'It's almost been a year,' Gaara thought, 'In another two months and it will be a year.'

His dark ringed eyes stared past the window and desk in front of him, seeing nothing, lost in his memories.
'My chest hurts,' he thought dully, 'I can't believe it's almost been a year.'

For a moment, his grip on his pencil tightened.
'Almost a year, and nothing has changed. I still feel the same way. Not in the same phrasing, but the same base feelings are still there. I feel as though it has all been for naught. Honestly. Nothing has gotten better, I am still the same as I was. I have a clearer plan, this time, but overall, nothing has changed.'

He looked away from the paper, covered in his slightly messy scrawl. No more boyfriend, just a roommate and a scattering of friends. None he was terribly close to either. Not close enough for this, anyway.
With a deep exhale, his shoulders dropped as did his head, refocusing on the paper before him. 'I don't know, anything. Why I'm here, why I continue, if I even want to continue. I'm just so tired, all the time. My chest feels funny.'

He paused, glancing up, green eyes taking in the sunlight and the beautiful scenery that lay just outside the four walls around him.
Usually, he found joy, in such things. But..., he felt nothing.
Looking back down, he wrote a little more. 'I'm tired of this, all of it. Where I used to find joy, I only find frustration and a want for more sleep. I don't even want to be awake. I desire that eternal sleep. I can feel it, tugging me. Beckoning, but I know, oh I know it is naught but a lie. I will awake in my bed, just like always. It always taunts me so. It's cruel, is it not? Far too cruel. To tempt, endlessly, and never give. I know it is wrong, but I have no idea of how to change it. Death refuses to come, as much as I beg. I should have died, the last time. I took..., so many..., but no. Instead, I awoke. And it crashed, again. And that, is how you know, you are a failure. When even Death will not take you. Despite everything.'

He sighed and looked away before he began scribbling once more. 'I don't want to do anything. I have no desire. I know I should do, I should want. But I don't. Everything seems pointless. Worthless. I know, I'll feel better in a few days, forget about this. Hell, it may not even take days. I could sleep and wake up feeling fine. I hate it. All of it. I'm tired of..., everything. I'll forget, I always do. I forget the low, I'll forget the high. And the middle. I'll forget. It'll fade away. It'll come back with a vengeance. It'll feel like my head is trying to split open, like I'm being torn apart. I don't wanna feel this way any more. I'm tired of it. I've been tired of it. Nothing ever changes. I remain the same. Everything fades, except that one desire. The one that can never be fulfilled. I can try, but it's still there. Deep down, I know, I hate myself. I hate my weakness, my incapability to do that which I long to. My incompetence, so much in fact, that I cannot even succeed at the one thing that would bring me happiness. But here, I sit. Surrounded, yet alone.'

'I want to hurt,' he wrote, his eyes yet again, filling with tears that would not fall. 'I want to feel pain. This psychological torment is too much. I need to fucking feel. Just something. I can't though. I fucking can't and I know it. But why the hell can't I? For what gods damned reason can I not do as I please? Fuck knows what it is that holds me back. I long to reach out to someone, but who? I feel as though I would just be burndening them. I should be able to stand upon my own two feet, by myself. I need no one. I don't want to need anyone. But in this..., I don't feel as though I can do this. I don't want to try any more. No matter how many times I repeat it to myself, I still don't want to. I'm beyond tired. Beyond exhaustion.'

Few tears fell, but he did not wipe them away, continuing instead. 'It's always there. These feelings. I'll always feel alone. Even if someone were to truly love me. For all I am, I would still feel alone. Because as much as they think they know me, they never really do. I can't be truly open with anyone. I've know that for years. Perhaps, my whole life. No one likes that which lurks within me. My twisted ideals and views. I am unconvinced. It's really, all I want. It always has been, I've known. I still can't believe it's almost been a year. To what end, I must wonder. To what fucking end?'

'Frequently, I think, I want an end. This could mean so very many different things. To each person I have told, they have garnered a different meaning and never the one I mean. One did, but did not grasp fully my entire meaning of the end of which I speak. The ultimate ending, Death. It's what I want. I am tired of everything. I am told it gets better, I still have not witnessed this. I merely want that which has been denied me on too many occasions. A simple request, no? Alas, here I sit, writing to an end I know naught. But I write, I feel lighter, for a time. It will return, all of it. The darkness never goes for long. Borne unto darkness, it follows me every where. It always has. Haunting me, but never granting me Eternity. I do not understand it, not at all. A cosmic joke? Perhaps.'

He sighed and wiped his eyes, the dried tears on his face gritty.
Closing the notebook, he returned it to the drawer on his side of the desk. He picked clothes from the floor and went to the bathroom across the hall, changing before returning to the room and laying in his bed, clad now in boxers with pockets and an oversized t-shirt. He turned the tv and Xbox 360 on. He set Hulu to playing something and rolled over. He clutched his bear to his chest as he closed his eyes. Exhaustion overtook him, plunging him into slumber, filled with dreams.