It's not something I tell people. I'm sure it'd considered more than strange that I heard voices. It's not something I tell even Tucker or Sam. My sister's always saying she understands, that I can tell her anything. I think that she'd find the narcissism a bit more than disturbing. It's complicated. Haha, yeah. Laugh: all the stereotypical 'emo' stuff, right? Well, ..sarcasm and I, we go a long way back.
It wasn't long after the first time we split. I split? Are we two different people, formed from one whole, or two halves of the same coin? If you were in my situation you'd know what I was talking about.
Sometimes I get so lonely. Laugh some more. Yeah. Go ahead. Snicker at my shit. But when you wake up at night to fight ghosts, and you spend your weekends drained, nobody wants to hang out. Not even Sam or Tucker will be willing to spend all their time with me. They have lives.
Heroism. It's stupid. Overrated. Too bad I'm responsible. I can't fill and role, and then ditch it. I'd feel guilty. I'd be my fault if anything happened. So I've given everything. I don't think I'll even graduate high school. Not that there's a point for that anymore.
All those movies where the hero has some fun with his powers, or he takes a break at the end all happy, even after misfortunes? Yeah, that doesn't happen.
I'm worried about how much longer this will all last. Weeks? Years? Decades? I can't handle it forever. I couldn't handle it forever. Not alone.
Sometimes I think I can feel the tangles in my mind straining. Sometimes I think they might snap.
I'm worried how much longer I can stay normal. I don't want to be crazy. Bitter. Jaded. Evil. Broken… I've seen it.
Vlad, for example. Hell-bent on revenge. Power to quench his thirst. He's rotted by regret.
All the ghosts too. I'm not just fighting them, but what kept them tied to this earth. Their regrets. Their emotions. How long can I fight against their agonies, their lives' entire passions before I myself am caught in it all? Before I'm tainted too?
You can't blame them. Existence has no meaning if when you die, you don't have anything to do. To 'live' for. For me, suicide would just mean constant ghost-fighting. Bleak, eh?
I know it'll happen. I begged Clockwork once. It's only through constant forgetting and relearning that he can stay together, I'll bet. But we don't all have that kinda luxury.
I told him, "Just let me stop bleeding. Change something. Anything. Make, it, stop."
But he won't. No one can and no one will. It's just me and myself. My other half. Him.
He'll keep me company, even through eternity. I could fight anything off forever, if he remains by my side. The first time we split, there was anger. Disdain for each other. By the end of the ordeal, we held in the other in higher regard. Understanding. Compassion. You can't hate yourself. Not really.
I can hear him in the back of my mind now. All the time.
He waits. He watches. He advises. He consoles. He knows everything I know.
There's nothing to hide from him. Nothing to fear.
When I feel pain he does too. When I feel loss, he does too. When he feels triumph, so do I. When I feel pleasure, he feels too. It's an interesting experience: masturbating as a ghost.
When your on the edge, on the brink, it's almost like your coming back. It's rushing. All the lights, becoming brighter and dimmer, and the colours growing stronger. Like being born. Like coming to life. Like waking up for the first time.
It's an odd relationship. I don't know when it really began. I'd go through everyday life; wake up looking battered. Look into the the mirror: Circles under my eyes. Bruises under my shirt.
And he'd be there looking back, eyes shining green under mine.
It's odd. I don't quite know when it began. I'd go down to the basement on a late night, or maybe a Sunday afternoon. Throw myself through the net. It hurt physically. A lot. But it wasn't so bad. My chest'd ease up.
It wasn't ever really weird. It came naturally. I don't know when we started kissing, but it started with words of comfort, and hugs. Later caresses, and before long…
We have sex. It's fun and it's great. And it's secret. It's just us. There's never any pressure. I bite his cool moist lips, and run my hands through his thin hair, because you never know what might come tomorrow.
Do you know what'd happen if I died? Would he disappear?
I don't know. All I know is I probably won't have him forever. But the memory is enough.
It's sad I can never have anything with Sam. Nothing as wonderful as Romeo and Juliet. But I take comfort in that I'll never really be alone.
I don't need jack anymore. I don't need to be so tough. I don't need family or friends.
But they're a nice addition. For now. But one day they'll leave. College. Life. Careers. Marriage. Children. Death.
It's sad I can never have anything as wonderful as Romeo, or Juliet. But I take comfort in that I'll never be alone. I don't need jack anymore.
Happiness is what you makes of things. And oh, I'm trying.