Important Note: This is a continuing work of fiction. See Part 1 for full disclaimer.
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Fuck. The party is a total bust. Ryan ignores me half the night, and spends the rest of the time trying to stick his hand up my shirt. He gets totally wasted, and pukes into the barbecue. This really pisses off the carnivorous fascist meat-eating fucks. There's a thought - as a vegetarian, are you within your rights to eat puke? Doesn't really matter I suppose. I'm veggie, but I eat fish. And chicken. Bacon sometimes, if I'm in the mood. But never beef. So anyway, the barbecue burns Ryan's puke, and everyone has to leave, because of the smell. Other people start puking, it gets worse, total fucking disaster. Still, fun time had by all, etc etc. Not.
I have to walk home, which is like, nearly half a mile, because Ryan's passed out in his car. Fucking men. Who needs them? God, I love him so much. Good looking bastard.
Get home, find my mom in the kitchen with a cop. She's called the fucking cops because I didn't tell her where I was. She starts crying, going "Oh, my baby, I thought I'd lost my baby" - in front of the fucking cop! I'm so embarrassed, I can't even speak. She's like, why didn't you let me know you were going to a party? She is so uncool. The cop starts lecturing me on responsibility and shit like that. Yeah, right, what does he know? Like he could have any idea of what I'm going through, the pain and misery I have to face daily in the eternal Shakespearean tragedy that is my life. I just look at them, and shake my head. I can't even talk to these people, I have nothing in common with them.
Lock myself in my room, and write another poem:
Lost in a maelstrom
Wasteland that passes for a soul
Black skies
Shreds of my dignity lie tattered
in the rain
Fragile hopes and dreams are shattered
On the cold, hard rock of reality
My life goes on
When will it end?
When will it end...
I add the poem to my scrapbook of pain. When it is published, hopefully people all over the world will finally understand. The greatest tragedy of my life is not the misery, the depression, but that nobody will ever understand what I'm going through. It's just impossible.
Spend the rest of the night listening to my Stabbing Westward CDs, and crying.
Consider suicide. Decide to give it one more day...
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