7.8.2000
I do not want to write. I do not know how to write. The words are alien; stiff and hostile. The subjects distort, and morph into something else. I lost my train of thought and I'll never get it back again. The sentences won't connect with each others; the spaces between them are enormous.
I cannot decide the place to hang myself in. I don't want my parents be the ones who find me, but it'll have to be so unless I think of a better option. This far I've found nothing. But there's still time. An infinite amount of time... I haven't decided when, yet. I'm still unsure of the 'if' too. I might decide to avoid it this time too. I have reasons to live. I have people I'd want to live for.
This whole day I've been trying to find out how I'm feeling. I've been trying to define myself. Describe myself. Describe my whereabouts. I still don't know.
I am nervous, that I can say for sure. And I'm reluctant to think of the reality, reluctant to recognice it. I don't want to live with it, I'd rather escape. I'd rather be someone else, somewhere else, in some other situation.
I'd like to travel. I'd like to go to a place where I haven't been before. Any place is good enough. As long as it's far away from here. As long as it's in another country. (I might've said, just as well, 'as long as it's in England', but I didn't, because I didn't want to be obvious.)
Today I received an envelope from the university. Full of papers I have to fill in and send, and invoices, booklets, schedules... The uni will begin on 4th of September. In a month. Exactly four weeks from today.
I don't have an appartment yet. I don't want to be alive then. I don't want to go there then.
It's a dead end. I have education. I have upcoming exams I'm hardly going to pass. I'll have to participate. I'll have to find a summer job. Eventually, I'll have to graduate, and then I'll have to find a real job. And all the time, unless something major happens, I'll be scared to death.
Unless I choose another way out.
I wish there were other ways, actually. I wish I could be something else, someone else. I wish I didn't have to. I wish I could move to England and marry Equin0x (I'm joking) and forget all about everything that makes me miserable now.
One night I saw a dream where I was going to university, trying to find my way there, and I was afraid. And suddenly my grandmother appeared, and gave me a hug. She told me it was all going to be alright. She said that and I believed her. Because even if she didn't look like my grandmother, even if she had died, she made me feel secure and comforted.
I know. I'm rambling.
I couldn't even bother to pick up the things I dropped from the floor... I couldn't even make myself care. And I know I will never, ever care enough again.