I can’t stand this. I hate myself for swearing that I would always be “gregsexual” I’m lying to myself, and I’m lying to everyone else. I hate myself. I hate this. I hate loving you. I hate loving you I hate loving you These past five months I have been living in a hell of my own. I will admit that there has been good times, but they have been covered in the bad, which makes them un-noticeable, and hard to remember. I’m a fake, I really am. I act stupid for some odd reason. I do the things that I hate other people doing. I laugh at things that I want to cry at. I smile when I really want to frown. I pretend like I’m having a great time when I really want to die. I can’t do this. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to remember. I don’t want to remember this anymore. I don’t want to remember how you used to love me I don’t want to remember you at all I want to die. And I think you want me to too. I’ve been crying and crying, and thinking about what would happen if I actually did it, and if anyone would care, and if I would write a letter, and what I would say, and I wonder what happens when you die. I wonder if you get to see everyone and what they do, or I wonder if you’re just gone forever. I would like to believe that you could be able to see what goes on when you’re dead. I think that would be a lot nicer than just being gone. I’d like to think that George sees how much I miss him, and how much I wish he’d come back. I’d like to think that, I really do. I can’t get to sleep, and this has been a bad habit for a while now. I don’t sleep till around two, then right when I come home from school I go to sleep. This is not a good thing, and I wonder if this is what is causing my mood swings, or if I’m just upset because of what I read. I think either way, if I had sleep or not, I would still be very upset. I’d like to think that you still cared about me, and I’d like to think that you still loved me, even as just a friend, but then I would be lying to myself, and I do not want to do this, because it only inflects more pain onto me, and I can not stand anymore of this. I am not going to act stupid around my friends anymore, because that is being way too fake, and I am not going to be loud anymore, because that’s really not how I really am. I am not going to be obnoxious because that’s fake also. I really am not this way, and I think the only person who ever really knew the real me was the person I told I was being fake around, yet another lie. I really am not this way, I really am not as stupid as I seem to be, I only say these stupid things because I am afraid of an awkward silence, and I will say anything that comes up for that not to happen. I think one day I would like to write a book about my life, except I would change the names, and give myself an anonymous name so no one would ever know that it was about me. I don’t know, I think my life has some events that are worth sharing. This may seem conceded, but I really don’t mean it that way. I still wonder about that girl on myspace who had a picture of “Damon” on her thing and it saying “RIP” under it, I wonder if Greg made him up, or maybe she was friends with him too, but that would be a little confusing since she lives all the way in a totally different state, but who knows. So, I asked her what his name was, to see if it was “Damon” or not, and she got offended and took me off her friends list. This all happened back in June or July [I forget when]. I tried sending her a message telling her why I asked, and all, but she never responded back, I felt horrible after that. Suicide really makes me cry, even if it’s someone I don’t know. Death is horrible, and it always makes me cry also. Last year this girl died in the 7th grade, and they had an announcement about it, and I cried and I cried, and I didn’t even know her, but I couldn’t help it. That’s how much I hate death. Everyone said she was a horrible person, and that didn’t make me feel any better. Love, Colby