He Sent It to Me

I know it's not the best title, but since this is completely ramdon, I couldn't come up with a really good one to catch anyone's attention, not as if I have a lot of readers though. Anyway, this is a story penned by someone I used to get along with, hahaha.

I got his permission to post it, and I asked again before shit went down, I promised that I'll put it up, so posting it now, so do read on.

“I… I don’t know. Maybe a nice girl with a cute nose… and a talent.” 

“A talent? What the fuck kind of talent? What the fuck kind of ideal girl is that? Uggh! What a weird answer, you never change, do you? You’re still the weird little fuck that you were back in high school. I missed this kind of shit.” Henry carried on with such profanity. 

We laughed like the crazy young drunkards that we were. 

I was just flustered, and I wasn’t even nervous. Everything seemed a daze, being bombarded by the fuccboi music, the hazy smoke floating from every table, lights flashing enough to distract a drunk lonely boy from the group’s latest conversation. These people, as loud as they were, they were still my comfort zone, I spent the cringey young years of my life with them, I wasn’t planning on becoming the drama queen that night, so I just smiled and held my tongue, I mean, how was I supposed to answer such a blunt question? “What about you Luke? What’s your ideal girl like?” Fucking Henry. I could’ve answered them with the clichés; perky tits, nice ears, pretty eyes, nice and mother-like, you know, the typical kinds of characteristics. 

I could’ve, but I didn’t. Something was holding back my properness, like I couldn’t help but be awkward. And the fact that my ideal girl was sitting right in front of me, didn’t quite lift my “coolness”. 

Elle, the living proof of perfection, I never believed in 10 out 10s, but it just seemed like she was the exception, my exception. Never have I been more attracted to anyone than her, and everything about her just complimented everything about her, she was a paradox. Her eyes could’ve melted icebergs, I mean, she could’ve saved the fucking Titanic with them eyes, her cheekbones were probably sculpted by Da Vinci, or whoever was the best sculptor from the Renaissance Period. 

This girl was everything to me at one point in my life, though she never knew. Plus she lived a metaphorical life, I can’t quite explain to you how or just what it actually means, she just does. She wore these pants that just lifted up her amazingly cute butt, and I say that out of respect, it doesn’t explain that whole “metaphorical” thing I just said, but, she’s just in every sense, perfection. 

It was like going home after a drunken fun but tiresome evening and as you’re walking home with your friends, you get a view of the bluest fucking skies you’ve ever seen in your pathetic life nearing sunrise, and you’re just there, appreciating every single second of the scenic beauty, devouring the darkness that reigned over the night sky, that single moment of absolute beauty, that was how I felt every time I look at her. 

Elle and I had always been somehow awkward towards each other, there was always something lingering, it started back when we were both just freshmen, I accidentally elbowed her boobs on the first day of school, I apologized so much to her that I literally drooled, I bought her a cupcake and we just instantly became friends, and just, sparks, she and I knew it, or at least I assumed, but we just never really discussed it as much. Maybe it was because we were just both really young and had almost identical personalities; we were just basically a “love team”, as our friends had implied back then. I could never remember having mere adequate conversations with her, it never seemed like she was repelled to me, and neither did it ever cross my mind that she was, or ever will be interested in me as much as I was to her. She just had this promiscuousness towards me, and I always treated her with the same promiscuousness as she did me. Stupid me. 

So the night went on, I was drunk, but not enough to spill my spaghetti to these drunken fools that I call my “High School friends”. I’ve always felt like they’ve treated me well, maybe because I was just very sickly looking and indifferent yet sweet to all of them; they always had my back in the past. So I spent the whole night answering questions from them, some questions awkward, some were borderline racy. They kept on mentioning how much of introvert and cringy guy I was, I answered them with a grin, just to distance myself a little. I sat there, drunk, subtly glimpsing at Elle like a retarded stalker, and laughing at all of their jokes, most were dumb, even Elle’s jokes sucked. I had my moments too, and almost every joke, or lie, I said was to impress her, though I didn’t think it was enough to have impressed her, in my head, nothing ever was. 

We filled our hours with dirty jokes, bitchings, backstabbing, bromances, some lingers and flirts here and there, and few other things that caught my eye which I would not dare talk about. I was the kind of person who was extremely observant to these things, especially when I’m drunk, in a bar, surrounded by a crowd of savages turned on by the spirit of the bottle. I could say that I had a bit more alcohol threshold than they had. It was fun seeing them and spending time with them again, and it was even more entertaining seeing them flailing around like crazy penguins. 

We ended the night right after the last song was played, it was a catchy song, albeit annoying, I couldn’t remember the title but it was overplayed, probably 15 times or more as the night went on, I couldn’t recall the lyrics but the song made me feel like we were never getting older. What fucking rubbish. We were the last ones to leave the bar, too. We walked out, said our goodbyes, exchanged hugs and kisses, the obligatory buttslaps and lingering romances, took some photos, and all that shit. The last thing I remembered was the sight of Elle walking away, so graceful in beneath her obvious drunkenness, with another guy whose name I intentionally repressed. 

Fucking shit. 

The calm leaves sang unto the morning as Greg and I drank our coffees. “The chase is better than the catch itself, you know?” 

“What? Are you a stupid ballsack? How is the chase better than the catch? That’s like cooking food and not eating it. That’s like edging, or… or having a child. It’s just meaningless, it’s like spending all your precious time studying, and then graduating Cum Laude, and then not getting a job on purpose, that is what your chase is better than the catch sounds like to me. Sometimes you’re deep, very philosophical, but most of the time, like right know, you have complete and utter shit opinions, Greg. Complete… and utter… shit… opinions.” I exclaimed as I stared over the frantic view of the silhouettes made by the slow sunrise, almost serenaded by the birds and the rustling leaves. 

“Okay first of all, ballsack—ffffuck you!” He followed it up with this obnoxious laugh that might as well have been an alarm ringtone. “And I am making sense, I mean, look at the statistics… uhm, never mind the statistics, just look at you, you have been flimflamming your way through this town. In the past 4 to 7 years, how many girls have you been with? Huh? What about that girl with the quote and unquote -- Cheese Teeth? I remember you telling me that she could have been the one. Remember? Seriously dude, it’s like, nothing stays dude, nothing ever does, and nothing should ever stay, nothing should be permanent, because that completely messes up the universal law and shit. It’s you, your relationships, your idealisms; those are what complete and utter shits are.” 

“Well, it’s not my fault I can’t keep women and fyi in the past 7 years; I’ve only been with three, and cheese teeth, well, she migrated to Canada, so she doesn’t count, LDRs never ever work, duuh.” 

The state of paraesthesia and severe hangover was fucking me up so hard, and the fact that my retarded roommate woke me up just to chat me up about some epiphany he had while masturbating to Asian tit-fuck videos, made my tectonic headache even worse. And might I add, it was maybe 6 in the morning, who, in their right mind, masturbates that early? Who does that? 

The early conversation got weirder by the minute; we ended up talking about worms dancing in the rain, and by the way, I fucking love the rain. 

Love. 

It just hit me suddenly, like a jeep recklessly hurdling throughout the streets on a cold night as the driver is looking for passengers; Elle went home with that other guy last night. Fucking cunt. I could feel my loins stirring like crazy, it was either extreme hunger combined with dehydration, or it was empty irrational jealousy, maybe even both. 

Yepp. It was both. 

I immediately ran to the sink before I could have projectile vomited “last night” all over our kitchen floors. 

Suddenly, Greg managed to squeeze out the monologue which I assumed is why he woke me up, and he had been trying to tell me about, “Hey, did you see Elle go home with some fuckface last night, I heard his name was James. What kind of name is that?” said the compulsive masturbating idiot roommate. He added, “I mean, I honestly could never see Elle that way, you know?” 

“That way huh? What do you mean that way? And why are you telling me this? And would you please stop scratching your goddamn balls for once in your life. It’s disgusting. It’s so early to talk about these things man, couldn’t you have waited for like noon or something.” I somehow tried to divert the seemingly drowning conversation; it was a dangerous route to be heading. 

“You can’t judge me whenever I scratch my balls it just feels fucking good, man. Plus, your throw up smells like dead dogs, now that is disgusting. Regarding Elle, that way, you know, Elle was just, simple, the simple pretty kind, and just really passive, just like you are, I could have never seen her for the getting-drunk-and-going-home-with-that-guy-with-a-nice-shirt-beside-our-table kind of girl, I had a massive throbbing crush on her back then, you know that, and it just rustled my jimmies a little, it could’ve been me. She should have gone home with me, I’m just pissed.” 

“I don’t know, man, I can barely remember anything from last night. It was a helluva night though. And I thought you and Elle already missed your chance, like you said.” I answered as I held my self-loathing grin. See, Greg and I had been bff’s ever since elementary school, we had this weird bromance thing going on, I tell him almost everything and he tells me almost everything, that kind of friendship, except for the fact about me actually being in love with Elle, it was the one thing I kept to myself, not only because Greg liked Elle, but also… just because. It was just one of those things that I tried keeping to myself for my own sake. I’ve always been the secretive kind of person; it’s just how I grew up. It’s what I saw from my mom, how she just instinctively hides her emotions and opinions from other people, she had always symbolized strength in the middle of the thunderstorm that is our life. 

It’s a good thing that it was a really long weekend. I struggled to keep my sanity as the day went by, I didn’t know why or how, but the Elle issue just would not leave my drowning depressive thoughts, it was like all those repressed feelings suddenly came back out, spouting like a distressed volcano, for no reason whatsoever, it pissed me off so much that I decided to get a drink at 1 in the afternoon, that was how much it agitated me. I mean, after all these years, why? Why now? Was it because of that goddamn question? 

The ideal girl. 

Well, probably. She was my ideal girl. She had always been that girl I used to compare every other girl with. The perfect teeth, the cute nose, and those earrings she wore during P.E. class, the improbable grin every time she hears something about K-Dramas, her fixations with the anatomy of the eyes, and that smell, that endearing smell of ice cream and Christmas which I always got from her. Definitely, it was because of that goddamn question Henry asked. Somehow, all those feelings emerged like a fart bubble as soon as I heard that fucking question. 

I have to punch Henry in the boob when I see him. 

Victor, another childhood friend, came to the apartment the next night and arrived with beer, which was fucking awesome, I guess that since he wasn’t able to come to our reunion, he was gonna visit me to ask about what transpired that night. I was right. 

“I think I’m an alcoholic. Am I? Yow Victor, do you think I’m an alcoholic?” 

Most nights I just drift away into the solitude of misconstrued happiness by the bottle, at least that’s what the skeptics are advocating, the skeptics towards alcohol rather. What a bunch of garbage. 

“At least you know what you’re problem is.” Victor exclaimed with a stiff voice. 

“Problem? Well I wouldn’t say that it’s really a problem for me, I mean, it’s not like I need to drink, it’s just that, I want to drink. Those are two different things; it’s really just juxtaposition or something like that. The problem is, ever since I went out with our high school friends last week, I’ve been in this fucking runt of thoughts.” 

“Yeah, I was wondering why you’ve been acting really weird, like, unusually weird. Is it still about Colline? It’s been years dude, get over her. You can’t do this to yourself man. Oh by the way dude; I can totally see your balls, you should shave them. Anyway, I’ve wanted to ask you about what happened on the reunion, I had been shitting all day so I couldn’t come. Did Des come? Does she still have amazing titties? Who else came? And also, it just seemed like you and Greg have been acting really really really weird, I texted him last night, and he just seemed a bit sketchy. Be honest with me, did you guys kiss? Because I’m okay with that, I don’t judge. Where is Greg anyway?” 

“We didn’t k—Fuck no! It’s not that, are you actually stupid? Dude it’s about Elle.” 

Victor suddenly interrupted “You and Elle? For real? I thought Greg had a thing with Elle? You sneaky, snaky bastard!” 

“It’s not me dude, it’s Greg. Stop fucking interrupting me dude. You know, after we went drinking, she kinda went home with some guy from across our table, and you know Greg and his feelings for Elle. And by the way, I actually have no idea where that compulsive jerker is, he didn’t come home last night too. Maybe he went home to his parents or something. I can’t say that he’s bummed out about Elle that much for him to act out like this, but, who knows.” I could almost feel my brain scream with so much discontent as I told him that story. 

“Weird, aren’t you worried about him? And how about you? Why the shit are you so fucking weird these days, I mean, you’ve been drinking a lot, not just a lot, but I mean a lot,” as he widened his arms like an eagle’s wingspan to illustrate how much “a lot” means. He added “You’re weird, you’re like the weirdest friend I have bruh, but these days you’re just on a whole new level.” “Oh my god, I’ve wanted to talk to you about this shit. Did you kiss a stranger? Did Des blow you? Who was it, dude? Answer me? Was it a guy? Was it Henry? Because I can totally see him being gay, I mean look at his posts on Facebook.” 

“Godfuckingdammit dude, I didn’t kiss anyone!” I was dumbfounded to be honest, had I really been so phased out? I thought I just had a drinking problem or something, but, damn… 

The truth is… it had been 5 weeks of consecutive drunken nights, including tonight. I think the only day I didn’t drink was when my parents visited me, and they visited because I drunk called mom. 

I got so caught up by the conversation Victor and I had that he said that I actually passed out. 

The panic attacks are getting worse.

Well. Fuck me. 

The wind carried the dirt and debris as if devouring the very ground, I stared unto the glowing horizon; it felt as if the peacefulness consumed me. The waves were as calm as my silent demeanor. I looked up and saw the looming skies, they were almost like melting. 

It suddenly came back to me, all those years of being here. I came here almost every time that I had a chance, and every year during my birthday, I mostly went by myself. But after a while, I just stopped coming here. It felt good being back here again. The breeze had suddenly calmed down, I looked to my left. I gently sighed and gave a genuine grin, she smiled back at me, “this is the happiest that I’ve ever been, to be honest, ever since that incident, I’ve just been--” she took a huge breath, put out her cigarette, and closed her eyes, “I’m sorry. I’m just sorry.” 

“Forget it Cole, and you’re not sorry, you weren’t sorry then, and you’re not sorry now. Stop apologizing and just take it all in.” I immediately regretted it as I said it, “I mean, just enjoy yourself, I don’t need your bullshit, we came here because I was lonely and bored, and so were you. You invited me to catch up, right? After the loneliness and boredom disintegrate, you and I, too, will disintegrate. Right? Just like you said 4 years ago.” I spoke with so much conviction, though not in any way ill-intentioned, I wasn’t angry anymore, I just felt indifferent. 

And then everything went dead silent for about a minute or so. I just smiled again, I genuinely enjoyed silence. I learned to listen through the silence a long time ago, it was one of those perks of being passive and introverted. Well at least I convinced myself that I was. 

All throughout the years of being with her, her silence was everything. It could either mean a slowly beating tune of wonder and calmness descending towards beautiful destructions, or her silence would, otherwise, mean a poisonous dagger stabbed deeply and dragged down unto my soul, slowly spreading in the veins of my existence, permanently contaminating everything that I was. She was that kind of person for me, and with all graciousness and contempt; she was a big part of who I was. 

My stomach turned like tornado as I slowly glanced at her. She was crying quietly, I phased-out long enough that I didn’t hear her sobs. She looked at me; I took her hand, with sheer hesitation, took a deep breath, and said “listen, I’m not mad, I haven’t been angry in years. I figured out that you weren’t worth being mad about.” 

She sounded like a boar as she uttered every word, “how can you not be mad? Luke, I made a mistake, I made a huge mistake, the biggest that I had ever made. I left you, and I broke you!” 

I couldn’t say it, with her like this, weeping like a child, how could I have said that she did break me, and not only did she break my heart, but she took pieces and scattered them in every direction. I let go of her hand in rage. “You haven’t even crossed my mind in years now. I fought for you, you know I did, and you—you just went on your own way, like you didn’t even know me, like I wasn’t even worth your time. But I fought for you, long and hard, even when you blocked me out, even when you made me a stranger, even when you said you were gonna come back but then took it back, even when you made me feel like you didn’t want me to fight for you, I did. And now, now I’m completely over you. I’m—I’m completely sanitized from you, and then you do this?! You broke my heart.” 

How could she have done it, she managed to break me again, I was putty in her hands again. 

She was crying like fuck, and I didn’t notice at first but I was too. I told her, “I understood. You had to leave, I know you did. You had to focus on yourself. You weren’t just carrying yourself; you had everyone on your back. And I understood again when you were with somebody immediately after you left me. You went with him, I knew and I understood because I heard you say his name a shitload of times back when we were together. I understood so much that even as I was fighting for you, for your heart, your attention, I was slowly giving up and letting you go, because that’s who I was, that’s how you made me!” 

My chest began to ache. She wiped the tears off her face and then tried to hold my hand; I flinched, and broke down again. She caught my left hand forcibly. “I’m sorry, for everything. I used you for company, I abused it, I abused you back then, and I abused you when invited you here. I shouldn’t have invited you to go here. I’m sorry. I get it, you’ve moved on.” She sighed as she tried to catch her breath, “I’m just so sorry, I ruined this night, I wasn’t planning on doing so, and I’ve just really been guilty. I didn’t feel any remorse when I left you, when I broke your heart, but I was wrong, I should have given you THIS. I should have given you my attention, I should have given you closure. You deserved it.” 

I tried to hold her hand, I instinctively wanted to touch her face, but I didn’t, I was gripped with so much pain, the pain that I thought I had erased from my consciousness. I thought I had let go of it all, I thought I had scattered the ashes down the drain, but apparently, there was still some warmth left. She was right, I deserved closure. But I also thought that she didn’t deserve to give me closure, not right now, not anytime soon. 

So I turned away and walked hurriedly. It felt like I was stabbed and my blood was draining out of me as I took my steps. Each step, though liberating in a sense, felt like a sharp, unforgiving, unrelenting nightmare, piercing through my soul. I was determined to get away from it all, to get away from her, I could never imagine walking away from her, but I did. I reached the waiting shed and gathered what was left of my composure. I came there thinking that we were just gonna catch up or something, maybe hug a little; after all, she had been my best friend and lover for so many years. I never expected the night to go the way it did, and I wasn’t the least bit happy that it did. She reminded me of why I refused to come to that place. I took a ride home and I never looked back. 

People, in general, are amazing. I mean, I know they’re shit.
I know WE are shit.  

We are all just a plate of old Bullshit Sandwiches dressed in sticky condiments of shit.
But the thing is, we can’t help but be shit. That’s our instinct, that’s human.
I mean, we aren’t even born yet and we’re already ruining someone’s day. For 9 months, we’re these… these freeloading parasites, and then on our “birthday”, we manage to inflict pain, the most unimaginable, almost unbearable amount of suffering, and it’s not pretty.  

We do this damage to the ones who’ve given up 7 to 9 months of their whole lives, even their dreams, just so that we can freeload some more, we are created to be egocentric bastards. That is how shit we, as human beings, are.
But the amazing thing is, us, the state of being human itself. A billion of us and not one is ever the same with the other.  

We are so amazing that we invented Math, that’s how ridiculously amazing we are.
And then we invented bombs, and auto-tune, and straws, and dark chocolate. Damn that’s amazing.  

Billions of people living and breathing in this one planet.
Hundreds of Periods and Eras to have gone through, and hundreds of more to go.
Hundreds or even thousands of religions to believe in, to live by, to live for.
We started with two genders, now we have thousands .
Hundreds of holidays to celebrate and unite the millions, and even billions of individuals.  

We swim, we leap, we imagine, we create.
We defy our limits, we defeat our giants.
We impose, we think, we imply, we solve, we grow, we dance, we invent, we protect.
We produce from our ambitions, we define the probabilities, and we exorcise our demons.  

We disintegrate, we feel, we burn-out, we fall, we toast, we renovate, we love.
We explode like dragons, we fear like burning candles by the looming storm, and we waste away like ink.
We survive, we divide, we lose, we crawl, we struggle, we yield, we illuminate.
We believe.

We are amazing, nothing, not even gods, can take that away from us.

It’s funny. 

Three years ago, I would have crumbled like an old abandoned building from an earthquake, just to be able to catch a whiff of her scent. 

Four years ago, not a day would pass by when she would not cross my mind. I would be there, just laying between the sheets, lying between the lines of closure and pain, and a memory of an intimate evening on her parents sofa would suddenly intrude my thought, and I would then smile, laugh even, then regret ever smiling, and then squeeze out another smile and a boner. The nostalgic boner. 

Five years ago, I was the ice that melted without warmth, the dog that shook scared senseless. Five years ago. I was kept without chains; I would shelter her, and she would move away whenever she wanted. 

It’s funny how much it hurts. 

It used to not hurt anymore. 

It’s funny how an afternoon of peace could turn into a train wreck, and suddenly you’ve once again become the victim of wreckage. 

A year ago, nothing could break me. I believed in it, I believed that I went through something severe, that it wasn’t just a heart break, it was more than that. It wasn’t just a car accident, it wasn’t just years of failed business attempts and dead-end jobs, it wasn’t just a string of disappointments, or pointless self-loathing. I went through minor problems that didn’t kill me; I went through problems that made me who I was. And I knew that nothing would hurt as much as she or my parents ever did. 

A year ago, I told myself that I would own my life again, and I fucking did. And in one afternoon, I got my heart shit on yet again. Why did I ever agree to come with her? 

I spent the night at a convenience store, I didn’t want to go home yet, Greg wasn’t there either so there was no point in going home; the cashier was kind enough to let me stay for hours to pass time, it seemed as if he noticed the wandering pain that was consuming me. When I noticed that it was getting brighter outside, I waved goodbye to the kind people at the shop and since it wasn’t a long way home, I took a walk. I arrived home and it seemed that the plants I took care of all withered, maybe I was drowning it in beer too much, what a metaphor. I was immediately dumbfounded and guilt-stricken as I took a glimpse of our front yard, filled with empty bottles and caps, cigarette butts and cases, piles of dead leaves, plastic cups, dirty rags, and burnt clothes. I got so distracted by life that I forgot to keep a new year’s resolution. 

I unlocked the doors, to my surprise; Greg had already come home, doing his early morning routines. 

“Greg, what the fuck? Can’t you watch that shit somewhere else? Jesus, you didn’t even lock the doors.” 

“Yeah, you fuckin’ forgot your keys above the big TV. So, you’re actually welcome you piece of shit.” He said so casually while putting on his bacon briefs. “Plus, someone called and told me to wait for you. She—erm, someone told me that you were gonna be late home or something like that. You know how you get when you’re lonely. How are you holding up buddy?” He added while reaching my shoulders with his hand, seemingly trying to hug me. I didn’t resist, I was too weak to resist. At first it felt like an awkward sibling hug, but it transitioned into the sincerest moment ever. Greg always knew how my brain worked. I didn’t think into it too much. I told him, “Dude, I don’t know. I have no idea how it happened. It just—“, I tried to hold back a certain amount of sob, and added, “Where the fuck have you gone off to anyway?” I asked as I tried to pretend not to notice his post-crying face. 

Greg answered, “I’ll tell you all about it later, but for now, let’s just enjoy some good ol’ Asian fuck fest. It’s her husband’s funeral.” 

It’s going to be a long day. 

It was a usual moment for us, watching porn together, we were like film critics just sharking away on how poor their execution was, or how much disappointment you could see from the woman’s eyes, no matter how it ended, we would almost always be amazed at the cameramen who did the work they did. We always rooted for the little guys, we saw ourselves that way, the underdogs, or even sometimes, the villains. That was why Greg was my closest friend, because we had similar views and opinions on almost anything, whether it is about porn preferences, or bad jokes that would either get us jailed or mauled by civilians, also, he eats what I don’t eat, and I eat what he doesn’t eat. Shit, we were like a gay couple or something, but it never mattered. The only thing that mattered to us was about always being there for each other and having the same perspectives and all that bullshit. 

We almost always got along, Greg and I. 

“Yo braah.” 

“Whuhh?” 

“You know you mah nigga right? Yeah yeah,” Greg exclaimed with his hands raised making gang signs. 

“I know dude, I know, we aight.” I answered, making the same stupid gang sign we always try to do. 

I felt like Greg was going to tell me something sincere, I never really knew how to respond properly to situations like these, even with Greg, who is not only my best friend, but also has been my housemate since our college days. I was feeling cold and anxious.

The mind is its own place and in itself, can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven." - John Milton 

I woke up agasp, I felt my heart break as soon as I opened my eyes. Surrounded by darkness, all the repressed thoughts came flooding in. My mind is screaming. Everything hurts.

It was the same dream I’ve constantly been having for a few years now, it starts with me running with this girl, I take her hand and rush towards the streets, we buy fried noodles, and then I kick her in the shin, and then I start to weep. I always wake up with tears rolling down my face. What does any of it mean? I’ve been trying to figure it out for years now. I’m scared. I’ve lost the ability to sleep yet again. 

Fuck. 

Here they go again, most people fight their demons, and some people succeed. I, on the other hand, seem to have made great acquaintances with mine. They’ve been with me ever since I can remember; figure if I can’t get rid of them, might as well make my insides cozy. Everyday I’m constantly persuaded to kill myself, it gets tiring, and you never actually get used to it. One of these days, I might just let them win. 

I miss my parents. I can’t go home. I hate myself. I hate how much of a fucking disappointment I am. The living embodiment of failure I am. Why do I suck so much? I keep convincing myself how much I love my parents, but I never actually do anything good for them. I’m useless. I can’t go home. I miss them. 

Everything hurts. 

I’ve been reduced to this state of closing my eyes and rolling around the bed every few minutes until the sun comes up. Holy fuck I have to go to work.

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Yup, it's fucking long, but I think it's worth reading. There are parts that spoke to me, 'cause at one point of my life, I struggled, even to this day I am battling with all these dreary thought.

The one who wrote this actually sent it to me via messenger and the first thing I did was check how long it was, it was fucking 17 pages! Haha. After I finished it and told him so, I asked, "story mo 'to no?" Never got any confirmation if this is in fact his story or just his creative juice flowing. And I won't be able to ask anymore, so yeah.