2001-09-26

Some day, when I’ve looked out of the window long enough, I’m going to kill myself. Hang myself, perhaps, or take the pills or leap out of the window. Because I won’t be able to stand the melancholy. Because I know I have nothing left to live for. Is it so dramatical? Is that so wrong?

I find myself, regularly, crying when there’s a sad scene on tv. I find myself crying when I think of dying and being forgotten, and I find myself crying late at night when I’m staring out of the window to gaze at the stars. I’m not a happy fellow. I’m almost never content. I don’t care about most things. But. The world scares me. Not because of apocalypse, not because of all the dying and all the pain, but because of all the people in it. I know these people. I know what their eyes feel like. I know what they can say and how they can harm me. Everyone knows those things.

Maybe you’re one of those people, those who don’t seem to know anything about the dark side. But I know you’ve been there. Everyone has. And I know that it can kill and it can hurt and it can do everything that you’re afraid of.

---

My mother thinks of him an axe-murderer. The abuser of innocent children. Jack the Ripper. She doesn’t realise that I don’t even care. If he is an axe-murderer, I’ll get to die. If he’s something I didn’t expect, I have nothing to lose. I’ve loved him, loved fiercely, but with a caution. He can do no harm for me, because I’ve already been raped and abused and killed. She doesn’t realise that. She never will, I think. It’s not so odd, perhaps, considering she’s my mother. She doesn’t trust me though. She doesn’t trust my impressions, she doesn’t understand my lack of caring.

I wonder. I really do wonder. It’s likely I’ll never meet him. I can’t imagine going through all that, all that pressure and doubt and questioning my parents will inflict on me. I never was good at dealing with my parents. I never was a rebel. I wasn’t the one who moved out. Perhaps, had I been the one, perhaps I could do it. Perhaps I could shake my parents off my shoulders and be the one I want to be. But I’m not. And I will never be.

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