I am so, so,
so ashamed of the updates that have been here recently.
Jay is an absolute idiot. I don't know when he'll ever learn. Self-abuse to the point of his personal masochistic euphoria is GOING to lead to a hack, you moron, because hackers USE pain and trauma!! I don't care how much YOU enjoy blood and pain. The fact is, there are hackers who are going to use your state of mind to USE EVERYONE ELSE.
Here's something you may have forgotten. ANYTHING you "enjoy" = MASSIVE DISSOCIATION.
The instant you find yourself "interested" in something, you CHECK OUT. That is a CONSTANT and it has been for YEARS and I don't know WHY the heck you keep getting surprised when your "suffering" kicks our brain into blank-out mode and then some demonic
hacker sneaks in and DOES JUST THAT.
The eating disorder people are fragmenting badly and that whole situation is falling to very dangerous pieces.
All the previous "trigger foods" are now identified as "obligatory" and so suddenly, now we
aren't eating anything, and the few things we have left over that we
thought we "liked"-- because we were
told to, or because someone thought it was
interesting when we first tried it AND since DATA TYPICALLY DOESN'T "STORE" when the body eats they DON'T REALIZE if, five minutes after that initial "interest," we're in crippling pain or vomiting.
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE. So now that one horrifically stupid "broken coping method" (basically, "destroy things" in a "non-violent way") no longer works. We can't annihilate edible things anymore, we can't even use them as sensory reminders because it no longer
registers. No matter how hot or spicy or cold or bitter or salty we make something,
we don't sense it, even if the BODY does, and it does not take those experiences well. Our senses are so detached that we can honestly burn our hands and
not feel it, although we are aware that we were burned, and the body is in pain. It's just too far away. The pain is too far away to feel anymore.
What do we do now.
Jewel can go back to typing, of course. There's enough work to do. Except we're no longer in 2004, or 2002, or whenever, regardless of how hard to believe that is. It's
2015. It's incomprehensible.
Last thing. I wrote a letter earlier today but it was so asinine, so attention-grabby and childish, I gave up.
Consider this a "suicide note."
I've been killing this body, slowly, for a while now. The effects are piling up. The damage is irreversible now.
In some confusing way that's "existentially terrifying," the thought that death is closer than ever now, but I'm learning to not take that personally anymore. I need to make my peace with death, in its totality.
Part of this psyche wants to live, I guess, or at least it's afraid of dying a heathen-whore death like this. It's afraid of such a humiliating, painful, slow, frightening death. It wants a "holy death," something clean and fast and bloody and fiery. Like the original child, it wants to be a martyr. It wants its death to somehow absolve the sinful disgust of its life, its wasted ugly life, a fat embarrassing waste of skin and space.
We don't want the family to be ashamed of us. We don't want the family to be disgusted by us, and embarrassed by our existence.
But day by day, it is difficult now, those two consecutive surgeries made it tough to recover and now we've temporarily forgotten how to live well. Part of us doesn't care. It's too tired, it feels too hideous.
I can't cry. We can't cry. It's not allowed. We have to be strong, we have to man up, we have to stop acting like a baby. We can't cry. There's no reason to get upset over these things. Just deal.
It's just… is that numbness "holy?" Is there another option?
It frightens me when I see people proclaiming "non-attachment" and when I try to do so, I end up not caring about
anything anymore. Which can be fine, I suppose, but then it turns into apathy, and that means I'm doing something wrong. I'm just unsure what
else would happen, being so utterly cut off from everything, not caring anymore.
I don't know. I
miss caring, in a way. I despise attachment, but I miss
caring. I miss when it mattered if we felt healthy or sick. I miss when we had things we wanted to do, because we
enjoyed them. What is enjoyment even like? If it's like Jay does, then that's the problem-- total dissociation from reality, caused by something unendurable. Detachment to the extreme. Is it
possible to "enjoy" something in the physical realm? Or is that being ignorant and sinful?
Daily life. Can you imagine? What would it be like, to get up in the morning and
not feel dirty? To not have to eat, to be able to
run, to have something to do with your day that was… I don't know the word. I really don't. It's like, having 12 awake hours where you're not exhausted and anxious and feeling everyone else's stress. Having something to do as an individual that
matters to other people, and enriches their lives. Something selfless, something worthwhile.
See, that's how awful we are. The word 'selfless' hurts a bit. How much more do we have to sacrifice? But that's the wrong idea. "Sacrifice" helps no one, not when we're bleeding out and hoping someone benefits. But what's the alternative? Is it possible for us to
thrive, and still DO GOOD for others?? I hope so. Somehow, there has to be a way for that to be true. I don't know how yet though.
But this is effectively a suicide letter. There's been one too many days of this.
Blood, too much blood.
Pain. Headaches, stomach pain, old injuries acting up. Flashbacks.
It's all caused by depression, I know. And we're only depressed because we're weak. That's our personal case, and it's true. We're weak. We wouldn't be depressed "if we didn't exist," that's the sad truth, the truth, "sadness" isn't real for us.
I don't know. I want to obey, to "be good," but those people who give us the RIGHT advice still
feel WRONG. The things they say might be excellent information 85% of the time, but when we actually
succeed in those things and go to them, all we get are paper smiles and ignorance. Like there's no actual
caring. It's like the mother (God forgive us she's a
great person when she's not forcing us to be like her, forgive me
please). Do what she wants, what she likes, and she'll be nice as pie,
genuinely so… because you're great! She's so proud of you! And I love seeing her happy, I do.
But the moment you slip, the moment you ask a question they don't personally like, they're uncomfortable. They don't like you anymore. Now you've disappointed them, you've shown that you're too selfish to know what's
right, and you're not worth their time.
It's all so
distant. That's why I stopped going to those spiritual websites, and that's why I'm so terrified now.
Is this "depression" my
punishment?? Is this sudden massive decrease in personal health and environmental safety a direct and intended penalty, God telling me I messed up beyond forgiveness by "turning my back on Him?" God it
terrifies me, what if I really DID commit some unforgivable sin, by daring to suggest that their website wasn't the panacea to every spiritual ill, wasn't the "one true path" to God?
I'm so so so scared. But they tell me, "walk your own path," before telling me how to walk it.
That's the problem. I am so so so
sorry, I am
painfully sorry, for ever judging those people. I really am.
I didn't realize I was condemning them until I had it pointed out to me. "Follow your own path," but I was yelling at them for theirs. Why? Because part of me, deep inside, STILL believed that there is
only one path, EVER-- and if THEIRS worked perfectly for
them well that meant it was THE path, and so it HAD to work for me, or I was FLAWED. A self-fulfilling nonsense prophecy (or so I hope, perhaps selfishly and stupidly).
If their path felt
wrong for me to follow-- not simperingly 'uncomfortable;' I'd often jump into their paths with desperate enthusiasm-- I labeled that a mortal sin.
How dare you object to what you are being told to do. If it makes
them happy, if they WANT YOU TO DO IT, then you MUST, because if it's right for
them then it's ALWAYS right, if it makes them happy then you must ALWAYS share in that
, and if you disagree then you're just not kind-hearted enough to sacrifice your own needs for the greater good yet.
This keeps repeating.
It all boils down to that one thing, over and over and over and over.
I'm sick of giving my power away to other people. I'm tired of feeling unable, unworthy, or too unintelligent to make my own decisions. I'm scared because every time I've tried to "walk my own path," it's started out with joy and incredible insight, and then something
horrible would happen that proved it was all false and sinful and secretly demonic. Just like when I was a kid. "The devil is tempting you!" no matter what. If it seemed too good to be true, it probably was.
I'm sick of that. God, I want to be
happy, not just on the inside but on the outside. It's easy as pie to still be happy and smile when life looks like a fallout zone. But day after day, that keeps repeating, and my soul begins to feel cheated. "Why the heck do you keep forcing me to tune into happiness when THIS is our life situation???"
There's a fine line. Being "happy no matter what" is SUICIDE when it makes you stagnate, AND when it makes you
not care about moral lapses. That's why I dislike the "non-attachment" message delivery I've read, because it always seems to preach an extreme.
Saying this feels wrong and horrible.
I want to be happy without stepping all over negative emotions to do so. I want to live in the moment without murdering the past to get there. I want to be non-attached without being apathetic. I want to be able to care about things, I want to be able to enjoy things, I want to be able to
love things, without feeling like it's disgusting and shameful and plain old
silly. "How foolish! You are still like a child," I would be told. Smiley face.
Why do I keep reading that I "must be like a child," then? That frightens me too, because what our family has recorded of "our" childhood is
not a person we want to be. They were malevolent, and proud, and angry, and selfish.
Sure they "lived in the moment."
Sure they were "happy" almost always, and their negative emotions-- however horrific-- would blow over once they were expressed. But that child was
not a nice person. They were an
animal on their worst days. And yet they were STILL your ideal.
I am so confused.
What is right? After 10 years I'm still asking that question. It's ridiculous.
I'm always, always going in circles here. I need to break that.
Problem is I can't tell what's "truth" and what's not. I'm fighting my own emotions, which I label as "stupid" and "uneducated," because sometimes when I'm told to do/ act/ say/ be something, I get a gut-deep "I don't know about this" feeling. So I push past it, hard. I question everything I think and feel until I don't know
how to think or feel anymore. I push until I break and then it doesn't matter because by now, I'm just a program, just a nice little shell doing everything you tell it to… or at least until that "pesky depression" comes back and knocks it into a sobbing heap.
Then you show up and laugh in my ear, "how silly!" Crying is so alien to you. Sadness is so
foreign to you. You scare me, and that scares
me, because I never thought I'd
want to be sad, or cry… until I felt it impossible
not to, and you laughed and shook your head and said it was just an illusion, let it go.
I
want to. But I'm terrified that if I
do, I'll end up like
you.
This is a mess. I want to talk about this to someone,
anyone, but we're alone.
God help me I am so
sick of being lonely. I am so SICK of people messaging me on social networks and making small talk and acting like they're the savior. "
I'm talking to you!" I don't like
talking. I need
companionship, somehow, I want to experience what it's like to be in a
community for once in my life, I want to be in a
group and not just because the teachers felt bad for me and forced me in there. They didn't want me there. I want to be PART of something, I don't know. This is stupid.
"Everything you ever need, you can provide for yourself." Sure, maybe
that's why I have D.I.D. or whatever the heck this allegedly "fake" thing is. Maybe little us was so freaking tired of being hurt and rejected that when they broke, they didn't mind as much as they should because
oh wow, company! Isn't that horribly sad though. I know that's the truth. We've been ashamed of it for years. The first person to face Julie head-on didn't fight back as much as they should because it was the first time another "human being" had ever paid that much close attention to them. Sure we were a toy. Sure we were being used. But as horrible as it was,
they couldn't hurt us without us so for those few excruciating minutes we were
valid. And that made the pain and fear all the more horrible afterwards. We didn't want that… or did we? What did we want?
To this day we struggle with it. What do we want? Why do we throw ourselves into abuse, over and over and over? We know we don't want "attention"-- when we get it, it disgusts us, and we leave. We don't want people fawning over us. What do we want?
I don't know if there's a word for it. Coming home and knowing you're welcome there, even if no one talks to you. There's no
ignorance in the air. Feeling at home somewhere. Not romantic trash, that was wrong, so wrong. It came close, we
tried, but it was so wrong. We can't quite forgive ourselves for that either, for not
realizing, for not being ABLE to realize until YEARS later… it was never their fault, they didn't know any better, we didn't know any better, and the fear and guilt and anger and sadness just built and built until we were unable to see a friend smile at us without expecting something bad to follow. It wasn't their fault.
God and this hurts even
more because I KNOW we have friends now, don't we? A few, at least? But I don't know how to
deal with friends, even though I love them, what do I do to be a friend in return, that I
can do? I'm so scared of having to perform again. I'm so scared of conditional friendships. But I love them, I do, just knowing they exist, the doubts kill me, do they really care? Am I going to scare them away, by accident? Why am I even
doubting them? I have so little faith in my ability to
be a good friend, I guess, after all these years. I'm so sad, so sorry, so angry, for
their sake. I'm not always a good friend to
myself and it breaks my heart because I don't want that bleeding onto other people anymore.
This is idiocy. This is why I'm suicidal. See all that idiocy? All that whining? It's stupid. Day after day. It's ridiculous.
This body is a waste. It is too abused to function anymore.
The family says our saving grace is that we're "pretty." When we're suddenly
not "pretty," well, no one really cares anymore. Once you're ugly you just get pity.
Crying isn't pretty. Scars aren't pretty. Even something as innocuous as fluffed-up hair isn't pretty. We must always be pretty, they say.
We stopped hormones for close to three months because the family suddenly decided that "it's causing all your problems!" Magically, the problems we'd had for years upon years suddenly became visible to them now that we were on "medicine" that was
helping. First time in a decade the dysphoria starts to abate, we're happy, then reality slams in-- now what? We're visibly trans, can we handle the prejudice? Suddenly we're an adult, can we cope with the memory loss, with the abruptness of this new life situation? We were stressed, but deep down we were
happy, we were finally reaching some truth outside. But the family said no. Stop the hormones. They're causing all this trouble. I don't like the smell. I don't like the way you're acting now. We tried to compromise but the guilt got so choking we stopped. Miserable, but feeling too selfish to pursue our own happiness, we stopped. Then some of the changes
reversed. That day we went out into the car and someone screamed and sobbed for about an hour and then I don't remember the rest of that week because we were trying not to be an asshole and kill the body.
It's much, much harder to cope when the dysphoria
comes back unannounced after being
gone for the first time in
years-- and dissociation making it so you don't actually
remember what it was like back then.
After two months of awful anxiety surrounding expired prescriptions and ineligible meds we finally started the hormones again, now it's just patience waiting for them to kick back in, and skill dealing with the fear when the family tells us "they're
making you sick and depressed" when I can't remember what it was like to
not be on hormones in the first place.
Are they right? If I hope it'd be worth the risk even then, is that stupidity? Is that a moral challenge I failed?
I don't want to be weak. I don't want to commit suicide because they said that means we "weren't strong enough" and "we failed" and "we weren't worthy of living in this blessed time" etc.
God I am
so scared, I am
so tired, living isn't easy either when every day is like
this.
We can't eat. We can't exercise yet. We can't go out, the body is terrifying, the family is distant, we are isolated almost all day. Solitary confinement gets to you after a while, you know? All the silence, stuck in a small place, week after week after week,
still being terrified that you are "too selfish" and striving to make yourself into what the "people online" say.
How do
they know? Why do they have all
these magic intuitive visionary powers and knowledge, and I don't? What am I missing, what's
wrong with me, that I need THEM to tell me what to do?? Even when I only freaking FOUND them because their articles MATCHED my personal experiences?????
2011 was marked as "blissful" right up until the hideous,
hideous hack hell in the second half of the year. The first half of the years was nonexistent. But there was a bit, somewhere in the summer, that somehow cemented itself as "transcendent" and God if WE were able to tap into that…
"We." That awful
cursed word. We're just
freaks, is all. We're
fake and we're freaks. We've had other people with D.I.D. tell us that. We're faking it. We're making this up.
Sometimes I wish it were true, I wish it would just
stop, all the hell would stop too. I often try to force it all to stop. Why do you think there have been so many reset attempts, so many bluescreens, so many glitches, so many numb periods, so much slippage? It's exhausting. We keep wanting it all to just f
inally stop so we attempt psychological suicide.
But then life gets even emptier, as STUPID as that is. All of a sudden life becomes grey and empty and dull. Now, what to do but the daily grind? Sleep and eat and work and do what you're told. That's it! Wash rinse and repeat, over and over, and then LO AND BEHOLD, one terrible evening you get HACKED because the dissociation and self-abuse got
just that bad, and then all of a sudden there are RETRIBUTORS in the bathroom cutting even deeper lines into the legs.
And in those moments I find myself,
always, ALWAYS, sobbing with
joy.
It's stupid, it's so STUPID, but there it is.
After so long of
nothing, I'd throw myself to the
dogs if it meant Laurie would fish me out. I'd let everyone in the country use me as they wished if it meant Wreckage and Razor would be following my ass, furious and battle-ready. I'd do anything, I'd endure
anything, if it would mean this numb drudgery would
stop and we could
be, WE could be, that blessed terrible word-- I would do
anything.
And that scares me because I am tempted to say "No exceptions." I've
never said that. There are too many awful "anythings" I could be forced to do. But really, I would pay in my own blood if that was their price.
That's the story of this System in a nutshell, I suppose.
Another night, another retelling of this same open wound of a topic.
I don't know how to fix it.
I don't know how to fix it. This IS a cry for help now, okay? Yeah it's asinine, yeah I feel dumb and weak for it, but right now I'm just so crushingly
sad that I don't care. I'm asking for help and if that means I deserve a kick in the face then okay. I'll take the broken nose. I know I'm a bad kid and I should be punished. But I'm too sad to care. Right now I need help.
I don't know how to fix this.
I… I dream of a day when this body will
feel good, and clean, and holy. It's been
years since it's felt worth anything.
I don't want to disgrace this family anymore. I don't want to be
afraid of everyone inside because I feel so
filthy, so utterly
wrong and disgusting that if they showed up at my door
right now, I would collapse in the bitterest tears
ever shed because I would probably close that door in their face. I would close it out of
shame, out of such profound and crushing
shame that I, this whore, this
pig, this scrap heap of filth and sin and ugliness, this
reject, would DARE to exist around such perfect things. God I am
so sorry for existing. I want to be a light again, I want to be a hope-bringer again, as we were once, so so long ago, we didn't lose it, we couldn't have.
How do I "forgive myself" for this when "forgiveness" still feels like "justification" for me? How do I "forgive" this body for being such a wretched pile of filth without giving it permission to perpetuate that?
All I've ever known is, if you want something to change, you hurt it until it does. That was the method. Kid not behaving? Slap 'em around a few times. Terrify them. Shout at them. Get them so afraid, that misbehaving becomes terrifying too. That’s how it works.
But if you kick a flower for not growing, it dies.
What the heck is the difference? I don't know what it's like to be a flower. If I wasn't growing even after I was watered they'd
still cut me down. I'd be a waste of their time, a waste of space. That's how it is, right?
I don't know what I'm doing. Let me try to organize the ugly thought that's trying to express itself here.
Remember when we used to have "inspiring" entries? Back when the System was real, and love was real, and dreams were bright?
I don't. I am so sad, but I don't remember.
It's funny. We forgave ner totally, but those words stuck like hooks in our brain.
At one point, we were someone they loved too. Where did we go wrong?
I still say, it's because they needed someone else, who wasn't with them at the moment. So I was a placeholder, for them both. Once that place was filled, I was no longer needed. So I can leave with grace now, realizing they never really needed
me, they just missed someone
else so much-- or
needed someone else so much-- that I was like a painkiller, for a while. Just an aspirin to take the edge off. Now they don't hurt anymore and so I am unnecessary, which is perfectly fine.
It's funny though. I say all that and with all sincerity,
I don't know who they are. Any of them! I have no memories, just a data strand that says "we knew them once, they were "friends" once, we are still having trouble managing the sudden collapse of that."
Why, I know why. It's because "they" are
also described as "the ONLY people downstairs who
knew about us, and
cared about us." That made them invaluable. So… to suddenly and completely
lose that, to have 5 years of
someone knows I exist to suddenly "hey, no you don't, you were a terrible person, "guess we were wrong" about you being so nice after all!" It hit like a torpedo to the chest and we never really healed from it. The doubt never, ever went away.
Are we really that… bad? Are we really that malevolent on the inside? Are we really just an awful influence sugarcoating itself, and leading people astray? How can we tell?
Since then I've been an aching awful mess, I don't know how to reconcile this. I feel that everything I've ever felt and seen and said was a
lie, even if I didn't realize it at the time.
I am so, so happy that they're all happy now. But the ache has nothing to do with them. It is, seeing them so joyous, and realizing that
I do not exist anymore, in comparison to them. It's like watching a movie. The people in the movie, and the people watching it, are totally separate. But only the watchers can love the characters, not the other way around. They can never touch, ever. That's what this feels like. There's no bitterness, there's just this
knowledge that I can never be part of their world. I'm fine with that. I'm not fine with the feeling of nonexistence it causes.
That is so hard to put into words. It's… for 5 years they were the ONLY people in the WORLD,
literally, just two people, who knew who I was and who knew who WE were and who
cared. Then it stopped dead. Almost overnight that entire time period that was "too good to be true" just… collapsed. I don't even know
how. Who the heck bunked with them? What did they
do? Who manned this body in 2012 and did
what to them, for that consequence to occur??
All I know is that the separation was paired with the sentiment that "we were wrong about you all along" and…
Since then I've doubted everything. That's all I'm trying to say.
...Oh God that is terrible. I just realized. What if ne
reads this, I don't want ner feeling
guilty over that, there's nothing to feel guilty about. What do I do, do I still publish that? I can't lie, I need to express it, I'm not mad or sad or bitter at
them, never-- I can't go back, I don't even want to, it's been to long, I don't
remember anything-- but what did we do? What did we do? I want to fix
that somehow, I want to heal THAT, I want to somehow scrub out all the pain and hurt we somehow left on them, I want to know that the thought of us brings NO pain to their hearts. I am so sorry, I don't even know what I'm sorry for, I just want this to be well, I just want you to be well.
Someone loved you.
They did. I don't know who they were, we can't find them, I don't know what they said or did but there is a resonance, of the way they genuinely thought of you, and it was true. I want to say that, at least, for everyone we once knew out there. You were loved, we didn't lie. They just... disappeared, and the people who I guess you met later didn't know or remember that well. But I can see it there. I hope that means something, if only to patch up some aches, to clear up some confusion. There's a lot of confusion here for me at least.
I don't want there to be blind spots and bruises in your memory because of us. It's not fair to you. You have my blessing I guess, for what it's worth. For whatever you gave us, for whoever you were to us, thank you.
Geez even saying
that feels selfish because it's something
I said.
On that note, I don't want to be a bad person. But I'm so
ashamed of all the self-promoting garbage that gets posted here.
"Listen what a good day I had!" "Let me tell you about how much I like life!"
And why am I so
bitter over it? Because I'm convinced it's
fake. …Or at least, I'm scared to admit it might
not be. Because… because if people in this System really
are happy, the
real kind of happiness… I don't know.
I'm angry because I see the darkness too. I see that we
are a horrible influence on people still. Look at me, look at all this angsty typing. I'm a bad influence, no one wants me around their kids or families, I'm the one they kick out on the street! Not Jay, not that kid who
can't be bad, to the point where he drags everyone ELSE into pain. What irony. And that's why I'm angry, because I'm
sad, I'm so unbearably
sad, he exists because we NEED that, we NEED someone who CAN'T be touched by that awful sadness, someone who CAN somehow, inexplicably, impossibly, tap into genuine joy even in the face of death and NOT be tormented in the process.
Jay
doesn't get hacked. People
try, always it seems, but he gets kicked out too fast. Problem is then
other people get hacked. And he can't bear it when he finds out,
if he finds out. It's not really his fault, not really. He just tries too hard to bring light
everywhere, even to the guillotine, forgetting that the blade's gonna drop either way. Malevolent forces follow him, like the Plague, yes that was a terrible pun but it's true. He's the target because he's a testament to what they are NOT, to what they CAN'T touch and ruin, and they want him dead. But even after all these resets, even after how many times he's been shattered, he's STILL around somehow. And that makes me so so sad, to see him
unaware of this nightmare, and for me to WANT him to be unaware of it all, because he's
hope in some weird stupid way, hope that we're
not evil, hope that this painful life situation
isn't the endgame, hope that there's
more to life than what I feel.
When we tap into headspace, we touch something bright and real, every time. Even when we're sad. Even for me. I realize that now. Even now, with this body sick and the head hurting, even with the reality of the family collapsing about us, even with us not knowing what tomorrow will bring… tapping into headspace, even for a moment, catches me
in the moment, and… for a second, everything is bigger on the inside. Suddenly there's
more. Even if I can't see it, I can feel it there, some greater experience, and God
I wish that could stay, I want it to stay, PLEASE let that be the right thing for us, somehow… somehow, somehow, PLEASE,
don't let it be wrong. There's too much
love there, just in the
fabric of it, not the romantic bilge this physical space keeps throwing at us even now… no, there's
real love in headspace, compassion, something that language doesn't express. It's stupid. It's so stupid. I feel like an idiot saying this, all fancy childish dreams and ideals. But no one's laughing at me this time. They're standing back, staring at me with a mix of anger and fear, and they won't say a word.
I don't want to be part of it, personally. I couldn't. It'd kill me, I think. Too much. But if my job is to work this body, then at
least let me
know it's
there, at least let me
touch it for God's sake, it's the only light I've got, is knowing
that exists alongside
this.
I don't know what to do. This is all I
can do, this typing stuff. I'll switch out at some point, probably, something I won't experience or remember, but I'll be gone. I hope someone good comes in and gives this poor stupid broken body a rest.
I… if this life was all there was, then yes, I would want to die. If that fighting in the kitchen was all there was, I'd want to die. If I had nothing to live for but the daily grind, then I'd want to die.
It's hard, even now, feeling all that rage and desperation and screaming teeth-emotion from them. It gets in and sticks and it hurts.
But that's not all there is.
There's more somewhere, something clearer, something I wish, something-- God, I
wish I could reach--
