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You know, I had it under control. I had things made out to be for the better, and I was sorta glad I wasn't tied down to Danielle. I felt fine for a whole six days, I was happy, if a bit lonely. But... today that's gone.

I was going to go to sleep early. I was exhausted. So I signed off at 11:40 maybe, went to bed. Couldn't sleep. I finished the last fourth of fight club the book, felt satisfied for a little while, then went back to feeling like s**t. I can't stop thinking about her. Even though she treated me the way she did for so long, I just have this miasma of feelings, of heartbreak, of anger, of regret that I can't get rid of.

I miss Danielle. I've said I don't, but I do. I don't know why I do, because there isn't a lot to miss from when we were together, but I just feel... lonely. Feel sad. It's the little things that you realize you're going to miss so much.

I'm more shattered than I've let on too, I guess. I mean I loved someone with all my heart and soul for another four months (though it seems like ages more than that) and... that wasn't good enough. They just discarded me, again. And that hurts.

And I have regret that the whole thing even happened. That I kept trying the way I did, and had the tolerance and patience I did. Though it's a rather inhuman thing to say, I regret being as nice and as generous as I was, because it only ended in something painful for me. That's selfish, I know, but maybe given the circumstances it has a bit of well placed structure to hold it up.

And though she hurt me, hurt me a lot for the second time, I'm still not mad at Danielle somehow. I don't know why the ******** I am the way I am, why I tried so hard and why I forgave so much. Why I kept on loving someone when they weren't really loving me back. I'd be nice, if some day when I've healed up a little she and I could still be friends.

Is there such a thing as too much hope? As being so optimistic and diligent that you just distort the inevitable truth? I'm becoming such a pessimist, again. But... what else can be expected. Or something, I honestly don't know how sure I am about all of this, because I have so many emotions swirling around that I'm shivering and my head hurts.

What I do know, is that I'll sigh in a dreary little way every time I see a romantic movie for the next few months. That I'll ache inside whenever I see her. That I'll probably get depressed again, and start slumping in school because I don't have enough will or reason to care, and my parents will chew me out for getting anything besides an A, as they always have. That life will have a little less zeal in it, and that I'll probably do some very stupid things.

But, that's highschool for you, now isn't it.

I don't think I want to sleep, now. I have too many dreams that have been shattered for the umpteenth time, and the void that fills their space is scary. Just like that sucking hole, in my chest cavity. Like the cold that nips at my fingers and toes, and won't go away no matter how much clothes I wear. Like that shivering that I can't control.

********, I'm sounding all angstyemogoth and s**t. It sickens me.

I'm going to keep going, about things that sicken me. I havn't stapled up a nice big juicy depression slab in a while.

I'm 220 right now. Two, ********, twenty. It's awful. I'm sure I gained like, fifteen of that over the holidays, being the ******** glutton I am. I was thinking about not eating until school started back up, but that might be noticed. No, I'm going to eat less s**t and maybe do some actual physical activity now and then. And none of my giving up bullshit anymore, I'm sick of being so ******** fat and disgusting. Hideous from the neck down.

I need a haircut, too. ******** shag. I was thinking about just shaving it all off. I keep thinking that, to be honest. I don't know why, but I keep wanting to just take that razor and get rid of it all. Maybe I will sometime, we'll see. And this damn ******** chinhair, that won't grow in the middle. I hate it, but love it. I'm in such a hurry to be old enough that I can be the scumbag I want to, as of late.

Ever wonder if you have some sort of mild personality disorder? One way half the time, another the other half? It seems like that, sometimes. There's the nice, normal Luke who makes his silly perverted jokes every now and a then, and then there's who I am right now. Mean, cynical, no sense of self-preservation or consideration for outward appearance.

Jerimiah once said there are eight stages to my actions and personalities, but he's yet to remember all of them clearly enough to give me a list like I keep asking. Does asking other people to analyze you make you selfish, or just in need of help?

My guitar lesson guy called today, and apparently he's quitting. So, another day of the week with nothing to do. Another day to add to my monotony and boredom and purposeless existance. Yay.

I have to wonder sometime, where all the apathy and lack of willpower came from. I mean really, why is it I don't care enough to even do anything with my life? I just sit, and rot, and waste away my brain. So much ******** potential, such laziness.

Oh Freud, why am I the way I am? Is it my parents? Is it that my d**k isn't a foot long? Is it that I'm just ******** stupid and a sad excuse for a human being? I've given up, guessing about myself. It's such a tragedy that we can always so accurately analyze those around us, but never ourselves. You want to make humanity better, give it the ability to understand itself.

God, memories hurt sometime. I was browsing through all this stuff, and it all hurts because it reminds me of something I used to have. I know, I know, don't mourn for what is gone but be happy because it happened, honestly, who ******** does that. Who can honestly look back on that which they've lost and experienced and just be happy about it. A dozen different things have reminded me of Danielle today, and made me feel lonely, and made me hurt.

I still have every single note she's written to me. I piled them in a big stack, and read through all of them. They seem so artificial now, so empty and meaningless. I don't know what to do with them. Save them? Burn them? Give them back? I don't know.

Pictures, too. Of happy. Happy that left. Oh well.

I'm sure, a year or so from now, I'll be sitting around shitfaced or high or something and say a bunch of mean things about Danielle. I already have, and I laughed, and felt bad afterwards. But we're talking about the future now.

I'll be sitting around with the guys, and I'll say something both awful and funny, like "Man, that b***h was so frigid, you could do cold fusion in her c**t." and everyone will laugh and think it was a riot, and I'll go home and chuckle, and chuckle a little less, and a little less, until I'm just heaving. And then the tears will come, and I'll remember what an experience it was. And after the tears are dry, I'll go back and think about it, and read what a fifteen year old had to say, and it'll probably make me smile a little. And I'll move on with life, and I'll remember all those lost loves. I'll never forget, all those lost loves. And it'll be okay.