I’m losing it. I’m sitting in a hotel room, losing my fucking mind. I feel stomach acid creeping up my esophagus… I dare not move. Every movement intensifies it. My stash of antacid is in my trunk. I forgot to pack it.

Christa txted me tonight. She’s decided to kill herself. I called the cops. I’m sorry. I panicked. Part of me thinks I imagined it all. It just seems so surreal and unlikely, and things like that usually end up not being real.

Christa is an amazing person. My words here could not do her justice. The things she said.. I can’t reconcile them.. and now I’m racked with guilt.. and panic.. She could be dead right now.

I miss her. I’m sorry.

I’m sorry.

Today is the 31st. The 31st. Why do people that deserve happiness never get it? I have no one to turn to. Why am I here, while her life is in jeopardy? There is no balance or justice in the world.

Did you know that I’ll typically go 3 or 4 days without getting a phone call? Did you know that this hotel room may as well be a prison cell? I’m reminded of it at every turn, when someone makes a benign comment about enjoying the beach or nightlife here… which is abundant… and completely out of my reach.

I have a headache… I saw a picture of Jamie today, by accident… Right after I got off the phone with the Anaheim police. I actually had the urge to call her. It’s fitting that that would happen on today of all days. I have a headache.

People say that all lives are equal… That no life outweighs another. That’s bullshit. My life is worthless; I can’t do anything. I am a child. I am afraid of everything. I contribute nothing. The only good I do for anyone is simply existing. Her life is priceless. Her existance is magnificent. I wish…

I have a headache. I’m fucking terrified. Of the unknown; of the impending phone call; of the world outside my door; of my regression into thinking about her. There is no one to call, no one to help, no one to listen. And there are people who can’t get rid of people if they try… No matter how horrible they act, how monumental they fuck up, no matter how many times they hurt them… They’re always there… Always ready to listen, be a shoulder to cry on. I sometimes think that my propensity to push people away is really a desperate search for that tenacious kind of love. But I know I have it, it’s just a… different kind.

I have a fucking headache. I want things to go back to the way they were. I want a do-over. I miss Christa, I miss Jamie, I miss CJ, I miss Jady, I miss Matt, I miss Mike, I miss Justin, I miss myself. I miss the glimpse of life I had and lost. It’s my fault that it’s gone. I’m not a real person.

I have a headache.. And no desire to be conscious anymore…

I wonder how long it will be before my phone rings again…