I’m crying for the first time in a while, but I don’t feel sad. I don’t feel anything, actually, like I’m just a shell. My chest hurts; the sort of pain you feel when you think of an old memory. The only thing making me feel like I’m real. My hand is shaking; not from cold. Perhaps anxiety. The noises I hear aren’t really there, I don’t think, though they sound so real I doubt myself. All the memories this room holds, all of the flashbacks that are caused from being here, are slightly overwhelming. It seems all my thoughts are rather sad and dark; most about death, self blame. I don’t exactly want to die, though. I just don’t want to live. Perhaps that rope I burnt could’ve been helpful. Maybe next time, it can burn when tied around me? No, I shouldn’t. So many things I could do to hurt myself, but it would just result in hurting others. I guess, in order to please people, I need to stay. Well, it’s a shame, really, however I guess I’ll see where my life shall take me.114Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwl3Dov57q1
Penana
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