Dear Not-So Anonymous Reader,

Second Day on the Job

June 8th, 2016

It's 12:07 PM, the afternoon kind.

I didn't get anymore than about three and a half hours of sleep.  I am not tired. I hadn't bothered to change into my night clothes. My blanket once cradled me in my unsure sorrows, but now it just lies there, emotionless.

It's my second day on this job. It feels like an eternity. I want to be fired. I want to quit. This is not a job one is ever expected to quit, ever. There are no promotions. There are no paydays, checks, nor are there any rewards.

No matter how much my mind, nor my heart, and what the hell else ever tells me this is unfair, I know it is the right thing to do. She is herself. I couldn't change anything before - I can't do it now.

But what really messes with me is how I sent her away, for the better. It wasn't elegant like the first embarking of a ship. It didn't glide past calm waters. It was like throwing a boulder off a damn cliff. It was too much. She can no longer be my friend.

And I couldn't stick to her, because I knew I held her back. She is a glistening white dove, just so marvelous. I had to open the cage and let her fly away, let her be free. I had to scare her off, so she was sure not to come back.

Yeah, I know I'm restating stuff over and over, but written words are just shapes. You really can't feel the author, because if you did, you're probably schizophrenic and may have fallen through the wrong dimension.

I'm stuck here. That's all there is to it. I can't die, because it's just the same thing on the other side, providing there is one. It's not like I'm having to endure an abusive environment, nor am I having to deal with life after the mortal loss of a beloved. Those have the simple solution of self inflicted death. Because you're beloved is waiting in heaven for you. Or that heaven is a safe place for all.

I've got work to do within the next half an hour, I can sense it. Every day for those two years, like I said before, I told myself to keep moving forward. There's light at the end of the tunnel right?

No. Just fucking no.

I have a massive headache near my forehead. I want to cut that chunk of my head off. I feel my eyes are crossing, and my hands are becoming slightly more jittery. It's like someone shoved an air compressor hose up my nose and pumped my skull to 100 PSI.

I still lack any craving to eat. I don't have an appetite. I may drink some water or even take some pain killers with it to coax my headache to sleep. If only they had pain killers for the infinitely aggressive pain I feel grinding my insides. It's right in the middle of my body, below my chest. It belongs to no single part of my anatomy.

It's all just the same fuckin' thing, over and over again, Al.

I remember the first day I saw her. She walked into the room, looking hysterically in-humble. Something "clicked" (Yeah, I ain't got nothin' better to express this with. I could use other words, but words just don't work they way you want them to.) in me. I didn't know what the heck it was, and it stayed under my radar for a few weeks. She was a very sweet person, who could speak so clearly with her voice, and stay down to earth with her definitive yet reasonable vocabulary. She says that's the old her. In truth, I don't think she's changed entirely - I can't see her as becoming a little "less dignified", I mean after all, she does still routinely go to church with her family, and to the library to read as well.

"Please stop. Please just fucking stop,"

But I never, ever saw her swear. She was so docile and reasonable. She loved to read her books and enjoyed participating in events and what-nots. Deep inside it scares me. What does she really mean by this?