I'm craving water like never before. I need more places to go that remind me of how beautiful the world can be. I'm starting to forget. There was that first California sunset... Petting an elephant... The first time my stomach dropped from a roller coaster... Wet grass on bare feet... It's not enough anymore.

Sometimes it just hurts so bad. And I can't talk about it. I can't talk about it with anyone, how much it hurts. I find myself falling to pieces every time and I have to hide it. I will say that I do that well enough, hide. I've always been good at that. I so easily disappear, or block out the tears welling up inside the edges of my eyes, smile instead of scream when there are too many closed ears around me. I hate the thought of this but sometimes it feels like the world is kind to everyone but me. I give it this, at times, the world has been overly kind to me, but why is it that everyone around me seems to have everything all figured out while I'm left drowning in the kiddy pool all alone, all of a sudden? My loneliness is astounding. And I always knew it to be true in some way, but these days I fully understand the concept of the fact that I am destined to die alone. Every man does, right?

I had this beautiful image of myself the other day. I sat alone outside before a dying campfire. Stars bright and by the millions in the sky. That night I would sleep and it would rain and the rain would freeze and so would I. I don't think I'd mind freezing to death in my sleep.

I can't write anymore. I haven't written a story in months. I haven't been inspired in months and sadly I don't see that changing any time soon. My college education was a gamble from the start and based on my life thus far, post graduate, it was a complete waste of time, energy and a fuck-ton of money. How is a lazy son of a bitch like me supposed to get anywhere when I hold all the cards. I've never been much of a gambler. I'm a week's sanity away from walking into a chain bookstore and asking for an application and re-uping my drug intake. I probably wouldn't hate my life anymore than I do now, and at least I'd have a job and drugs. But I guess part of me still has hope. I wish I could kill it off.

Hope does nothing for me, nothing but scar. It's hope that keeps me awake at night. It's hope that gives me a reason to get out of bed everyday. It blinds me to reality and the reality of today is that I have a lot, but nothing that means much of anything to me. I sincerely believe that if I can't write, I'm nothing but my question is:

is a life without love worth living?

Because I don't think I'm capable of it anymore and if I am I don't think I want to be tested again. I don't know if I could survive, and considering my insiders knowledge of this last "experience" I don't think I'd want to. It would give me cause for instant slitting of the wrists to save myself the months of depression I'd be doomed to endure otherwise.

But I shouldn't have said most of this. Fuck the fact that this is my only outlet. I feel more censured now than ever... I wish I could be mean or just brave and end everything one way or another. I wish I could find something to justify, one way or another. I wish I could cut those last few strings that hold my head up, fall dead and be left, disappear and be forgotten. I'm sure the few that might miss me would get over it.

I'm done here.