I'm sick.

I really am.

I don't know what I'm becoming.

Well actually. I do. I'm becoming a contradiction. I'm a creature that's being pulled in two directions and it's killing me.

I want to die, but I can't because I know that sadness. I know what my parents will feel, and I still love them enough never to put them through that. I feel this need to hurt myself because nobody else will. Everyone tries to help me. I feel like I need someone to beat me.

I hate drug users. I still do. But every day I look at them and understand why they do it. Why they would want to trade their brain for those few hours of bliss. But now I think "Wow. How amazing would it be to forget about the world right now."

I love to learn. I hate school.

I want to fit in. I hate our society.

I want to be on their level. I hate the way they think.

I want to achieve. I don't want to play by their rules.

I want to write. I hate that it makes me conform to something.

I love life. I hate how it's 2D.

I want to be strong. I hate my strength.

I love everyone. I hate everyone.

I need help. I hate people being concerned about me.

I feel better. I feel numb, and like shit. But at least I'm still here right? I'm still in one piece. Any bleeding I have, is of my soul. And I've realized. The world couldn't give two shits about your soul. It really can't. All the world cares about is what you produce. And if you can't, you're thrown away. If you're ready to jump off the edge of a building, it doesn't matter, as long as you keep producing. In the long run. As long as it doesn't affect your performance NOBODY COULD CARE

That's what my parents told me. They say that I just have to keep working. Because I'll just be replaced. And those are the rules. I have to shine, or somebody else will shine in front of me. It doesn't matter if I hate myself. Somebody else who doesn't hate them self will just replace me. I wont get anywhere if I don't keep working. And it doesn't matter if I don't want to work. It doesn't matter if I feel like I can't work. It doesn't matter if I'm sick. It doesn't matter how I feel about the person I'm working for. All that matters is that I do work.

So

Since today is the eve of my birthday, here's what I'm going to do.

I say Fuck You School

I say Fuck You Society

I'm going to prove everyone of you wrong

By playing by your rules

And then.

I'm going to make my own. And I'm going to make you play by them.

They said it's like Kempo. So like Kempo, I'm going to do this. I'm going to work and work, until it hurts. I'm going to work until it feels like I can't move. I'm going to work until I actually can't move. And hopefully by the time I can't move. My work will be done.

My inside. This small thing that doesn't know who it is yet. Oh it's probably going to suffer. It suffers already. So obviously it's going to suffer. I'm going to have regular breakdowns, in which like a few days ago I will litterally stop functioning physically.

Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday dear Charlie. Happy birthday to me.

Did I forget to mention I'm still eight? Oh but there's no point in saying that. He should've just stabbed himself. I'm 17 now. I do homework on time! I do everything in advanced! I'm the perfect son! I'm the perfect student! I'm the perfect doll!

"Charlie. Tomorrow is you birthday. Make it a day of rebirth. Do things right." Conform to what others think.

Out~