Jesus fuck, I haven't posted in a long time.
I kinda lied about why I made this blog. I guess I want help... I'm out of places to turn to.
That's the hardest handful of words I've ever had to type.
Anyway.
Since we last talked, Ian turned 16, I smoked a lot of weed, I turned 16, I lost my virginity, I tried to kill myself on Alex's birthday, and then Ian abandoned me.
I started talking to this new guy, Andy. Andrew. Over the three months we were together, I fell in love with him. Phone calls every night, staying on the line until we woke up for school, him listening through the phone as I slept, cute little inside jokes.
"You talk a lot of shit."
I ruined it, all of it.
Something my mom said to me the other day... "You shouldn't be crying this hard. Nobody cries like that unless somebody died."
Way to belittle my feelings, mother.
What I had with Andy was amazing... something new, a different kind of slow, patient love.
I love him.
...
You know something I've never done?
I've never ever ever never ever broken a promise.
That was something I told Alex I'd never do.
That's why Andy is so mad at me. I broke a promise I made to him. Also, I let Alex down. So.
Alex gave me this key, a little decorative jewelry-looking one, that never really unlocked anything. He used to wear it all the time. I believe it was December 31st, 2009, that he gave me that, on a chain. Since that night, I have never taken it off. I've always worn it around my neck. The chain he gave me with it has been replaced a few times, but it's the key that counts.
Last night, when Andy ended it all, I downed a shitload of dramamine. Passed out at 11 pm, woke up at 2 pm this afternoon. Went to Andy's, sat on his porch swing, and I told him I'd fix this.
He said he didn't see how.
I took off my key, Alex's key, and gave it to him.
He didn't want to take it. He tried to give it back. I'll probably find it in my car after school tomorrow.
Come Saturday, he'll find it on his porch.
Come Sunday, Andy's 18th birthday, I'll find it back in my car, and this will continue until he gives up and keeps the damn thing.
Or until I'm no longer alive to find it hanging from my rearview mirror, sitting on my dash, or laying in my black-shag driver's seat.
After all this, I realized something.
Alex is gone, for which I partially blame myself. Ian is gone, and this happened because I chose Andy over him. Now Andy's gone, because I broke a promise-- my personal moral foundation of honesty and of everything that is good and just in this world. I realized two things here:
1. I can't do a goddamn thing right. Everything I touch explodes, and I'm left to trudge through the aftermath with plenty of scars. Is it even worth it?
2. I had no one to call. No one. Not one person would answer the phone. I've called Alex's number plenty of times, annoying the piss out of some guy named Michael who has his cell number now. Every time I call Ian I end up in tears. Andy answers for a fraction of a second, then closes his phone. I'm not going to sit down and explain the entire situation to anyone else, because no one else is close enough.
I read somewhere once that suicide is the result when the pain exceeds the resources available to cope with that pain. Look who's run out of coping resources.
I wonder how many of these pills will kill me?
Dramamine will fuck your shit up if you take 10.
What if you take 50?
60?
I guess we'll see.
Forever yours,
Alex
