I feel like I am trapped in my own skin. I've fallen in love with one of my best friends and he is in love with me as well. My intentions remain the same. I don't want to live to end up with yet another broken heart. My OCD has me convinced my teeth and hair are going to fall out and that I'm becoming incontinent so, honestly, why in God's name should I even bother with this failed experiment I begrudgingly refer to as life when all I have to look forward to is decades of psychological anguish, shitty paying jobs, watching my family and friends die and the current owner of my heart eventually tiring of me and finding some arbitrary excuse to rip it out. I want to die knowing I was loved, at least at the peak of it. I want it to end like some extravagant whirlwind romance opera. I want to die before I end up stagnant in my own loneliness and being unable to do anything about it because I got lazy and chose to exist for its own sake. I want to end it before it ends me. By continuing to live I know what's to come and I refuse to face it—yet the unknowable is what brings me true comfort. At the very least I will sleep eternal. They say the only thing for sure is death and taxes and in the case of the former, I know that will never let me down. As for what happens after who can say? But there is no question of what I will be free of. I'm giving it six months. Exit March.
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