Journal Entry: Delta

1... 2... 3... Breathe. 1... 2... 3... Breathe.
"You're fine". "You'll be fine." NO! Don't you fucking lie to me; six fucking years and it's been the same old Bullshit. six fucking years and everything is the same.

Nothing ever gets better, No one ever gets better and she is No Where to be found.

Don't you fucking stand there with those beautiful green eyes, and that perfect long hair of yours. You're too beautiful to even begin to understand what this shit is like. Each time I say this it gets worse, Each time this happens the fission explosion becomes exponentially more destructive. You become nothing more to me than collateral damage, a casualty that's barely on my conscience. I have no intention to hurt you, only myself. Just be aware you're standing in the splash zone.

I don't know what to change anymore other than obliterating hope all together. Just another unfortunate being, an autistic basket case. That is such a fucking stupid Cop-Out; way too general, way too simple. I just want a proper fucking label at least. I simply want to announce a singular diagnosis and be understood. But no, it instead takes 3 years of misunderstandings for anyone to begin to comprehend me. Most people don't manage to even make it that long. Doesn't really matter how "unique" "quirky" "special" anyone else is. That guarantees nothing. Actually, y'know what, it guarantees I'd be intrigued but that's the worst case scenario.

"Try Online" they say, there's tons of broken down toys waiting to be railed there. Even so, unless they're directly in front of me, it doesn't matter how much we talk or how many pictures we send, these digital paper dolls are nothing more than ego boosters . I cannot manage to genuinely care about someone that I can't physically feel beside me. These online Sirens are expendable free to disappear as they please and I won't be upset that they're gone. I'll be upset that there's no longer someone begging for me to be there. Call it what you want I frankly Don't give a shit how you feel about it really.  Yet, the moment someone is in front of me, giving me their full attention, with their straight black hair and abrasive smile, I am hooked. At that point, I don't even care if I can't touch them. That's all it takes for me to fall face first and wind up full of Hope.

No amount of logic can manage to stop this tsunami of stupidity. I can't seem to listen to anyone either. I feel so individualistic that I must figure something out for myself for anything to work.

I JUST WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME. BUT OF COURSE, I CAN'T EVEN HAVE THAT LUXURY TO MYSELF, WHAT THE FUCK. I'VE GOT THIS GODDAMN PARANOIA ALL OF THE FUCKING SUDDEN MAYBE ITS MY OWN NEUROTICISM COMING TO THE SURFACE WHO THE HELL KNOWS. I NEED BIGGER TOYS, THAT'S IT! NEW EDGES- MAYBE THAT'S JUST WHAT I NEED, TO SCULPT THIS WEIGHTY SHELL DOWN TO A WORK OF ART. MAYBE THEN, FINALLY, THIS CAN ALL BE OVER.

This feels like a supervillain origin story. So intense, so angry, so damaging but I am only frustrated. Even that fact takes at least a year of knowing me to understand that no matter how much I bark I will never bite. So if anyone else reads this I'll get shipped off to Ryker's Island. I am Harmless, I'm no Elliot Rodger. I don't have Red Shoe Laces. I'm no leader of Project Mayhem. Just someone who's suffering who's ready for it to be over is all. Nothing that anyone else on this wretched planet doesn't want as well. Every end is a beginning perhaps, sometimes you have to stare death in the eyes to appreciate what it means to be alive. So it's not such a bad thing after all. Don't you go and tell me that there's other things than this. You have no fucking idea what this feels like you beautiful bitch.

Journal Entry #0

The blinds are closed; the air is dense with regret. Like the kind that rests on nightstands. A cloud of shame fills my lungs as I breathe. I failed, I regret not following through with it again. I hate that I'm still alive. Every molecule of air stings like swallowing a cigar. The more my abdomen expands, the pressure only becomes greater. More to hold us down into sleep paralysis.

My eyes are open but I can barely see.
I can't see the week old laundry stack on the floor.
I can't see every pound I put on.
I can't see the way her face drops Everytime I hurt her.
  I can't see at all.

I can't hear them reaching out.
I cannot hear their compliments.
I can't hear how much they care.
I can't hear their gasps when my shoulder shows.
I can't hear their apologies when I explain the blood stains.
I can't hear their affection.
  At least not anymore

I can't feel... Anything.
I can't feel her lips on mine.
I can't feel her arms around me when she can't fall asleep.
I can't feel her fingertips as I cry uncontrollably.
I can't feel her teeth on my neck.
I can't feel her nails along my back.
  I never could in the first place.
I can't feel the scratches anymore.
I can't feel the blood running down my arm.
I can't feel the scabs stick to my sleeves.
I can't feel the scraps each time I fall.
I can't feel the life draining from my body.
•••
I am Jack's Happiness.
  I can no longer breathe.
I am Jack's peace of mind.
  I CANNOT ESCAPE.
•••
My field of sight finally comes to the surface. I woke up to see him smiling, standing there in front of me. Eye to eye with my worst nightmare. I'm so terrified it's like I'm not even here. Constrained by the stress.

I am Jack's Fear, his favorite game to play.

That disgusting smirk, the hungry gaze. He sets to prove something. That of which I am unaware. His empty pupils scan me, looking for imperfections.

I am his presentation.

I will become his work of art with no defense of my own. I am nothing but a lifeless ball of clay ready to be sculpted and used.

I am Jack's Panic Attack, the reminder he's alive.

His Paracord, nylon hands wrap around my throat. I only feel the tension on my trichia. I only hear the knot tighten.

I am Jack's final moments, here to stay.

My eyes are fading out, a smile on my face, the mirror starts to fog as I fight for air. Regret sets back in. It's too late to turn back. This is my fate now, still better than before.

I am Jack's tombstone, here in his memory.