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.

Types

The human form feels limiting at times. I find myself losing the innate feeling of physical attraction to others as time goes by. Finding someone cute is notably one of the worst cornerstones of conversation in my experience. I usually stay away from people that seem objectively attractive to everyone. Y'know, the stereotypical cunt that can only wear pink on Wednesdays.
But then there was Jayne. She defied my logic. I hated her. Not in the Romeo sense such as,"I hate thou which can loveth me not".
No. I genuinely hate her.
Her personality embodied everything I despise about this overpriced factory of pretentiousness. Even her name was just bitchy. "Jane with a Y". Like those empty shells who get named Porsche but somehow worse. She was the popular girl, nice to everyone, the talented artist, the empathetic med student. People like that aren't real in my eyes. Humans are not perfect, and if you're actively trying to be you only add to the problem while showcasing your insecurities at the same time.
That's not the only reason I loathe her. She looked exactly like my type. Glasses, short matte hair, outward body language of an introvert, the simple girl that feels different because they actually are. Every single bit is a Façade. She's accepted and worshiped by her peers to a disgusting degree. She held the same exact personage as those robotic skeletons with long straight blonde hair, that wear a full face of make up every day, that go to film school for a "usual summer vay cay". They lack any and all curves. No ridges or bumps. No useful conversation. Not a single fucking defining feature. Yet they think to themselves"I'm so interesting, and unique I should put a pink streak in my hair".
I hate her for ruining my type. Now my taste is entirely based off of personality. It makes libido quite meaningless really. I can't bring myself to fuck someone who I can't stand having a conversation with because at that point they aren't a someone to me. Just another copy of a copy. With all the gifts to climb the social ladder with a lack of genuineness.
•••
Do you have any clue as to how wonderful it is to realize someone truly appreciates you for who you are? Of course not, no one knows who you really are, Jayne. Not even you.
I hate your type and I hate everything about you. If it bothers you, blame the two of them for giving me standards.
In fact, I pity you even more than I hate you, really. Because you will never know what it's like to be unconditionally loved.

Sore

Wakey wakey,
your tendons are achey.
Out of bed you dive,
you'll have arthritis by 25.
Attempt to run,
You're behind everyone.
You fall short
Your body is sore
Always wanting more,
You Hungry, Hungry, Whore

Around the handle, you wrap your fist,
"Kill me" he cries
the public masochist.
What a pussy, you won't commit
You're just a narcissist, full of shit.
Arrogance can only go so far,
Especially with how ugly you are.
You'll be dead by thirty,
Why not hurry?

The search for affection,
Then Endless rejection
With Scar Impressions
And Therapy sessions
One more injection
Of bad intentions
And Bad connections
With no protection
Try not to mention—
Emotional compression.
One person, new obsession
Nothing learned— misdirection
My last confession,
The outer projection
My own infection
Right at home— Chemical depression.

Mood swings— you feel bi-polarized,
Schizophrenia lags behind.
Pretty soon, she won't be the only thing in your mind
The only thing you control.
The speed at which you die.

Ghosts

I feel as though I've figured out what I want. After injecting myself with different toxicins, all with different names, I know full and well the things that aren't good for me. And I've gotten to experience what someone truly caring about me is like, and it makes me feel so peaceful for once in my life and it has nothing to do with romance.
Anyways, I am at a point where I'm done with the idea. I do nothing but chase people that aren't there, figures that never cared in the first place, ghosts that already stuck a knife into my liver and all I do is walk forward because to me the pain is completely worth being able to be next to someone. I have never been in a relationship I genuinely wanted. I've done nothing but settle because the person I truly loved, or rather was emotionally attached to was not romantically inclined so I get distractions. I've only genuinely given a shit about 3 people, 4 if you count #8 but I think she just fucked good. Each and every time I would force myself into a relationship with some tool I would have to take care of only to distract myself from the fact that the only people important to me Will never want me. And it's not unreasonable hopelessness. It is literal fact that each one always gives, freshman year, she was my best friend at the time and I drove myself into an abusive hole for a year just because I'm incapable of moving on. Then I'm on a yo-yo for 2 and half years with those who still refer to me as their "best friend" to this day without realizing how detached I've become for my own good. And now I'm at the same crossroad. Where I would usually use someone in order to be distracted and get by.
I know that is not what I want. And I'm sick of settling. I accept that I'm chasing ghosts and I'm done with relationships as a whole. I don't care anymore, I really don't. I have what I need. It just a hopeless, pointless, never ending cesspool of of shit that I constantly ruin my own life with. Creating this piece I am digging my own grave but I can't stop it. I still feel satisfied writing this despite knowing the potential consequences. I just wish I could stop, all together. I'm really really tired from it all. I'm tired of settling. I'm always plagued with dissociation and self-constructed isolation. I am my own worst enemy and everyone knows it. I think I'm ready to just finally get rid of my enemy. Everything would be easier I think, if I've been chasing ghosts this whole time, at least when I'm done I'll finally be matching.

Company

Infants die without affection. It's a part of human nature that's more often than not frowned upon. The ability to properly live and rely on one's self is idolized and worshiped. Yet, humans complain when person's aren't "in tune with their emotions". People don't seem to understand what they want. I think they're just afraid of pressure. It's a product created in ones own mind about the stress of disappointing others. But you will disappoint them. You will upset them. It's just what life is.
As for this, codependency disorder or not, I'm willing to admit the sheer bliss that I feel when surrounded by others. I was told I was an introvert, I thought that I was. I'm not at all. I'm simply selective of who can make a difference with their existence and those whose existence is of no importance to me. Cruel, be as it may. It's the closest thing I can find to get across how I feel about this kind of thing. You never notice how detrimental loneliness is, or that you're even alone at all, until you aren't. You ever take your shirt off and realize it smells like someone else? It's addictive. Smells have the ability to trigger memories more so than any other sense except for taste. If you smell something, you'll never forget it. Whether it's the smell of burning flesh or the perfume you stole from your ex. Then you ask yourself why you wear it every day. It just tricks you into thinking that someone else is always around you.
There's no feeling in the world like a sigh of relief as you stare at the ceiling of someone else's room. It's either bliss or regret depending on the circumstance.
"Yeah..." I said. "This is the most okay I've been in a long time".
I still don't know what to call it, assigning titles to my emotions isn't my strong suit so I'm not going to call it anything. I can't understand why, but there's a degree of tranquility that I've never possessed before as a person knowing that when I open my eyes I won't wake up alone in my own room. It's like being in bed with both your parents as a kid, something I've never had before, after an 18 year long nightmare of loneliness that's been impossible for me to escape. It just feels like I've found what I've been seeking through the countless muses with none of the complications. No lust, no confusion, no misunderstandings. Simply the joy of sharing the air with someone other than yourself for once I have no other feeling to compare it to. It's one of those things in my mind where I truly believe that these people love and care about me. If I feel this way, I know there must be others that feel similarly in this world. I just don't know why I feel as if I'm the only one talking about it. Maybe it's one of those social constructs I need to be taught still. Maybe it's a sign of weakness. Maybe people are somehow afraid of admitting how nice it is just to be next to someone, especially more than one person. The shaking always brings back memories. Every significant other I've had always said the same thing. "Stop being nervous." "It's okay." "Are you sure? You're shaking."
Shaking is what I do. Even as I write this. It's what I'll always do. Maybe it's the realization that everything is going to end badly no matter what I do because I have no self control. I can't bottle anything up. It'd be so much easier if I could. From my perspective, y'know, it doesn't even come off as that big of a deal since I'm accustomed to my solitude, but I still don't enjoy it. I just wanna be able to express how happy the little things like this make me without ruining everything for once. People truly don't need to know how I feel. Why is it so hard for me to listen?

Fuck Love

Fuck every Disney Princess who got a Prince.
Fuck every story where the Prince gets a Princess.
Fuck every last protagonist who is forced to have yet another goddamn romantic subplot.
Fuck every person who preaches that partners are the keys to happiness.
Fuck every engagement ring advertisement.
Fuck jigsaw puzzles.
Fuck every "other half" you think you have.
Fuck the Romanticism of romance.
We no longer love people. We are simply obsessed with the idea of love.

Fuck everyone who's ever asked their partner to change.
There are 7.5 Billion people. Don't compromise just get a fucking new one.

Fuck idealistic thought.
Fuck the "perfect person".
When you find someone you love every last bit of them that you can.
The gold and the shit. If you don't love the shit then you might as well not claim love them at all because you don't.
And if you can't find any flaws then wake up because you love an image of them that you created in your head.

Be selfish for awhile.
When you only love yourself 20%, and someone else loves you 30% it seems like perfection meanwhile that's not even half.

Fuck every last person who says that love is the answer.

I've been trained to believe that happiness is love and vice versa.

The people that make me happiest are not partners. They are not lovers. They aren't even family.

What the fuck am I supposed to do when I feel my happiest around them and am now forced to feel as though it's love simply due to association?
It's the worst fucking part of my life.

Fuck every last drop of hope that led me to confuse happiness with love. They are not the same thing. if

Muscle Memory

    I absolutely adore the idea of being solely unique. I really try not to talk about the differences I have that I can't change. I hate the idea of having a "crutch" whenever I can't manage to do something. I've been forced to use them enough times. On occasion, I refresh myself on what each diagnosis really means for me just to understand myself better if I feel too alienated. I never wanna be someone's inspiration. My natural lack of ability should not be the excuse a normal person uses for self improvement. It's fucking insulting. I'm not special. I'm damaged. I even refer to both of them as 'Super Powers' as a way to not get depressed when I decide to tell people about them. I really just reserve that kind of talk for college essays and forced speeches. The masses love that shit more than Amy Winehouse loved alcohol.
       On a day to day basis I don't really think about it. I've had these conditions since birth. This is my normality. No one can tell unless they've been trained to know the real signs. To most people, I'm just Awkward, Blunt, and Unathletic. To myself, I know that I'm just an autistic kid with Cerebral Palsy.
       On the rare occasion I get belittled for something, it's at least satisfying to watch the guilt fall over their faces as I explain my ailments to those who ridiculed me. It truly was rare though. I had no idea what it was like to walk normally until I was 9. I remember only being able to walk on my tiptoes. My legs were so hypertonic that the stretching of my Achilles tendon in order to put my heel to the ground was torture. Funny enough, no one ever noticed except for my father. On the rare occasion he remembered me, it was only to scold me for walking like "a ballerina". "Stop it. Put your foot down like a normal boy. Want me to buy you a tutu and ballerina slippers? No? Then fucking walk normally." I remember that day so well. We were in line for a new amusement park ride. I love rollercoasters to death. But I was so unhappy I made him take me back home. To my mom. I was 7 years old. Looking back, it definitely showed signs of homophobia. Good thing I keep the 4 guys that I've kissed to myself- oops.
Anyways, when I was 9 years old I got my official diagnosis with spastic displegia. A mild form of CP. It mainly affects the legs hence the lack of a T-Rex arm like most people with CP get. Later that year they cut both my legs open and replaced my Achilles tendons with some sort of artificial tissue so that it was longer and my legs wouldn't tighten as much as I walk. I missed half of fourth grade from that surgery so I can't tell you much about geography. I had knee-high casts, I was in a wheelchair throughout the entire recovery process. I remember getting my casts off and the sound as my grayish, unwashed, bare foot struck the ground with the might of Ares. It was so loud. I was slapping the ground with my feet as I took every step uncontrollably. I still take loud steps to this day. Then came 6 months of physical therapy. It was really meant to be a lifetime of physical therapy but I was kid so the habit died.
      To this day, the physical pain of having my tendons cut is the greatest amount of physiological suffering I have experienced. After I recovered I no longer cried when I got hurt. I just began to stare as a wound would bleed and I understood that pain was just a feeling I could control my reaction to. Before then I was deathly afraid of experiencing any form of pain. Being so young, I learned a lot about perception and human experience of existence but I was still not mature enough to fully grasp the extent of such knowledge.
Why did I tell you all of this? Because for the last decade, the physician's words have been in the back of my mind on repeat but I just ignored it. He said that "it's a possibility" I would need another surgery when I got older. I believed in myself enough that I thought it wouldn't be likely. But he didn't say possibly. He said "probably".
    For the last 6 months, when I stand up there's sometimes an unusual feeling in the back of my calves. As I stretch my leg forward for a step I can feel the tendon pull like it used to for a bit. Maybe even the whole morning until I get used to it and forget. But it doesn't happen every day. The other day, it was pouring rain and my friend and I are on our way to get lunch. Neither of us had umbrellas. He ran most of the way there. Constantly looking back at me, egging me on to hurry up. I attempted to run but could only hold a soft strut. My legs could not run. Even though they had to. I could light jog maybe for 10 feet but I had to just walk. I had no control. Getting more and more soaked. My legs were too tense. In order to run there must be full contraction in both directions. But I forced myself to run just a little bit to catch up and it burned like hell, it was hell realizing that my legs are degenerating. All that surgery did was make me walk flat footed. Heel to toe. That's it. The rest of my leg was still constantly tense and toned. Sure, I could max out the leg press at my highschool. But only because my calves constantly flexed without my permission. Sometimes I can tap my foot Really fast out of anxiety. And there are times where I can't stop once I start.
       I'm faced with the realization that I have no super powers. I'm reminded again of this broken feeling. Drowning in the rain, the ballerina can't run anymore. Maybe it was just that that day was worse than usual. Maybe that's just wishful thinking. I have to prepare myself to go under the knife again but now that I'm wiser and more damaged than my innocent 9 year old self, how will I react this time? What would I possibly do Imobilized once again but now on a college campus? I honestly don't know. And I'd prefer to never find out.
With or without surgery, I'm faced with the fact that I'll have arthritis by 25. My legs will never calm down and so I will only degrade in ability from here on out.
I just hope it doesn't rain again soon. I'm not ready to feel embarrassed again.

Horizon

      Sunsets are said to be one of the most beautiful sights on Earth. There are people that spend their whole life dreaming of seeing a specific sunset. Not all sunsets are equal in this case.
     The darkness of nightfall is rarely thought of when sunsets occur. The sunset is so distracting and wonderful that no one ever thinks about the cold blanket of isolation and city street lamps that follow. The night sky seems eternal. Black clouds suffocating the moon in order to prevent any of the sun's light from reaching you when it's most needed. The street lamps do nothing but flicker and give the illusion that you're safer. The heaviness in the air is consuming you. You're forced to run Street lamp to Street lamp in a panic of being engulfed in a darkness that cannot heal. The density of the shadows push on your body more and more making it harder to move from each lamp. The placebos are dwindling. There no longer seems to be any light further in the distance from where you are. No more street lamps. No more lying to yourself that you're okay.
Balled up under the final lamp, it dims. Your ears pop and your muscles tense like never before.
The light goes out.
You feel the absence of light slowly crawl on to you. Resting on your left shoulder. You feel a familiar pain as It begins to press it's Rusty nails into your shoulder; marking its territory. You take a deep breath, accept the lack of options and let yourself sink through the puddle of blackness above the concrete. Everything is planned out, you no longer see any sort of escape. Your eyes close.

This is your new fate.

The UV sting upon your eyelids force them open. Dazed and confused you wonder if you have died. Maybe this is the afterlife. You take a breath and the air is soft and clean. You feel the cool breeze that reminds you of the last sunset. There's no sign of the marks that were inflicted upon you previously.

This is a place I've been before.

This is where you watched the sunset. Back there is where you accepted your potential death. You notice the trees seem much taller than before. The leaves feel as though they ebb and flow with tranquility. A shutter of brightness expands across the Horizon. Waves of acceptance wash over the cliffside below you. As the sun rises you understand why nightfall is so terrifying. You understand that every hour of that bleakness destroying you was only there to make you appreciate when the sun eventually returns.
All the withered street lamps are no where to be found in the daylight. You have no use for them. As you feel the rays of sunlight wrap themselves around you like those arms you no longer remember. A happiness that can not be described with the English language fuels you to turn this euphoric high into something permanent.
No more darkness.
No more street lamps.

"This could be something real."

What If.... Part V

*Sigh* Y'know guys, I really thought we were just going to focus on The Sociopath from here on out. Alas, someone let a jar of butterflies loose all over the goddamn control panel so it looks like we're taking a detour.
Ugh, he's having another one of his episodes where there's a theatrical daydream reoccurring in his head all day. A situation in which Everything actually goes according to plan. And of course it's all filled with these adorable little inside jokes that only himself and whoever the hell it is this time understands. Even when we try to set his expectations as low as possible he still manages to enthrall himself with someone just to cure his bordem. I guess that's his way of creating meaning out of thin air so that there's at least a minute form of motivation to get out of bed. Despite that it's entirely dependant on other people which is blatantly just a shitty process.
The rest of us rattling around in here really have no power to do anything else at this point. We just get to sit here and watch as those winged fuckers hover about, covering our tools to the outside world with a fungus called hope. It's just a waste of our time and his own. Think about it, we could be up there, devising a way to get away with murder and Getting a kick out of our own psychopathy. But no, he just had to go and wonder "What if this year is the year?".
What a fucking imbecile. Why can't I just be in anyone else's head?
"I'm gonna go get alcohol poisoning. One of you five come get me when he realizes he'll be alone forever."

.....

"Jesus Christ, how long was I out?"
      "You mustn't drown your sorrows with the alteration of drink. Your problems will only sink further"
Looks like Philosophy went with Buddhism today.
       "Look, can you not talk so loud my head is killing me"
      "All humans suffer, Apathy. And some worse than you."
       "Whatever, we aren't even human. Don't you have a vow of silence to abide or a temple to go sit in or something?"
     "We are in his mind. We are in a simulation without boundaries. If he can think it, it can be ours"
         "I liked you a lot better out there, why are you even back in here"
       "Being the most recent addition to his mindset, my use is not so engrained into his personage as you are. Lately he has found little to no use to me. The one that created me as a part of him has been gone for quite sometime. And now my purpose has dwindled. Even when I manage the systems, he doesn't seem to listen to me anymore."
      "I am so fucking sick of him. He's supposed to listen to you. You're the voice of reason. She created you, and put you here so that she wouldn't have to babysit his emotions. Are the butterflies still on the system?"
      "I'm afraid so. As you know previously everyone else has been incapacitated while I was away and unable to manifest. As a pacifist, I cannot do anything but simply wait for the cycle of life to run it's course on those unfortunate creatures."
    "Okay, you talk too fucking much. I can't wait any longer. Something needs to be done around here." I leave my mess of bottles behind and go on towards the control room. Just over the sound of my combat boots striking the metallic floor I here Philosophy call out to me:
     "Remember friend, no matter how bad it may be everything will have an end!"
I Mutter to myself in response.
    "Then everything repeats, worse than before."

      Once in the control room I see that the panel is still covered in cocoon husks and those happy little demons fluttering about putting him in a delusion. It's my job to remind him of the truth. It's my place to bring him back to reality!
One by one I go after the butterflies. Crushing them in my palms, smacking them into the panel controls, stomping them with my boots and shredding their wings with my fingers. I wipe the gooey remains onto my shirt without a care for the consequences. I wipe the bottom of my boots on Optimisms face. They're still all unconscious, even after all the noise. The messy remnants of antenna and wings are scattered all about. All of this hope nonsense is done and over with now. I can bring him back to his senses. Whatever hope or mental wellness he thought he had is gone now. Hope is dead. It is time for the truth.
     Outside of his head, the one they all control. He blankly sits on his bed, tears running down his face with no expression. The streak is broken. New bloody mistakes have appeared. And they're starting to leave stains. All he can manage to say is, "I know the truth now. No matter what happens. It really never gets better. I'm alone again".