They asked me what I would do if I didn’t have my writing. Um, probably stay in bed all day crying I guess because everything hurts and yet at the same time I feel completely numb. Maybe you should see a doctor? They might be able to give you something. I’ve been to doctors and they gave me tablets but I stopped taking them because writing helps me in ways a tablet never came close. Still, there must be a reason you’re like this? They frown but I’m indifferent. Yes, there is. I don’t like being here and yet life is a gift so I document my journey the best I can. If I can help others who are the same, then I would’ve done some good with my life. There was a time when I wanted to give up and just drift away because I was tired of pretending I was like everyone else. I came quite close, as well. I put up these walls and never let anyone see who I really was- only what they wanted me to be. It felt like such a waste me being here, but I changed. I’m not sure exactly when, but there came a day when I looked forward to waking up because I wanted to write and I wanted people to read my words and feel as though they weren’t quite so alone because I’ve spent so long feeling alone and I know how it eats away at you. Even when I’ve been with others I’ve felt alone and that’s even worse because you want to get away from them and when you do you’re even more alone than you were before. Do you have a girlfriend? A wife? They offer me a cigarette but I roll one of my own because it’s safer. No. I’m afraid of letting someone get close to me again because I don’t want to get hurt and because my writing is so important they’d feel second best- they’d end up resenting it. Also, I’m selfish, I crave solitude, and I’m emotionally insecure- I mean, how can I look after someone else when I can’t even look after me? We smoke for a bit watching the passing cars go up and down the road. It’s cold. When was the last time you cried, they ask. Earlier today. I was listening to music. Interpol, if you must know. We smoke some more, and then drink our tea. So what happens now? I mean, what do you want to do with your life? They eye me up before tossing the last of their tea to the ground waiting for my response. I want to write and I want to be in love with everyone and I want to reach out to people and I want to let those who are struggling know that it’s okay to be broken, because being broken is better than being fixed.