Prax's journal- some 3 years later
#13 of Struggle
A journal of the long-forgotten character, Prax (Man i should really change that name. :x), writing his feelings to describe the past few years of absence.
Sometine in may, 2013.
Yet another night has gone by as the clock marks the passage of what we humans call a "day." Is space-time continuum real, is time something we humans made up to keep track and have order? We have debated it before, neither of us (or anyone in my opinion) are qualified enough to give a definite answer. For none can answer the simple question of- what IS time? Is it something that started with the big bang and is somehow counted in the 4th or 5th dimensions that the things may happen in sequence? Or are things chaotic and us humans, being what we are, like to put labels on everything and made this "clock"? Alas I stray again; sighs do not come just like my tears. I do enjoy the hours spent with you, the hours of countless topics, most of them trivial, some of them important, but a lot of them...repetitive. As much as I hate to say it, you and I both know the subjects we discuss are rather...worn-out. I don't say things to you a lot lately because...I've said them before. "I feel empty..." or "I'm feeling rather low..." or some variation of such.
I fear to disappoint you, I fear to drive you away. I wish to make you happy, and then I wonder if I am really selfish as my past tells. Who am I? age of twenty-two, nothing of remarkable to jut forward like the proverbial genitalia like most others. I have tried at the job things, but I've failed. I've tried at the military, albeit unwillingly, but failed. Both decisions, though you will argue it wasn't my fault, were made by me. I decided to not show up. I decided to quit going to drills. No matter the reason, I alone pulled the trigger. As I walk these dark nights, eyes blurred with fatigue, unable to see much even with these glasses- I cannot help but feel...very, very empty. Sure I shall be moving in a couple weeks' time, sure I will be somewhere else. Sure it will be a new beginning, and ,most of all, I will be with you. Regardless of all that...I cannot help but wonder: Will I succeed? Environment and love does not change. Ultimately the decision will be up to me. Am I up for that? Am I ready? Or am I even...do I even deserve to? I've taken so much from others, gave so little back. Of course some part of me, as well as you, will point to those that I "helped" online. But alas, they are people I have never met, will never meet and in my self-worth-measurement, nonexistent. What I cannot feel is the desire. Purpose. Every day passes like the last since last year. Although admittedly it was about half a year ago I lost hope for the job market, especially after the same-morning-cancellation. It was...it hurt me more than I realized. I've argued with myself..."I don't wanna work...how can I make money..?" "I'm 22 and have nothing to say on the resume...I have skills with no proof" and "I'm just a burden..."
I wished to have that one lover. I always had a backup plan in everything...It dawned on me that I do not have a plan, that this time I really am taking a plunge- if you and I should not work out for any reason, I shall have nowhere else to go. Of course you will respond "that won't happen," and I would like to believe that, I really would. I want to see, hear and read something without the slightest of doubts. I want to believe. But I can't. This plunge will likely be my last...and should I meet the concrete, those most concerned will be my bank. It's sad to realize how alone you really are in the world, parents abandon you at birth, adoptive parents abuse you and scar you mentally. Then you start your lone journey from age of seventeen-and-a-half. All the way through the cold nights of Minnesota to the sweltering, tire-melting heats of South Carolina BCT. It all ends here, sitting up leaning against a comfy ten-dollar-chair with your tail lying out on the carpet, cleaning and packing in mind but procrastinating. I have long pondered the eventuality that if I died right this moment, it would take you months to find out, if not longer, my parents would never find out or give a damn (other than that they wouldn't have a Doctor son to be proud of) and I suppose the banks will be the first to be notified by the police and start repossessing my stuff. Ah how the money has corrupted this world, it's so filthy I don't even want to be a part of it, but alas the rent is due. You and I agree that money is just a number, but it does not grow on trees: currently I AM a burden to you, no matter what you say about it. What we want...the shenanigans we dream of...they all cost money, and I hate it. I do seriously doubt that I would be able to get a job once I move. And the military would be my only option, as we've spoken before- I could go back once I got in shape. But...I can't do much with a broken body and mind.
I have little desire to get up in the morning- you are what gets me out and in to bed. Soon as our appointed time comes, I bolt awake, I shove aside the shitty feelings that bind me from the nightmares and smile, be silly, chat with you for hours until you need to sleep yourself. Soon as you leave, the repressed feelings come and I immediately start to get tired. I don't feel like eating lately so I grow myself colder and eat, only to void myself of it immediately, perfectly knowing it would not help, but hoping it would help me get slimmer. Ah the tears threaten me again, but I know they will not come- they have not for many a years. The laughs I laugh, smiles I smile, *giggle*s I type...everything seems so fake. I Want to believe, smile, cry and mean it...just for once. I want my mind...to be empty, that's why I like sleep so much... but the more I waste away sleeping, more worthless my life feels. Of course I hope to see you and have all that change...deep inside it tells me I had already failed. I have tried, really have, to repress that voice-and it has worked pretty good as far as this issue, but nothing else. Every morning I wake up and decide "I should do this or that...give myself purpose" it never happens...
Just what I was born to be, just what I am., just what I will be with you by my side...I suppose I don't know, or hope for much. Death is a welcome gift I dare not give myself because I am much too afraid of the void-the nothingness. I know when you read it, whenever that be, it would hurt you but alas I write. I write to express, I write to ease the weight pressing down on my heart. The black empty heart that seeks rejuvenation, and the proper swiftmend, nourish rotation as we've discussed...*chuckle* I suppose it's about time to end this entry...The next one shall be after the 14-hour drive. I do hope it goes well...that nothing happens...that I make it. Until then...I love you. Please do not push me away...