i hate being sick. i know that's kind of an obvious statement, but goddamnit, i wanna complain. i hate that everything hurts and i can't breathe properly and i'm tired, but every time i try to sleep, i can't stop coughing. and i hate that every time i try to do something outlandish like move slightly or breathe, i feel like i'm about to pass out. my voice is shot to shit, and i feel like something crawled into my throat and died, which is more than a little unsettling, especially considering the fact that i don't eat meat. i'm so frustrated, i could scream. except for the part where i actually can't because my voice sounds like the rasp of the wind through dead leaves in autumn. hey, why don't murderers kill more people who are sick? they're too weak to fight back, they can't call for help, it's perfect!

so, yeah. i'm sick. i'm not really angry about it anymore. i get sick incredibly often, and it sucks, but i live with it. the walls keep on being in places other than where they are supposed to be. they are very sneaky. the psychopathic brain children are going off the fucking hook. i can't function correctly- they live for this shit. i'm so dizzy. and i'm so tired, but i can't fucking sleep.

you know, it's weird. they've been having times lately where they won't say anything for a long while, and i get really scared that i won't be able to hear them again. i know it's wacky. they want to kill me. well, maybe not me in particular, but they want to kill, and i'm the closest one around. they want to hurt me, but i still want them. when they go, i sit in my closet, in the dark, begging them to come back. it's so quiet without them, and i get so goddamned lonely. i don't like being around people, they scare me, but i'm so lonely.

usually, i can't see them. i can just hear them, but sometimes there will be a sort of presence, a kind of shadow, almost there. and i can feel them. last night i was having a conversation with Seven. I was having a bad day, and i was crying. she was at the end of my bed, just staring at me. after a while, i went to lay down and sleep. Seven started talking.

S: are you okay?
me: why are you asking?
S: i wanna hear you say it.
me: no. i'm not okay. happy now?
S: yes.
me: whoopdy fucking do
S: i could kill you tonight.
me: yup.
S: i could make you kill yourself.
me: undoubtedly.
S: but i won't.
me: why not?
S: you're not happy. i want you to be happy when i kill you.
me: thanks. 'night, Seven.
S: goodnight Frankenstein.
then i turned out the lights, and i swear the darkness hugged me. they care. they have a strange way of showing it, but they care.


xoxo
clara