5/24/99
Graduation was yesterday. It was almost an entire day wasted on long speeches and random names, most of which had absolutely nothing to do with me. I would've much preferred to have spent the day with Gale, but what can you do? I took lots of pictures, but that doesn't much matter since I also lost my camera. I was in a generally shitty mood for most of the day, and I couldn't even really pretend to be happy when I got my graduation gifts.
Luckily, after I had dinner with my family, I got to see Gale again. He showed up at my door pretty late, but we decided to go out for drinks anyway. It was kind of depressing because all I could think about was how it was my last chance to see him. I didn't know what to say, I just wanted to stare at him and be glad he was there, but it was impossible to forget I was leaving. We spent some quiet time there, and then we walked to my place.
When we got home, I bugged him about it, so he eventually agreed that I could open the letter. I sat and read the letter, and it said mostly how much he appreciates that he can be himself around me, and how he told himself he wouldn't let himself feel anything, but he got more and more attached to me. It said how glad he is to have had me to talk to about his struggles, and he thinks I was good for him. The most striking thing, though, was that at the end he wrote, "I don't think this is the end. I will see you again."
After we talked about the letter for a few minutes, we just laid down and relaxed for awhile. Sooner or later, we started having sex, and all I could think of was how terrified I am of living without him. At one point, I looked at the clock and realized I had to leave in an hour and a half, and then I would be on my way to Pittsburgh, and I lost control again. I started hyperventilating and shaking. My hands were cold and numb. I felt all dizzy and confused. And horrified. I was so scared in anticipation of his leaving. He almost flipped out and he kept saying, "No, no no!" over and over again, and, "I don't want our last night together to be like this!" When he said that, I calmed down a little because I knew he was right. I wanted more to remember than that as well.
So I calmed down a bit, and we were just laying there in bed when I noticed that it was pouring outside, and I said to him, "Let's go out on the roof." I expected him to laugh at me, but he said, "Naked?" And I said, "Yeah." We had just been talking a few days before about how cool it would be to be out in the rain completely naked. So we climbed out the livingroom window and stood on the roof, naked in the rain. It was really fun. I kissed him and we stayed there for a second, but it got cold real fast, so we climbed back inside. We then wandered around the barren apartment, experimenting with sexual positions on every piece of furniture before determining that the bed was best. So we got back in bed, and I was just starting to be able to forget about leaving and just appreciate having him there. I think we successfully created a memorable last night together. We were up until 5:00 in the morning, which was when I had set my alarm so I could get ready before my parents showed up to drive me home. It was only when we were rolling around and fucking our brains out that I could forget about leaving. I felt satisfied that he was still a part of me.
Now I'm in Pittsburgh and I just feel like I'm hundreds of miles away from the rest of me. I'm recognizing flaws in my personality, holes that I didn't know were there until he filled them and then left. All I want to do is hug him, and I can't. I kept feeling like if I just held him tight enough, he couldn't be taken away from me. It didn't work. I must've called him at least five times to say goodbye. I positively hate how empty I feel without him. Two months ago, I wouldn't have believed that I had the capacity to care for anyone more than myself, but I was wrong. I didn't give myself enough credit. I thought all this time that I was just selfish, when in reality, I just hadn't met anyone to love. It's not that I had lost my ability to love.
He has sufficiently restored my faith in human beings for now. I honestly believe he would never go out of his way to hurt anyone, let alone me. He said maybe he could come by Pittsburgh on his way to California. I hope he can, but I doubt it. I am so scared that something beyond our control is going to ruin this. Something or someone. But I absolutely know I will see him again, and I can't wait until that day. Look at me! He has brought me hope. He has given me something to believe in, something to look forward to, something to live for. He has restored a sense of fun into my life of pessimism and dreariness. Until, of course, it hits me that our attempt at a relationship will be hopeless over 3,000 miles.
5/26/99
Three days without Gale and I'm still alive. Barely. I have to pull out my pictures every few minutes or so, but I think I'm dealing fairly well.
I was driving around this morning, running some errands, when I had a thought. I am absolutely terrified of the ocean, so I'm a bit worried about Gale going to California to learn to surf. Today I pictured myself getting a phone call from his family telling me he was killed in a surfing accident, and I actually started to cry in the car at a red light. Gale has everything in life that I feel gypped out of. If he died, I would have no hope left. I think I shed about four tears, and then I remembered it was all in my head, and I stopped. Not many people can make me cry. If Gale died, I would cry.
I miss him so much. All I want is one more chance. I'm already starting to forget things, and I hate it. I'm regaining my individual self-sufficiency, and I hate it. What lousy timing. If only I was settled in life. Or if at least I had a plan.
5/30/99
I can't believe the difference in myself since I came home. I'm lethargic and completely apathetic. I was so high on life the last few weeks at school. I'm hardly recognizable as the same person now. Gale made me so happy. Knowing I can't have him right now just makes me bitter. I feel like I haven't seen him in a year.
6/2/99
Gale left this morning after stopping to visit on his way to California. While he was here, he said something that really kind of shocked me. He said, "Remember that night we went out dancing, and Cara asked you if you were rolling on E? You said you weren't and you didn't need it because I was there with you?" I said, "Yeah?" And all he said was, "You have no idea how happy that made me feel."
That hadn't occurred to me until he brought it up. Since I have Gale, I don't need drugs. All I was looking for was something in life that was good--something I didn't positively detest about life. And if it had to be artificially stimulated, then that was what had to be done. Of course, I still think drugs are fun, and I kind of wish he'd do them with me, but I appreciate that he's stronger than that. And I don't need them anymore.
6/3/99
I feel like I’ve just stepped into an enormous cathedral entirely against my will. And while the sheer size of the place is enough to give me shivers of inadequacy, I can’t help but be struck by the overwhelming feeling of freedom that accompanies being alone in such a huge space. There are brilliant colors seeping through the walls, but the color and the light don’t bother me for once, since the whole place is undeniably dark and cold. The first word that comes to mind is hollow. The hollowness of an empty, abandoned stone structure built centuries ago by hundreds of men who are long-forgotten--that’s what I feel inside.
But then, I feel like I’m not hollow, like I’m not empty, like something is eating away at my entrails, and this thing gnaws away at my stomach with a dull persistence that is positively torturous in its silent quest to destroy me. It just waits there, growing, patiently awaiting the day when it is strong enough to kill me. And I know I am doomed. I want to kill the creature before it kills me, but the only means to do so would involve also killing myself. So I wait in the damn cathedral, writhing in pain, shuddering in fear, and crying internal tears that are frozen in silence because they recognize their insufficiency, their worthlessness, their utter inability to express even part of the contempt I have for life.
6/4/99
Yesterday I was so depressed that I just laid on the couch all day. I couldn't even move far enough to get the remote for the TV. I stared at a blank TV screen for hours. Coming home has never been very uplifting for me, but this is awful. Going back to Boston will probably be kind of rough too. Everything in the world makes me think about Gale. Every song, every outfit, everything I say, everything anyone else says. I feel like Holden Caulfield; everything makes me sad. But I think somehow I feel better since I know I am loved. It makes me feel like I'm not completely alone. Even though I'm completely alone.
6/26/99
I went to church today. Mom of course dragged me to church since I’m home. I find that the only place I see kids these days is in church. Not a lot of kids wander randomly around the Boston area. Anyway, I saw a baby today in church, and it occurred to me exactly why I can’t stand little kids. I stared and stared at that baby and asked myself what I could possibly find perturbing about that tiny, defenseless creature. The baby caught my eyes and stared back at me and looked so curious, and innocent, and insanely happy that I realized I just feel so damn bad for the kid. I hate the parents for wanting to put their kid through the hell we know as life, and I feel bad for the kid because it still has to grow up and find out how much life sucks. I mean, it’s one thing to know and accept it like I do now, but the actual finding out about it part is by far the worst. Babies look so intensely fascinated by the world that all I can think about is how many pieces their heart is going to shatter into the first time that it is broken. And it doesn’t have to be broken by love, it can be broken by anything. As far as I know, the world has far more pain in it than anything else and it’s simply a cruel abuse of power to put someone else through it. I hate life. The moments in which I actually enjoy life are so brief, so few, and so artificial that I don’t understand why so many people choose to prolong it. Those poor kids.
6/27/99
I’m camping at Lake Erie with my parents and Speranza. It’s not exactly what I had envisioned doing after graduating from college, but I’m trying to make the most of it. Today I have to write because Speranza and I made an interesting discovery. We discovered exactly what it is that makes us different. You see, she said something was cute, and then she described it as being, “Cute as a duck in a cup.” All I could picture when she said that was a poor little duck running itself into the side of a cup over and over again because it had nowhere to swim. Speranza, on the other hand, was picturing a cute little pet duck sitting contentedly in a cup. So you see, that’s how she and I are different. It was even more interesting later, though, when I realized that neither of us thought it was strange that we were talking about a duck in a cup. So maybe we’re more alike than I thought.
7/7/99
I had my first job interview today. I got into Boston yesterday afternoon to begin my two-week job hunt, and I’ve already been offered a job. I’m not sure I want the job. I don’t think they’re offering me enough money. I didn’t go to college for this.
7/8/99
I called Gale today. Now I miss him even more. Talking to him now just makes me so damn sad, but he’s leaving California in a week and a half to go home to Wyoming for awhile. That’s a step. And maybe I can get him an interview with my company. That’ll be another step. He has agreed to move back to Boston to be with me and I can’t wait to see him again, but it sucks that I don’t know when he’s coming. I almost have to forget about him in order to deal. As soon as I start to think about him, I miss him so much that I wish I could just go to sleep until he shows up.
God, I’m so depressed. Cara gave me some pictures of Gale and me together. It upsets me to see the two of us so fucking happy in the pictures. I miss him so much. I can’t stand how much more I miss him after I talk to him! Oh, well. I guess things happen that way.
You know what’s amazing? The second I stepped off the plane, I was noticing how shocked I was that the city of Boston was still standing. I think I expected it to have fallen off the face of the earth or something just because I graduated. But it didn’t.
7/9/99
I have a problem. I had a very nice day today: I signed the lease for my new apartment, I shopped a little with Cara, and I met up with Camille to go to the goth club. Only one small issue. The apartment is nice and Cara, Larke, and I all decided on the room we want, and we’re all happy with the arrangement. I had hoped that would happen, but I didn’t really expect it. Hopefully, this is a sign about how well the three of us can live together. Shopping with Cara was fun, and getting ready to go out with Camille was fun, too. I’m already missing having Camille as my roommate.
When Camille and I got to the club, we danced a few songs in the industrial room and got really hot, so we took a bathroom break, and then I lost her for awhile. I ended up sitting by myself at the bar for a little bit, drinking my Grateful Dead and rolling a little Matchbox car back and forth. It was fun until the car accidentally fell off the bar and ended up in the beer cooler. I was frozen at the bar for quite some time, just hanging out while one guy and one girl hit on me incessantly. I was so disinterested, though, in everything that was going on around me. I finally got up to go dance in the goth room for awhile. I stood next to Braedon while he guarded the stage during the show. Then I danced some more.
I was dancing innocently and entirely by myself, consciously not looking at anyone, when some guy just grabbed me and started dancing with me. It was all just fun and games, and I was in the mood to dance, so I kept dancing with him. He was getting progressively more friendly, and I didn’t know what to do, but I figured it was harmless dancing. And all I could do was think of Gale. So when this guy pulled me close to him, I just wanted to put my arms around him and pretend he was Gale. I was holding him tight and trying so hard to imagine that I was holding Gale, and it worked. It worked until he kissed me. Not only did it feel extremely weird kissing him, but I also felt so damn guilty. I am such a dumbass. I could seriously shoot myself in the head right now.
I’m so confused. I told Gale that I’d be good, and he brought up how I am when I’m drunk, and I told him that I can still stay in control. I guess I was wrong. I’m mad at myself. The guy asked for my number, and I swore to him that I don’t have a phone, which is true since I’m homeless right now and temporarily staying in my brother’s apartment. So he dragged me up to the bar where he called the bartender by name (so he must be a regular--I’m surprised I never saw him before) and asked her for a pen to give me his number. I’m confused because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about this. I feel guilty as hell to begin with, but I also feel like this is something I should have done since that’s how I am. I have successfully cheated on every single boyfriend I have ever had--not sex, just kissing other guys. It’s the strangest thing. Aside from the fact that I simply cannot say no, I think I do it as a means of protecting myself. So if the guy I’m dating ever comes to me and says he’s cheated, or lied, or he doesn’t want me anymore, or anything of the sort--I won’t feel like I’ve been wronged. So, in essence, not kissing this guy tonight would have been denying me my entire sense of self, my entire understanding of how relationships are supposed to work, but then of course on the other hand, I realize that I have just done what I swore to Gale and myself that I would never do. I let him down. I abused his trust. I proved to myself that I am a shit-case of a human being who has no self-control and no sense of fidelity. I’ve always known that I couldn’t be entirely monogamous. I grew up believing that I would have relationships that were built upon the understanding that human beings are sexual creatures who are naturally attracted to other humans. It’s such a stupid animal instinct thing anyway. I like to think I’m a little more enlightened than that. I like to think I’m a little more intellectually inclined than all the other animals out there that fuck whenever they want simply because their only reasons for existing on this earth are to eat, sleep, and multiply. I’m relatively fine with an unfaithful relationship--except that I love Gale, and if he did the same thing to me, I’d be devastated. I swore I’d prove to him that people can be trustworthy. What was I thinking? People aren’t trustworthy! If I can’t trust myself, how should I be able to trust anyone else? It’s impossible to be entirely faithful to yourself. Even if you think you’re being faithful to yourself, chances are you’re just in denial. You can’t be unbiased about the things going on in your own head. Aaaaaaaa!!! I want to kill myself! I can’t decide if it’s entirely wrong or not, since the whole time I was wishing it was Gale even though the guy was attractive. I fucked up, but I don’t want anyone other than Gale. Ever.
7/13/99
I started my new job yesterday. I’m working as an administrative assistant for a staffing agency. It’s probably a good thing that I chose not to write about it last night, because after my first day, I was about to shoot myself in the head. Not only did I detest the very thought of working in an office, but I also had the pleasure of being trained by someone who had no clue how to train me. Luckily, today I went back to work and realized that she’s rather an okay person. At least she’s well-intentioned. Most of the people there seemed somewhat surprised that I came back for a second day. That worries me.
7/24/99
It’s Saturday. Gale called earlier, and I was overjoyed at the sound of his voice, but he still isn’t planning on coming back for a few weeks. So I’m left here, sleeping on my brother’s couch until I finally move into my apartment, with all the time I have devoted to pondering just how much I hate my job and why. Let’s see. It’s not that I hate what I’m doing at work; it’s not hard or anything, but I still get home at the end of every day and the end of every week feeling like I’m exhausted. I have no energy left for doing anything else. I don’t have the time or the energy to write, or practice, or do anything. I’ve even been too tired to write to Gale much. And since even the work I’m required to do is boring, easy, mindless stuff, I feel like I’m wasting my time, my energy, and my talent just by being there. I think I’d rather wait tables. At least then I’d know I was giving people food and making them happy.
I feel like I’m cheating myself out of who I am and what I should be doing. I hate that I don’t see more people over the course of a day. I hate that I’m low man on the totem pole around the office. I hate that I have to wake up at 5:00 in the morning and wear clothes that stifle my personality. And I feel myself changing. Jeans don’t feel as comfortable anymore. I see kids on the street wearing jeans and doing nothing, and I feel like telling them to go find something useful to do with their time. At the end of everyday, after I’ve finished processing piles of paperwork and answering hundreds of phone calls, I know that not a single thing I’ve done mattered at all. I don’t see any results. I generally don’t even know what I did it for or what happened to it next. I can take no pride in what I do. I feel like I’m better than what I’m being used for, and no one knows. I don’t know how people can live doing this every day of their lives. If you ask me, it’s a damn good way to completely miss out on any of the good things in life. Not that there are many.
7/30/99
I’ve seen it coming for quite some time now, but the effects are more extensive than I would have expected. It has just occurred to me that I have completely and entirely been broken of my will. I do not care about anything right now. I am completely unmotivated to do anything. I don’t care about my singing. I don’t care about my writing. I don’t care about anyone. Gale isn’t anywhere nearby. My family wouldn’t even recognize me if I showed them who I really am. I hate my job. I hate myself. I hate life. I’m starting to believe that all the dreams I had in life were misguided, uninformed impossibilities, and I don’t even care! It’s become so clear to me that life is worthless. I’ve known for awhile that it had no point, but now I’m convinced that even the good things are dumb.
I’m being forced to become someone I hate. By joining the working class of well-respected, well-adjusted adults, I feel like I’m giving in, like I’m giving up, like I’m taking the easy way out. But I’m not! If I had the slightest amount of desire to do anything, I’m sure I could do it, but I don’t fucking care!
I’m starting to worry about Gale coming back. What if I only thought I was in love with him because I was so desperate to hang onto college? What if he comes back and I wonder what I ever saw in him? I’m only trying to get him to come back because I have to know for sure. I’m hoping everything is the way it was before and I remember why I loved him, but I can’t see that happening. Nothing would ever work out that well for me. Why should my life change now? I think by now my luck has been established. And now that I’ve had some time to deal, I could live without him. I would hate every second of it, but I could do it. I’m very adept at speed-grieving. I’ve given myself many crash-courses in dealing with the shit life throws at me. I hate myself and I want to die. Just like Kurt Cobain. I hate life, and people, and work, and love, and hate, and...life.
And, you know, I’ve been strangely detached lately. I can’t seem to concentrate long enough to understand an entire sentence. I can talk to someone for an hour without having the slightest clue what they’re talking about. I fade in and out like a TV with bad reception. The only way I can do things is by rote memorization because that way it takes no effort. My energy level is so low it’s non-existent. When I ask people something, I concentrate more on trying to look like I’m paying attention to their answer than actually paying attention. If someone says one simple thing to me, it takes my brain about thirty seconds to regroup and process it before I even know what they said. I’m deteriorating rapidly.
8/13/99
Wow! This is pretty cool. It’s not exactly what I wanted or needed, but it’s pretty cool anyway. I went to the goth club tonight after a day from hell at work, and all I wanted was to forget about my problems and life for awhile by taking some E. Well, I got some and I almost fell asleep at the club. I just sat on a bench against the wall in the industrial room for hours. Some random girl came up to me and asked me why I was so upset. All I said was, “Bad drugs.” Her response was, “Oh.....wanna dance?” I shook my head. “Wanna kiss?” I shook my head again. “Wanna play?” By this time I realized that I actually did want to kiss her. She was very pretty, but I was too unmotivated to move any more than I had to. So I just shook my head again. I should’ve kissed her. Maybe it would’ve been fun.
I was so upset about the bad drugs that I left the club early and took a cab back by myself. I got to my brother’s place figuring I might as well just go to sleep, and now it kicked in. I am so rolling on speed right now that I brushed my teeth at about a mile a minute. I couldn’t even figure out how my hand was moving so fast since I felt like I was brushing my teeth like I always do. But it was fast, and it felt really cool.
And now I can’t really control my pen, it just writes the words without me even having to think about what I’m writing. Pretty cool, huh? This figures. The perfect end to my Friday the thirteenth from hell. Of course the drugs don’t kick in till I’m home by myself with nothing to do but drink water and notice how the cactus picture on the wall keeps blinking. And there it goes. It mostly faded just now. I’m going to go enjoy this for a moment. I’ll write more when I’m not rolling on E by myself in my brother’s apartment in the middle of the night. I’ll tell you--things just never work out the way they should.
8/19/99
I am totally fucked. I’ve spent about $500 in the last two weeks on nothing but alcohol. When I go back and read over the things I’ve written the last few days, it doesn’t make any sense to me at all. I keep writing or saying words that come out of nowhere. I can’t focus on anything. I’ve perfected the art of doing something effectively while removing myself entirely from the situation. I’m losing it.
When I came home from the club the other day, I literally thought my pupils were going to swallow my head if they got any bigger. Now my brain hurts and I keep getting headaches. It could be anything from lack of caffeine, to alcohol, to nicotine, or lack of sleep. I guess it could be the drugs. Or it could be my mental problems.
I hate life. Everything sucks. I’m getting so many headaches. I’m lightheaded, and my eyes feel like they’re going to pop right out of my head if I have to look at another computer screen ever again. I wish I could just go to bed. I’m so tired. I am always tired. I’ve recently gotten a new job and I’m glad, but who’s to say it’s going to be any better than the one I have now? Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck--I hate the world. I want to die. My eyes hurt. And I’m thirsty and please someone help me. I couldn’t care less right now if someone shot me in the head. Help. Very tired. Must sleep. Wish I had time to stop and think at some point in my life.
8/21/99
It occurred to me today that I’m probably becoming an alcoholic. I keep attempting to come up with reasons to deny it, but it’s not exactly working. I keep thinking, “Well, if I don’t drink alone, I’m not an alcoholic.” Then I started drinking alone, so I thought, “Well, as long as I don’t feel funny when I’m not drinking, then I’m not an alcoholic.” But last week at work, I realized that everyone else seems much less in need of a drink after a long day. My head actually throbs when I’m consciously trying not to drink. This is not good. I asked a few people today if they think I drink too much, and they all very subtly said yes.
I feel so guilty lately for neglecting to write exactly what I feel, but there’s so much and I simply do not have the time. I spent fourteen hours a day at work this week. It gave me barely enough time to commute home and get to sleep before I had to wake up again to go back to work. It sucked. Yet, in some way it was cool because I had much less time to think about how much I hate work since I only had time to actually do my work. I have so much on my mind when I finally get a chance to think about it.
I’m having definite problems adjusting to a full-time work schedule since graduating from college. Every minute I sit in the office is one minute not devoted to a career in music. Every minute is an opportunity for me to feel like a failure since I don’t have a career in music, and I don’t have the time or energy with which to pursue one. Of course, I also don’t care enough to really try.
I’m also a little confused about the situation with Gale. He recently decided he’s not going to move back to Boston. I don’t know what to think. Half of me wants him to be back so bad because somehow I know everything would seem easier with him here. He would listen to me and actually care that I hate everything about life. Even my family can’t do that for me. And yet, there’s another half of me that is offended that I even have to consider the possibility that I can’t live without him. I want to live my own life in the real world for a little while. I want to sleep with other people. I want to try some more drugs. I want to see what it is about life that I’m missing, because what I see can’t possibly be all there is. It can’t be possible that life sucks so badly. There must be some better drug. There must be some better job. There must be some cooler people out there. Something has to be found, or I will die the only person in history to know the meaning of life to be the absolute absurdity of the concept that there could be anything even remotely worthwhile about it.
I need a shrink so badly. Mom and Dad can’t even bring themselves to think about it, let alone say the word psychiatrist. I understand that they want what’s best for me, but I can’t help but feel they’re refusing to admit that something’s wrong with me because they don’t want to feel responsible for it. Denial is a powerful thing.
I can’t believe I’m becoming an alcoholic. I literally cannot function when I haven’t had a drink. And I drink strong drinks. I’ve started smoking again even though I didn’t really want to. I am so weak.
8/28/99
If I had any idea what it was that sparked these destructive moods of mine, perhaps they could be avoided, but until I discover the source, I’m doomed to repeat my own history over, and over, and over. Larke and I went to the Hard Rock Cafe tonight to hang out for a little while. The intention was to recover from a long week at work and a long weekend of hard partying. I wanted to relax, unwind, and have a good time. It ended up that we were so tired, we spent most of the time zoning off into space while drinking until we felt normal again. I got very depressed.
It occurred to me today as I was watching a corny movie on TV, that if I were a character in a movie, I’d want to be me. That doesn’t mean I’m at all happy being me, but at least I’m fortunate enough not to be someone else. Instead of mindlessly strolling through life like so many people, I actually live the life of the fast-lane rebellious and troubled character who is just out to have a good time, but always loses. I party, I drink, I smoke, I do drugs, I have sex, I dance, I scream, I hang out with people who are not only fun, but also gorgeous, I’m doing exactly what I want to be doing now, and it makes me sad. It makes me sad because I feel like I should be happy, but I’m not. So I wonder what’s wrong with me that I can’t be happy. I am so dehydrated from drinking, and I can’t breathe because of my smoking. I have to take a little bit of time to recover. So I start to wonder if I’d feel better if I weren’t so contaminated with chemicals. I’m used to this. It’s a vicious cycle. I take some time for my own personal detox, and then when my body is clean and my mind is clear, I realize that I’ve just given up all the things that make me feel slightly happier about being alive.
I just spotted a copy of The Boston Globe on the floor, and I noticed an article that says, “At 18, they think they are invincible.” I read the article, and it’s about some teenagers that were killed in a car accident because they weren’t wearing their seatbelts. It totally offended me, this assumption that young people do dumb things because they think they’re invincible. I’m not saying it doesn’t apply to a vast majority of young people--perhaps it does--but it sure as hell doesn’t apply to me. I don’t do unhealthy things because I think I’m invincible; I do them because I’m hyper-aware of the fact that I’m not invincible. I know they can kill me, and I hope they do. The sooner, the better. No one ever considers that possibility. Maybe these young people want to die. The world just assumes that because they’re young, they must be stupid, but some teenagers know more than some adults will ever know. It always seems to be the stupid people who led sheltered lives that make these blanket statements. It must be. It’s kind of like when people call self-mutilation a cry for help. It minimizes the severity of the situation, and it offends me. If that were the case, people like me wouldn’t go to such lengths to hide the wounds. It’s not a cry for help. And just because we do dumb things doesn’t mean we think we’re invincible. Just because we’re young doesn’t mean we’re too stupid to realize how much life sucks. Maybe the adults are just jealous of us because we’re still vital enough to try and fight back a little.