Assuming that no one is every going to actually read this, I’m just going to lay it all out on the line.

I find that writing down your thoughts helps collect and sift, in a shambly attempt to understand what the FUCK is wrong.

I can’t shake the feeling that something is terribly and horrendously wrong. I’m worried that I will hurt myself. Not because I am afraid of dying, because I am afraid for the people around me.

This time, I dug too deep. I think I got too connected. And selfishly, I wish that I could blissfully disappear without the repercussions of mourning. The bane of the human existence. The cause of all that is wrong in the world. This completely and totally primitive process of grief that transcends all cultural barriers. Tears are universal. Broken hearts, and aching voids. We are all doomed to feel, which is why some feel nothing at all.

It all started with a boy.

Sometimes, I wonder if it was really meant to be. That our love could have conquered anything. Sometimes, I just wonder if you ever really loved me at all.

You. Yes, you. This is who I’m talking about.

You have made me feel the most of all the people in this world. And perhaps we know each other too well.

When I think of you, I think of waves. Crashing, over and over again. Endless. Unpredictable. Beautiful, in its own right. How could I have ever seen you coming? You swept me up in the undertow, and I was lost at sea.

At first it was exhilarating. And to be quite honest, the flame never died out. There was always another battle. Us and them. Me and you.

But sometimes, I fought alone.

Maybe its just a testosterone thing. Or maybe you really are just oblivious. I can never tell. I couldn’t ever leave. Even if I had wanted to. I couldn’t breathe without you. I can’t.

At night I think about you. Not even in a sexual way. I think about how fragile you really are, and how amazed I am that you hold it together. It seems the only place you fall apart is when we’re together. Our own safe space that we’ve created.

It feels right. Together. To be. Together. You and me. With just a glance, sometimes it seems like you understand exactly what I’m thinking. You care, I know you do. You just have your demons too, and there’s nothing wrong with that.

I can’t blame or depend on you for my own well being or happiness. It has to come from within.

But where can I find it? My “zen”? Not that it has to be philosophical, or natural in any matter. People always affiliate peace with yoga, and stillness. But I feel most at home where I am loved.

Maybe I just need a dog. Or a serious change in scenery.

Maybe I’m just too cowardly to do anything about it.

You suck. You suck. You suck. You suck.

How did I turn into the bad guy. You assume, and you assume. You always assume that my weakness is intentional pain directed towards you. It’s not. I am fighting something bigger than you could ever understand. Not to discredit your own struggle.

I never told you about the attempts to end my life. You wouldn’t understand. You would only ask why. You would again make me the bad guy.

And you did.

This time, I think it’s serious, and underneath all of the pain, and hurt, and impending loneliness, I think I’m actually relieved.