The important thing is always to learn. It doesn't matter what you're reading, what you're doing, as long as you're learning. Life is made up of stories, so always make sure to take stock of everything around you, and anything interesting that happens. It may someday make for a good story. But if it doesn't, it was still a learning experience. So go out, learn, live, and make a story worth telling.
I feel like I’m being an emotional burden on everybody right now. Like that I’m actually incredibly annoying to be around, but once a person is stuck with me, they’re too nice to just tell me to fuck off, you know? Because that would make everything make sense. Why nobody ever calls me to hang out except for Aaron. I think he’s even doing it to be nice sometimes. I dunno. *shrugs* I go from numb, to wanting to cry, and back again constantly. It’s at completely random intervals, too. It doesn’t help matters any that I’m still completely terrified about moving back in with John. I didn’t cut before him, I only tried to commit suicide once before him, I was never hospitalized before him. I’m fairly certain that, while he’s not the source of my problems, he does make them far worse than they ever should have been. Whether he makes me pray for death every second I’m around him is on purpose or on accident, it still is.
Maybe I should learn to stop bugging people and to just keep to myself more. You know, get rid of AIM, stop trying to get people to call me and hang out. After all, I’ve learned that if I don’t constantly poke at a person, they forget that I exist ungodly quick. Everybody does. If there’s nothing blatant to remind them of me, I become not real. Just a memory. Maybe a memory of a memory. Unreal. Nonexistent. Never was. Seriously, if I stopped going online, if I moved away and stopped calling other people, after a few weeks, even a few days, I would no longer exist. I’d be wiped away, never having been. Are all people like that, or am I just special? I mean, I remember my friends when they’re not in my face. Why does nobody ever remember me? Maybe I don’t exist at all. Maybe I’m all part of somebody else’s dreams or something. A character in a novel that can be easily erased without the plot suffering at all. But if I’m not going to exist, I wish I’d stop being here. It’s far worse to not exist yet still be around, than it is to not exist in any way.
