I remember a troubling memory to this day. The old house that I use to live; There was hole in the roof that was the size of a fist. If you followed the trajectory of that hole through the window...you can tell where my uncle stood as he killed himself....shot himself. I remember being in his blood. I remember the smell. People tell me to cheer up, chin up or feel better. If that shit happened to them would they feel the same? Say the same shit? I feel that I am the only person who feels this way. Most people mock me, make fun of me. Troisonyx, Template, Lintire...so many other faggots....I use to care. But I realize....If I am planning to die...does any of that matter? No matter how long I live, I will never forget. These memories come unbidden. At this point...love is alien to me....foriegn. It be nice to sleep and never wake up.