and warmth ensues I still have no idea who I am or who I used to be. At least now I know where I want to be. I'm finally with the love of my life, actually in her place in GA right now. Got a fucking headache from hell right now, nothing unusual. Can still hear those scattered thoughts in my head all screaming at me, and I've still no idea which is the real me. I hope that I've got it figured out, and that I can play the part until it's all worked out in my head. I know that I love her. I can feel it like a deep ache in my ribs that can only be appeased by her presence. I'm good where I'm at. Now to just work out which voice is happy here as well. I still have my moments of severe detatchment, I can lose hours sitting there staring into space hardly feeling anything, myself least of all. Sometimes nothing feels real. I can get frustrated and punch the nearest hardest object until my knuckles are mincemeat, even through the pain I've learned to ignore it's still hard to believe it's my hand. Dreams can feel more real. Wake up and wonder where reality went. It's ok though. I'll figure it out, work it out, shove it aside, whatever I need to do. I'm happy here, I can actual smile instead of my fake smirk. At times I think my mind is even settled a little. And so this is it. I write when I'm depressed, and for now I'm not. Who knows what the future holds, but right now mine doesn't look as bleak as it always has. I've got Chelsea, not as some token or souvenir, but as someone I mutually love and am loved by (I think?) no, I'm sure. So I'm signing off. Been a wild ride, time to settle down. Love you Chelsea <3

I know she's not coming. She's happy where she's at, she'll get to go to California, maybe Italy after. She's smiling in all of her new pictures. She's got love hubby and shit where she never had it before. She has finally found somewhere she can smile. Far more than I could ever do for her, all I've brought is tears. For now on I will not text her, or talk to her unless she starts the conversation. If we never talk again, than I'll know my answer for sure. I just wish I could see her smile. There's a heavy feeling in my chest, like everything is slowing down, giving up. giving in. I'm sitting here with my head in my hands, looking up occasionally to type. Trying to form my scattered thoughts into a coherent entry. I just can't seem to wrap my mind around what I'm doing in life. Thoughts keep jumping back and forth in my head, between that screaming voice in the rear, and the usual cold uncaring front I put up for show. I've had several anxiety attacks this past week, I'm falling apart worse than ever and my usual logic isn't enough to keep me together anymore. I'm not trying anymore though, I want to fall apart more. I want to hit a point where my fear of death is overruled by such fucking despair that I finally grow a pair and do more than stick a few more scars on my arm. Or where I try hard enough not to puke to keep down that bottle of pills. All fucking life is: is money, bills, abject misery, and loneliness. Fuck you all, no exclusions.

another battle lost. another battle won. more lives given to the flame. more hatred grown from fear. the battles start again. another brought down. another takes their place. forever falling till the end. those left at home, weep for the fallen. in years to come, shall forget the faces. the battles rage on, and consume our past. there is nothing to save us. we only throw ourselves back into the fight to make one last story.

ha.. told you i wouldnt update every night. i'm worthless... jeez. oh, and dying via pills can be avoided too. i forgot about the whole "puking" thing.

I read over my last entry. saw my word "committed" that I'd used when you'd gone beyond that point when taking pills, to really kill yourself. Couldn't help but laugh. Maybe that's why they call it "committing" suicide. You have to be really committed to doing it. You can't half-ass something like suicide. It's a true or false statement, there is no "I sorta committed suicide." Just my own observation. Well, I'm going to tackle a tough point of me lying tonight. "Love" I've been in six relationships where I'd been "officially" going out with someone. First one was a red head I'd met on the bus, a new girl that I had bounced up to and said "hi, welcome to Rosemont" never met her before, just my weirdness shining through. She asked me out the next day, I was a little hesitant, but I was too nice a guy to say no. It lasted a bit, we broke up after a month or so I guess. Second, was Skylar Jones. I didn't even know she liked me, but o.k... Didn't really like her, but I was still too nice of a guy to say no. It didn't last long. Still no "love" to date. Third gal, just.. wow. I had met her previously at a 4-h club. Some stupid club for the goody goody kids. I wasn't one of them, but they thought I was. We had to do some kinda community service to be in it officially. I didn't do it, and didn't bother telling them I wasn't interested. But that's where I met her. A friend of mine introduced me. Her first words to me was "If you mess with me, I'll kick you with my combat boots." damn.. love at first sight. Next time we met was in Band class. Trumpet players, and she was a new girl from chorus. She was changing classes around or something, but the teacher put her beside me. The best thing of all, he copied my sheet music for her to use. So, it had my name scrawled at the top of hers, just like mine. Don't know why that stuck with me. I guess I just liked it that there was something there for her to see, and remember me with. I couldn't help but smile with her beside me. And, I never really smiled as a kid. I've always been an anti-social non-emotional lil brat. Of course though, I was too shy to ask her out. I was sad the day she was moved down a few seats, she wasn't beside me anymore. but she still had my name on her sheet to remember me by. Jeez I'm a douche-bag. One day a friend of hers came up and asked me if I would go out with her. I was ecstatic, thinking she was asking me out. To my horror though, the girl said "ok, I'll ask her if she'll go with you." so i (sorta?) asked her i guess?? We never went anywhere though. we never even talked I dont think... I don't even think you could have called it a relationship. I'm just amazingly stupid like that. I should have spent as much time as possible with her. I can't really remember when we were or weren't going out. I know somewhere in there we had classes together, with an evil tall teacher/chick, which we made fun of together. and some point, we broke up/went out again. and also, i remember an aquarium. I bought her a ring there, that was a dolphin. she gave it back the second time we broke up. Stuck to a piece of paper with tape. Now that hurt. I never really knew how to act around her. I remember in seventh grade, the year before I moved, she was in most of my classes, it was torture. I watched her almost constantly out of the corner of my eye. creepy, yeah? but I couldn't help it, I just loved to see her, smiling, laughing. just to see her. I loved it when she was put close to me when the teacher moved the seats around, and hated it when we were moved apart. It was like some tiny stupid drama i kept playing out every week/month. would i be next to her? We talked then more then when we went out I think. Then, the last day of school. She wanted a hug, but I just didn't give her one. Stupid, stupid stupid stupid. Later, one of her friends told me it made her cry. I made her cry. I wanted to die. I would give anything to hug her, or hold her now. I guess that's love. the other three didn't matter, I almost fucked one, had my first kiss with another, they came after her though, none could compare to what she had been, was, is to me. One thing I hate though. When we talk, sometimes I don't want to talk to her. I can't explain it, maybe it's the depression kicking in, stopping myself from saving me from myself. We still talk now. but i still cant explain why I don't want to sometimes. After I feel it, I hate myself. Why? Why wouldnt I want to talk to her?? she's married, lives hundreds of miles away. and i just have this dull ache, constantly right below my rib-cage. maybe just below the bottom of it, i dont know. that's it though, the lie I've hated myself for more than anything. The times I dont want to talk. When I blow her off, dont get online. It's like I feel too sad to, or something. I dont fucking know, but i want it to STOP. I want to hold her, protect her. give her everything she deserves, needs, wants. I want her to be the fucking happiest person alive. and of course, I want to be around her, so I can feel better too. a little selfish I guess. This diary was a stupid idea.

These are my confessions. The whole truth, as I know it. Not much though, and I would never take anything I say at face value. I've been lying to myself for so long that even I'm not so sure anymore. Of course, I don't believe I've ever been sure. I am laying here in my tub, stretched out in the now luke-warm water. One knee propped up with this clipboard leaning against it. It's night, so it's unusual for me to be in the shower/bath. I'm not really cleaning up, just soaking. I'll wash up when i get up for work tomorrow. I'm really in here to think. One thing I do plenty of, and probably do far too often. I have never really tried to kill myself. I've done things that would be construed as suicidal, but I've never expected myself to die from them. I've stabbed my arm, cut it open, and I have all the stupid scars I hide to prove it, but I never really expected to die from them. Maybe I did it for pain, maybe for attention. I'm never really sure. Come to think... I might have just done it to try and prove to myself that I could do it. I lied convincingly enough to believe I really could kill myself. When I purposefully wrecked my car, I wanted to die. I had been thinking, far too much again. But even as I saw the road above me when I flipped, the thought "I'm going to die" never once flitted across my mind. I wouldn't consider myself suicidal I don't believe. I don't have the guts to do it. Today though, the reason I started this, I looked at a bottle of excedrin. Common household item, I have it in my room because of my stupid joints. But, I couldn't help but think about taking the whole bottle. The thought occurred to me, that I've never really been close to dead. I've never really tried to kill myself. I understood why. You can do something about that cut. You can tie your arm off with a belt, make a tourniquet, and you'd be fine. But I thought about those pills. No real way to stop after you've taken those. You just have to lay back and wait. There is no coming back after those. You've really committed. And I knew then that I'd been lying to myself all along. I looked over the bottle, and considered kicking it back. I've taken a few Vicodin, and suffered, but never enough to really kill me I guess. But I really really wanted to take the whole "industrial sized" bottle of excedrin. I looked it over, and saw on the bottom of it HDPE, some code probably, but at first glance looked like "hope." Stupid of me really, to be moved by some silly little thing on the bottom of a pill bottle, but I put it down and decided instead to try and sort my thoughts by typing in this diary. so here I am, sorting my thoughts, sifting through my untruths. Trying to find who I really am.