Tired.

"Am I talking to a wall? Am I talking to myself? I'm looking in this mirror, and all I see's a mess."

I'm tired of asking for help.

I'm tired of begging for people to help me, for people to give me aid, because I know that they don't really want to help. Not really. I'm just a nuisance in their lives; I always have been.

I guess... I guess this is my last cry for help. My last try at hoping that there are people who do care about me. People who'll keep checking up on me, making the first attempts at starting conversations.

People who actually give a shit about me still being here, besides a one-off speech about how every life is special, about how I mean so much to them, about how many people I'd hurt...

Yeah. Right.

The same people who never contacted me before, and then doesn't contact me after their little speech is over? The same people who never gave a rat's ass about my well-being, until I forced my problems onto them?

Sure.

I'm making excuses to go on.

After the Winter Break trip. (Because I'm one of the two people responsible for renting the car)
After he's come here and left. (Because I'm fairly sure he's bought the tickets already, so he'd have just wasted money, if I'm not here)
After she has people she can talk to, people she can squeal and fangirl with, people she can gush her love and adoration of him to. (Because she's so close over the edge, and this is among the last things that's keeping her here)

These excuses are all I have left.

And they're running out.

Salut,
~J