'Do you know what it's like to forget your very self? To be in the process of losing everything and everyone you've ever cared about. I can remember conversations, but not the people with which I had them. I can clearly remember someone but I cannot recall their name or their face. I have little, and I am losing it all.
I know it is a slow process, a slow thing, dragged out over the years. But sometimes..., it feels as though years have been stripped from me in mere hours. I can be doing something normal, monotonus, and then I start to remember something, but whatever it is, won't come. And I'll stop, standing there, desperately grasping at the tendrils of memory as they slip further and further away.'

He looks away from the paper before him, gazing instead out the open window. A cold breeze blows in, it's not quite fall, but it's passed summer. The mornings are freezing and the days scorching. It looks peaceful outside.
He can feel the despair sinking in, and so he tears his gaze from the outside world and returns it to the paper.

'More often than not, I think I'm losing my grip on this reality. I had a friend over, last night, he gave me a hug. I..., I have not had such human contact like that in quite a while. Long enough, that my body reacted the way I used to. Completely rigid, it felt as though my heart stopped and I felt a cold detachment.
I know it was naught but a simple hug, but..., my reaction should not have regressed that far.'

The red head grimaced and after a moment, continued to write.

'Due to medical complications, I have a new ... shrink. I can't say I'm too fond of her. She says "Mhm", far too often. It is rather infuriating. I suppose, in time, I will accustom to her as I did my old. Even though I know it is not really helping, and my outlook has not changed..., I must continue.'

He touched his forehead tattoo.

'Love. A foolish notion. Too much is placed in it's inattainable wreaths. For it..., war, kidnapping, murder. So much is done in its name. Yet..., do any truly love? I don't know. I've learned something about myself, in these months alone. I do not experience romantic attraction. Yes, I can say and do the things needed to win a heart, that is easy. But I do not feel like one is supposed to. Sure, I can find individuals aesthetically pleasing, but I have zero desires of affection towards them. I would prefer they leave me to go about my business alone. Though I suppose if everyone I encountered heeded this..., I would not have the few great friends I do have.
Even so..., I do not think I love in the normal, societal viewed way. I prefer my solitude.
Why then..., I must ask, have I undertaken these foolish relationships? They always ended, lasting far longer than was strictly necessary. I have thought about this for quite some time. Pondering my own motives for what I now view as mistakes. I have garnered understanding of myself. I am foolish and do not really seem to learn from all the mistakes, as they keep piling up. But always, in each relationship, that person was someone I could use. Use them, and then toss them aside. However..., those messy things called feelings would always impede my true desires. I used to think myself better than being a user, but on a level, we are all users. I have come to think that it is human nature. Survival of the fittest, of those best equipped to do as is necessary to survive and have no qualms about it.
Perhaps at one point, I did love, obviously not in the healthy way one loves another, but in some way, in my own very twisted understanding of the word and feeling, I think I loved. Perhaps it was some sick psychological torment for myself, because that's how it always ended, hating myself ever more for what I did with those I thought I felt for.'

Gaara made a face at his paper, not that it could react to him, but for the simple and absolute disgust he felt for himself.

'Am I insane? I have pondered this for quite some time. If one is insane, one is not aware of one's status of insanity, is that not how it goes? Perhaps though, one is so incumbered by the insanity that it seems quite fine and in reality, insanity has consumed them completely, leaving nothing but a drooling mess of ineptitude.'

"Heavy thoughts for a morning," he remarked dryly, rereading his last statement.
Gaara stood and stretched then, tearing his eyes from the paper, he needed to do something else for a few minutes. Suddenly, he simply felt trapped. He wasn't sure why but he knew he needed to get out of his room for a little bit.

He adjusted his long sleeping boxers and his legs carried him down the stairs and into the kitchen. A place he found he spent entirely too much time in, but it was the best place to really, mope about and being entirely alone for at least a few minutes.
His roommate, however, was not home this morning. Gone, to visit with his parents.
So he was well and truly alone in the apartment. He opened the fridge and just gazed at the contents without really seeing them, before selecting a can of soda from the bottom shelf and slowly returning to his room. I am aware of my few friendships, but they all seem distant. As much as I know, I still feel otherwise. It is maddening.'

Sitting back at his desk, he gazed down at the paper before him. Sipping at his drink, he enjoyed the slight burn as it slid down his throat. His chest felt hollow. A gaping, sort of emptiness.
Setting the can in the corner, where he would not hit it, he picked up his pencil and began to write a little more.

'I truly do not understand how I can go from being perfectly fine, to feeling as though I am completely worthless. It happens in a span of breaths, maybe in less time than that. But suddenly, everything is dark and I feel utterly alone.'

He swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat and pressed on.

'I am more than this worthless feeling within me. I know I am! Why then, am I tormented so?
I was sure. I was certain. I had something akin to faith. I was not this broken mess!
...Or was I? And I just..., lied so very well..., I fooled myself too?
Sometimes..., I don't want to believe that. I don't want to. But I know..., I know deep down. I lied to myself too. I repressed everything. I forced myself to be optimistic, to believe the lies told to me, to believe in the good in this world. And so I did. And when I broke, everything came down around me. And the pieces..., I do not think they will ever align as they once did. Whatever I am now..., is what I will remain to be for the rest of my days.
And honestly..., I don't think I care.'