Italian

A Good Friend

Sunday Evening:

I felt like I was in a dream.

It was one of the best days I had ever experienced.

I went to bed, first checking out RB's newest chapter.

...

Something ticked.

It wasn't anger.

It wasn't sadness.

I didn't know what it was.

But it felt like it was my fault.

And she hated me.

I started to think it was my fault.

[[It was, Alex. You couldn't change yourself, that's why you did this to yourself.]]

No, stop.

Now.

[[Haha, no. :D]]

I jumped from my bed and punched my bed out of hatred of myself.

If it wasn't for me being this, hornified, judgemental, lying pile of sh*t, I'd probably be a good person.

That was how I felt, at least.

...

And I felt it the entire night.

Monday Morning:

I woke up like sh*t, forgetting everything that happened. I remembered how great of a day me and RB had yesterday, I wond-

Oh.

Right.

What am I supposed to do?

...

Well?

[[Nah, f*ck you, you're on your own.]]

...

((You're not, actually))

Where have you been?

((You should've thought on the bright side, I can't be there unless you do.))

You're right.

[[...]]

And what do you want, Brian?

[[Wanna vent? >;)]]

...

((Ok, he might be right. She needs the truth on how you feel, so he has to be a necessity.))

...

Fine.

And so I wrote.

And I wrote.

And wrote.

Wrote.

Until 8 am.

((Now, what are you going to do?))

Well...

I said it as I wrote it.

"I'm going to ask for her help

Because i dont even think il be able to live with myself if i dont speak up and say that i need her help if im ever gonna stop.

And also eventually get myself a therapist.

But for now, she is the one who made me realize im like this.

I hope that means that she can help me too."

((That's one step the ways there.))

Ok.

You're right though, this isn't the end damn it, I'm not just gonna give up.