At some point, your memories, your stories, your adventures, will be the only things you'll have left.

I can manage my own pain. I can drink. I can go to the doctor and get a prescription. I can exercise. I can write a story about it. I've done it a million times! But I don't want to see the people I love tortured and suffering.

I'm sorry if this all seems a little rushed and desperate. It is.

Nothing feels as awful as pouring your heart out to some talk therapist, then realizing this so-called professional is actually vastly stupid and you've just professed your most secret secrets to some goon who's wearing one brown sock and one blue sock.

There is nothing special in the world. nothing magic. just physics.

Hey, you created me! I didn't create some loser alter-ego to make myself feel better. Take some responsibility!

Since change is constant, you wonder if people crave death because it's the only way they can get anything really finished.