And It Feels Strange, Almost Sad, To

Sometimes We Have Thoughts That Even We Don’t Understand. Thoughts That Aren’t Even True—that Aren’t Really How We Feel—but They’re Running Through Our Heads Anyway Because They’re Interesting To Think About. If You Could Hear Other People’s Thoughts, You’d Overhear Things That Are True As Well As Things That Are Completely Random. And You Wouldn’t Know One From The Other. It’d Drive You Insane. What’s True? What’s Not? A Million Ideas, But What Do They Mean?

Why Would Anyone Say This Stuff About Themselves On The Internet? It's Crazy!

I Could Picture Life—school And Everything Else—continuing On Without Me. But I Could Not Picture My Funeral. Not At All. Mostly Because I Couldn’t Imagine Who Would Attend Or What They Would Say.

You Told Me I Wrote That Poem Because I Was Afraid Of Dealing With Myself. And I Used My Mom As An Excuse, Accusing Her Of Not Appreciating Or Accepting Me, When I Should Have Been Saying Those Words Into A Mirror.

That's Why You Did It. You Wanted Your World To Collapse Around You. You Wanted Everything To Get As Dark As Possible.