I'll leave you alone."
"No! It's fine. Meed me at that parking lot again? I'm here for you."
"Thank you..."
I walk outside, to the parking lot, and he's there. Can I really have a relationship with someone? A friendship? I don't know. I guess I could try. I need something good.
--
4 months later
Journal! I'm sorry I haven't written in a month. I've been hanging out with Mark almost constantly. I actually have a friend. I feel a lot better. I mean, it isn't like everything is just fixed suddenly. I still don't want to exist; I still get lost in my thoughts; I still get so depressed. But I am handling it better. I don't drink every night, now. I still find myself relying on it sometimes, but it isn't as bad. I still cut, that hasn't changed. But I'm just trying. That is better than before.