angst. that's what defines my life. and solitude is my only resort. people have a habit of leaving me, don't they. and the habit of making me cry. but don't worry. i AM getting used it. and don't go to that family bull. family's not helping either. they're the reason why i'm messed up in the first place. ah, well.

i simply cannot understand why things can't work out as i want them to. this only means one thing: i am normal. and sad. and sometimes alone. but hey, am i complaining? HELL no.

hell no.

do i have the right to complain? i don't think so. i don't. and never will have any right to. i'm the eldest. i do not have the luxury of complaining.

come to think of it (while my dad was babbling a lot of things behind my back), ii realized that i was - since the beginning - not in my right place. heck, what is a home? never felt i was in one. it always felt like a lodge house for me. continues to be.

i just wish things were different for me. not this pressuring. not this sad. not this hurting. but who's complaining? me?

hell no.

i'm talking a walk around the city tonight. because i don't know what to say. which facade am i going to use when i come back home? how long has it been since i've actually felt happy? has it been that long?

hell no.

selfish i am? (starting to speak like yoda) i guess i am. unfair? hell yah. afraid? all the time. evil? forever. but where does this life lead to? how should i know? it's just taking me for a ride. a long one.

can i take it? no choice. i have to. but i might just try what ectar suggested. getting my adrenalin flushed. sitting on the middle of the road at night, while waiting for a truck to hit me, seems promising. am i crazy?

you bet i am.