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Everything somehow leads back to being some fault of mine. I cannot even print out two sheets of paper without being ridiculed. I'm tired. So unfathomably tired. The medication I used for putting myself to sleep no longer works. In fact, I find it's easier to just allow my exhaustion to take over at night. I'm alright with that arrangement because I'm going to get caught stealing leftover coins from around here, eventually. I have no idea why I thought I really had friends anywhere. I felt like they would be happy to talk to me again, but it's almost as if I'm not even there. And he talks to me still, as if nothing ever happened. As if he didn't tell me those few months ago that he didn't want to be my friend anymore because we were too "different". Ironically enough, most of the world would assume that it was my supposed religious self-righteousness that caused that, but I really didn't do anything. Can I not have but one moment of privacy? Every single day, from my waking to until the very instant I fall asleep again, I am plauged by an uncontrollable flood of incomprehensible thoughts and feelings. I taste colours without names and see visions of worlds far beyond my reach. I forget sometimes that this turmoil is invisible to the world. I forget that I cannot relieve myself of this because to express it beautifully, I myself must be beautiful. I am neither gifted nor cursed as Kasane. I can only come to places like this to escape my surroundings slightly. To express myself to anyone, it must be done in secret. In silence. And the noise they make, it disturbs me. For the life of me, I cannot fathom why. It's disturbing. Every little voice, every little twitch, the banging, the shouting, the laughter, the talking- all fills me with the inexplicably violent urge to maim or kill the cause of it. I need quiet. It is loud enough inside of me. Loud enough that everyday, I am drowned. There is no cure for what ails me other than my own death: This I accept. How one should go about bringing his own death, I have not yet decided. I have tried, of course. I would not be able to stand having gone on this long without trying at least once. I have tried twice now, each clearly failures reflecting my own incompetence. I need to escape this place. My body was not meant to contain what resides within it. So I punish it. Not as often as I once did, but enough. Enough that the lines are dark and stay for months or even a few years before they fade away. Unfortunately, even the pain is not enough of a solace to keep myself contained. I cannot seek any sort of help from any person. There is no one. I depend only on the one who lives within myself. He is whatever I ask him to be for me when I request it. But even his presence is not quite enough. One day, whether it be by taking this waste of a life or by some miracle of finding a way to release or surpress this great mass of blackness and colour and stars-
All will end. All will end so soon.
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It's not that long of a life, good lad. You're a good lad, I can tell. Live on until you die, spontaneously. Even better, on no notice at all. Punch your friend on the face, empty out your feelings, verbally, If you can help it. Shun your surroundings, as much as you can, they're eating away at their lives as well, we all are. Whatever you do, It's all good. It's fine. On a cosmic scale. You're not doing anything in contrast to your human nature and condition, no one is. Killing yourself is quite the solution to it all but neither you or I know what's beyond. The least scary thing that's awaiting might be oblivion, or worse. Check out H.P Lovecraft.
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