3

Day two of this ridiculous journal.  Am I better yet? Have I passed whatever test it is that you thought you could set before me to see how high I could jump before I jumped out of my own skin and ran away, a skeleton streaking through the streets?

Maybe someday you will give me a razor so I can shave.  What's the most harm I could do?  Don't pretend you're not watching my every move.  Please, give me more credit than this silliness.  Sure, I might be a suicidal maniac, but I don't need to give you the responsibility of lawsuits and press reports.  I know they would say that it wasn't my fault, that you did something wrong that send me spiraling into oblivion.  Don't worry, I'll make sure I'm out of your hands before the end.  Anyway, that's enough about you.

It happened again yesterday.  What do you want from me?  Why do you look at me like you can actually see me?  All I have ever been is invisible and here you are coming in and trying to uproot every system that I have ever barely functioned in.  How can you look at me as if I'm actually there, not just empty air?  I shouldn't let you shake me, but I'm rattled to my core, because I've never been seen before.  Sure, I've always gotten by with my nice face and my pretty smile, but I don't care how many people have looked at me.  They all amount to people who want to use me, abuse me, and throw me away like yesterday's promises.  I know it doesn't matter much anyway, but who do you think you are to come around here and shake things that have been settled for so long?  It isn't fair.  It isn't fair!  And I don't even know you.  I don't even know your name, but already you've managed to embed yourself in my head and I can't sleep without your eyes appearing in my dreams.  I hate your eyes.  I hate it when you look at me, and when I look at you and know that you see me for what I really am. 

You must be just as screwed up as me, after all you're sharing the long table that classifies us as wards of the crazyhouse.  You must have some demon in your soul that keeps you in this black hole of pretenses and glass smiles.  Can we keep living in this crystal house?  What right do we have, you and I, to be safely wrapped up and tucked away in these rooms like so many precious jewels?  We aren't precious.  We aren't even special.  We are all cracked to our cores and there's nothing that can fix our flaws.  So what's your story, stranger?  What gives you the right to be here, in my white palace of soft pillows and luxurious pills?  Do they make you feel better? 

I wish you would say something to me.  A word to break the mystery that surrounds everything that you are.  I think if I could hear your voice it would help me realize that you are just as human as I am, and just as broken as you seem to be.  Just as broken as we all deserve to be.  People do things to screw us up, don't they?  They manage to get inside us and twist around everything inside our brains until we don't know our own faces in the mirror anymore.  I think it's kind of romantic, in a way, to be a stranger to myself.  There's that air of suspense when I open my eyes in the morning, wondering who I'm going to meet in the mirror today.  Will they be worth it this time?  Or just another screw up to add to the list of eternal disappointment? 

It doesn't matter.  I can't let you matter.  You could be gone tomorrow, or I could.  If only I were so lucky to be.  I wish God would hear me and realize that I don't need to be here anymore.  I'm not doing what he made me to do.  I don't help anyone.  There's no reason to be here.  Nobody in the world cares anymore, and she's gone.  She's never coming back, is she?  Why did God think it was fair to take her and leave me here?  What did I do to deserve descending through every level of hell while I still waste away on this planet?  I could have made it, if she could have stayed.  She made it all make sense.  Now I'm just alone, I'm alone and I'm confused and I'm so tired.

God, why am I so tired?

Why won't you just let me go?

Let me escape.