A lot has happened since I last wrote. I lost my love to another. And each day I contemplate death. I found the most amazing friend, and sometimes that’s all that keeps me going. I am getting ready for school again, I don’t know witch bothers me more the judgment, or the smell in the hallways. I guess that’s my little attempt at a joke. It probably failed but I’m the writer so I guess it doesn’t matter. I hope you took the last entry for what it was. Some times I read that entry and It helps knowing that things didn’t just end and that when she left me for another, it was not all negative. Some call it being dumped twice when u are dumped and cheated on, I call it slashing me with a chain saw and covering me with salt, But to each his own. I am back to writing now, and I hope you still enjoy reading. I don’t know how often these will be coming out, but I will write when ever I feel the urge. I think that’s what keeps people reading. This was Brake nothing more nothing less just A Brake.

I find as the twists and turns grow more and more frequent i will start to loose who i am, is that possible? I have lost peices of who i was, some good some bad but all part of life. I just don’t want to loose what i am whatever that is.

As I’m writing this installment in what i hope to be a long story i feel rage while i write for the first time. I hope this changes after i begin to write. I hope that as my fingers dance over my seemingly vast and endless keyboard it will massage the stress out of my brain that has been sitting there building for as long as i can remember. I am aware that it is not possible to rely on this alone to take away my stress but i can try. Each time i get upset i feel like i lose myself more and more. Each time my expectations get slashed down further and further. I remember being a child even then i had rage. I looked after my sick mother or tried. It was kind of like i was pretending that i was meant for more then  i really was. I always seem to look back on my past like i am searching for some great memory that i can go back to in my head to escape the pain of rage and stress. I have yet to find this memory. I hope that in writing one day i will find my place inside my head that i can escape to and the day i can will be the day i write my final chapter. One day i hope i will find my escape one day i hope this rage leaves my body. Until i find that escape i will sign off that was escape nothing more nothing less just escape. 

I’m writing sitting with the one i love for the first time. I feel better then the other days i have written i feel a strange sense of pride writing with someone else beside me especially someone i love. I know it seems like I’m gloating and i kind of am. I apologize if that offends anybody, but i enjoy writing about this so until someone takes the computer from my hands i will continue the way i do. I feel time moves faster every moment except when i type. It feels like even if i type pages the clock will only read that 10 minutes has gone by. I cannot tell if this is good or bad. Is writing a way to pass time? Or a way to run away from it? Today has been a mix of emotions happiness, anxiety, and depression. Of course happiness is what i feel now and the most powerful, but i am confused as to why the other emotions are still present. I feel like that each day i write i grow stronger inside. I can feel my thoughts flow onto the page and as i do i feel the anxiety of life go down… at least for now. I remind myself that this is just words on a page nothing more nothing less just words on a page. Anyways That was Happy nothing more nothing less just Happy.

Sitting here i realize that if i continue to write i continue to waste time. Do not expect for this story of plain boredom to be a message, or beacon of hope for the hopeless as i have said it is just words on a page. I seem to keep correcting what i have already written like i don’t trust myself to write anymore. I don’t seem to know much anymore but one thing remains true if i keep typing long enough things will start to make sense. I do not know what i will write about anymore, maybe i will begin to write about my life, maybe it will become fantasy or maybe poetry, either way i am the only one to decide that and that power is what keeps me writing. That was boredom nothing more nothing less just boredom.

Dear world this is me. I am not tall, big, strong, or smart i am in every essence myself. I do not know why i am writing i simply am. I do not know who will read this and for what reason. I don’t know if this will be on some website or behind a hard casing in some used book store in a year so far away that this text seems primitive, however i do know one thing today, this day right here i am me. I think that’s what writing is about showing those reading who you are ether directly or indirectly. This is not a cry for help or some way of saying goodbye it is just words on a page nothing more nothing less.