Love, kisses, and bewb gropes to the lovely ladies who make it all fit for public consumption, errors are mine, cause I don't leave shit alone.
Despite all my wishes to the contrary, Jasper, sadly, is still not mine.
Halloween-
I've been holed up in my room all night. It hurts too much to be outside, to see the sights this holiday creates. The streets are full of kids, of families. It could have been me, once, if she hadn't lied. Just thinking about it makes my chest hurt, I can't catch my breath. Is this a panic attack?
They gave me sleeping pills at the hospital after the accident. I've only taken them once, when I couldn't last another minute without dreamless unconsciousness they offer. While they guaranteed the nightmares didn't bother me, I still felt like ass the next morning. If I have to feel like shit, I'd rather do it without the wonders of modern pharmaceuticals. Why use drugs, when life has succeeded all on its own to rip me to pieces?
The paramedics said I tried to reach the car, taking a swing at one of the officers who restrained me. I don't remember any of it, after the flames. Nothing, until I woke up in the hospital, my clothes reeking of smoke and burnt rubber. Mom wouldn't look at me when I demanded to know what happened, even screaming at her when she turned away. A nurse rushed in the room and my memory is blank again after that. I'd been sedated, then sent home, once they determined my lungs were clear. That's it; its all that has any kind of clarity. Everything else, until I decided to leave my parents' house and come here, is like looking at old movies – jerky, disjointed, the scenes overlapping with little coherency.
.
.
.
I came here, looking for…I don't even know, now. I'm not sure I knew then.
Not gonna lie, your intrepid writer may have cried more than once putting Jasper's tale together.