I want to say so much but there's nothing to say. I can think of nothing to say. I can't do this alone and I know that you don't want to participate. There's no reason for you to, I believe what I know until proven otherwise.
And I know I'm pathetic, what else could I be?
I'm the screwed up -one and the one always screwing everything up. Which one was first? I want to know. I need to know. Which was first?

I want to be better. I want to be more. I want to have something. And I want to talk to you for the one reason that's so irrational. For the reason that I believe in … fate. Because I believe in magic, because the cd player picked first just the song I wanted to hear. And because I believe in hope. And you already have given me a bit of hope. (Although there's no use for hope for me anymore. Except making the last of the next few months (?) a bit more bearable.) That's all I need, a little bit of salvation. A little bit of kindness but I know, there's no reason to give me any. There's no reason. Instead, there are plenty of reasons why not to give it to me.

Could anyone forgive my self-hatred? Anyone?
That's all I ask, yes. To bear it a little while, to allow it. I'm not going to shove it down your throat, it's just the way I am. If my way of living includes self-hatred, can't you accept it? It's not to escape the blame. It is the blame.

A little harsh, you said. Did you mean it? Because I've always thought I was too kind to myself, too understanding. Giving up too easily. I couldn't make myself tougher and I don't think I'll ever forgive myself for that.

I wish you'd understand. I really do. I wish you could see the turmoil, feel it. I wish you'd understand. Because I don't. I can't. There's just so much insanity and blurred memories and even thinking of them now chokes me. I can't understand, I can't see. I feel just as blind as I did then. Just as lost.

It's like I had lost my grip on all that's real, like I couldn't touch anything real because nothing was real.Because nothing is real. I don't understand. I am filled up with hurt and blame and confusion and plans of escaping and I can't figure it out. I can't sort it out, I can't even think of it (anything) without getting lost.

All that I can hang onto are these words, if I write long and hard enough I won't get scared, I know I will have a way back even if my head spins and everything moves too fast and even if the hurt is like water that covers me and I drown. Even if there are razor blades and huge walls on my way and even if there's no way of escaping the ground that swallows me.

And I can't touch it. I can't touch it with a ten foot pole because if I do so I'll drown and disappead and I'll never be able to find myself again.
And I'm so scared.

Index.