I Am Damaged

Eskimo

You don't get it, do you? Society nods it's head at any horror the American Teenager can think to bring upon itself. Nobody's going to care about exact handwriting.

I get those dreams a lot. J.D and I are faking another suicide, it's probably a Heather. He'll give me some crap he's been perfecting about how what we're doing is fine and it'll all fix itself up soon enough. I'll know he's lying but still go along with it. I wonder if Heather was his first kill. Was I just one in a long line of girls he'd gotten to believe his ways?
I'm not crazy, I swear to god I'm really not. I just happen to hear voices. Sometimes it's me, and things from my point of view, but most of the time it's J.D's voice. Telling me what to do, how I'm wrong, how I'm right. He's supposed to be dead but he's still managing to control my life. Sometimes I hear Heather, Kurt or Ram, though I've learned to block those three out.
I just want J.D back. At the time it wasn't ideal, but he knows who I am. He wouldn't mind if I ran far away just to escape seeing anybody from Westerburg ever again.
I understood Veronica more than you did.
I don't have a purpose anymore, I'm not going to write the next bestselling novel, or change the world, am I? If only I could do some weird freaky shit to bring people back from the dead. I wouldn't save Heather even if I'd win 5 million dollars.

I enjoy solitude most of the time. It just gets to me at night, when feeling somebodys warm embrace feels like a faint memory. I regret being such a bitch to him. I should have understood why he was doing everything. It's all my fault. Again.

But you didn't come up with the ideas. Not smart enough, are you?