Dear Die-ary...

I know this is my third post today. But I don't care.

I've been sitting here. And if you were watching me, you would think I was waiting for someone. Every night I look like this, as if someone was to come. In truth, I know they're not, but sometimes it's kinda fun, in a way, just waiting for something to happen. Sometimes. But it's times like this...

You don't really want to be alone.

This is the main reason for posting a third time, to reach out to someone. I know someone will read this, and this person would most likely be Nikki, Fred, or maybe even Brandon, who has seemed to disappear. Maybe it's someone who doesn't know me, just flicking through all the blogs. But when they finally read this, it'll be too late. The void is opening.

I don't feel like doing anything else. I want to talk to someone, I've GOT to talk to someone. At the moment, this is the only way of doing it. Everyone's seemed to have... gone. It's like they're all running from me. Or like, the apocolypse is happening, but no one wanted to tell me. Sleep is not an excuse. I can stay up to 3am pretty fine. But... but still...

I see only two stars tonight. One is red, and one is blue. They're all hiding from me, too, hiding behind the clouds, trying to get away. Everyone has escaped me. I like to look at the stars, but tonight it's not worth looking up at the sky. It's not worth doing anything. Writing in my blog's something to do, but it's just another scar to remind me of something.

I just want it to stop.

But it never will. Unless if I go, things'll get worse. I wish I could go now so nothing bad would happen. Nothing worse, I mean... But what're the chances of going without doing it yourself? Despite it all, it's not my duty to go. I wish... that something would happen. Something that'd make me go. Make it go. And I hope it happens very soon. I wish I could be wiped out, like a drawing on a whiteboard. One wipe, and there's no trace of it left.

I planned last year that I would go on my birthday, at 1:27pm, in a horrific car accident, but I would be the only one in a critical state. I mourned for the rest of my birthday because nothing actually happened. I was in a car about an hour earlier, but still, nothing happened. Why am I still here? Why did 'the force' stop it? How could it have not happened??

This sounds... just so... stupid and self-pitying. I don't self-pity. That's the last thing I'd EVER do. And I hope I have to self-pity soon (think about what I just said there). But, self-pitiers are just annoying, longing for attention really, and that's how they'd get their kicks for the day. As I said, I'm not self-pitying, I'm just angry that this is all happening. It's like a zombie movie, *most* people would see the movie and know deep down it's not really happening. This is kinda what everyday is like. Especially days like these. However, in this case, it's just denial.

I'm still alone.

It's not like anyone's going to be online, or come and see me. Talking to someone, preferably a friend, is the only way of stopping myself going sh1t crazy, as I've found out. And the only person who does talk to me without asking inane questions once every 3 months, is Nikki. So Nikki, you have now found out that you are the wall blocking me from being like this. Too bad you go to bed early. One night I might do something so imbecilic, that... there would be no going back. Heh. But I can't bring myself to do it anyway. Not yet.

But, why do I get sh1t crazy like this? Is it, maybe, because I'm all alone with no mindless comments from anyone, that I can really think about how things are going? Or is it just the psychological affect from being lonely? Or is it just a psychological defect? Why are all these sentences in this paragraph questions? Stop. There. I wouldn't mind being alone right now if there was something to do, or my surroundings were a little more interesting. Strange thing is, the same effects come with if there were little stars out, or many stars out. It has to be the right number of stars to live happily for another day. Weird, no?

The void is closing. I cannot take any longer of this. Going on and on and on. I feel empty inside and it'd probably be best if I go to bed now. Best to go, before I dodge into the kitchen and slide out the butcher knife. I like the sound it makes as the metal rubs against the slit in the wooden block.

What a nice sound.

Dear Die-ary,

The passions that drive us should be the ones we respect and admire. To feel contempt for one's own motivations is a vulgar thing.

Too often, it seems, I've succumbed to less than admirable compulsions driven by this furiously reprehensible machine of mine.

So many things inside that I can do without - desires and urges and whatnot. So extraneous.

By the time I write in this book again, I hope to be as cold as the moon that lights this page.

# Bobbin slithered back into the shadows at 11:04 PM