" September 18th. Can I be any more childish? I look like a useless little girl doing things like that. How the hell did I ask Riku to sleep with me, in HIS room?! How fucking embarrassing. And thank goodness I at least acknowledge that, because I have a lot of nerve asking him for that. I can't stand it.
"Why do I have to bother him so much? I have to depend on him all the time because he's the only person I have close to. Can't I just learn to be alone once and for all? How happy I'd be if I just knew how to be alone is unimaginable."
" There are times when I'm okay being alone, and I can laugh and everything, but normally I'm indifferent or upset. And I'm an idiot for being that way. If I'm upset, it's my fault and my fault alone. Besides, it's not like many people care. Yeah, only the people who care about me would care, and those two are a select few, since I doubt there are more. Doesn't that mean my existence barely matters?
"It's not just that I'm irrelevant anymore, I'm a bad person, I'm horrible. Physically and mentally, I'm horrible.
I have an average body; nothing stands out, but I'm not ugly, and none of that bothers me. What I hate about my body is that if a guy approached me, I'd doubt whether it was because of me, or my body, or, for that matter, simply because I'm a woman. And since girls don't care at all about me, I'm the one who has to try to fit in. But how am I going to do that?
"And even if I can't fit in, someone will tell me to find people with my same tastes and personality, but not only is that goal too big for me, and I don't see myself capable of it, but I also don't think I'll find anyone like that in this shitty little town, and I'd hardly find anyone like that outside of it.
" And that's just the physical, and a bit of my mentality, but it's not just what I think, what I like or what I don't. It's my personality and way of thinking that bothers me. No one would want to be around a pessimistic bore, a complete idiot who thinks on her feet, and irritates even when she doesn't want to. A fly that flies in front of the person, and who is weirder than a green cat. I'm like a tick attached to a person, one that will never let go. I have a very bad sense of humor, half of what I say isn't funny, and the other half is pitiful. What use am I to? What can I do with my being? Do I have to prostitute myself to exist in society? Why can't I be a person from the moment I'm born? Why do I have to earn that position in society? Doesn't being human make me a person? Doesn't existing in this world make me an individual?
And for the people who do know of my existence, who am I? Who am I to them? Who am I to tell them? Probably a weirdo. I want to know. What am I? What?"
The text didn't change during the day, but it did change the subject completely. From what follows, you can tell when this happens.
This was written 4 days ago, that day was when, upon arriving home after the mess at my high school, I went to check on my sister out of pure paranoia.
I told her what I thought, and she seemed happy, she seemed relieved. No, she was happy. I know perfectly well that she was.
"He said it. Everything I thought he was going to say, he said it. Even if he knew it, I don't know how to take it, but at that moment, I felt better about myself. I also don't understand why I asked him about my body… I don't care anymore.
"Even if he put it that way, it doesn't mean he's changed his mind. Me doing my duties isn't something to admire. Me being kind isn't something to admire. Just because one person out of millions likes who I am doesn't mean… What am I saying? How can I even think about that? He meant it, and all I'm doing is invalidating him? Have I always been this ungrateful? Yes, always, always, me. I've always been selfish. I've never been responsible, I always try to procrastinate whenever I get the chance.
" Since I never share my test scores, there's no one who can check whether I'm studying hard or not, especially if I fail every test and don't say anything. I'm afraid to open my mouth. Although if I'm going to open it to humiliate myself even more, I'd better shut it. If I'm not going to stop touching my slit, I'm better off dead."
"September 19th. I HATE HIM. WHAT NEED DOES HE HAVE TO SCARE ME LIKE THAT!?!?!?!?!? EVEN IF IT WASN'T A JOKE, IT WAS IN VERY BAD TASTE!?!? AND THE WORST OF ALL IS THAT I STARTED CRYING?!!?!? ARE YOU SERIOUS!?!?! What's wrong with me?
"He had me worried, no, he's had me worried all morning, and I still am, a little, but, was it really that bad? I'm not saying this to discredit how bad he's been through, but he was SO bad that when he recovered, I started crying? And on top of that, I threw myself at him...
"Before, I almost locked myself in my room and started writing here, but in the end, I've been wandering around the house like a fool. The only productive thing I've done is worry about Riku and make dinner. I don't like making it; whenever I make it, it tastes way worse than when anyone else makes it. It doesn't matter what it is, even if it's preheated, it tastes worse.
"I don't know if they don't tell me to my face out of embarrassment or because it actually tastes good, but they never complain when I make it. They say the opposite: that it's good, that I put a lot of love into it. No way, I just try to do it as quickly as possible to get it out of the way, and I don't know that much about cooking, and I don't know how to make many dishes."
"I don't do it because it would seem weird, but sometimes I don't even want to eat when I'm cooking. I say it would be weird because they'd probably notice something was wrong with me if I didn't eat what I made. Well, it's just silly."
"I don't think I'm going to do anything for the rest of the day, especially with how I've humiliated myself, once again. It seems like I'm training for it. I'll let you know tomorrow how my class went and everything. I'm not going to write anymore. I'm tired. I might even delete this shit."
"September 20th. Nothing happened in class. The bookseller still hasn't said anything to me, and she was so excited to talk to me, she was so eager that it disappeared the next day. And definitely nothing's going to happen while I'm locked up here. What's more, I'm going to be alone. Riku went out with &$%"!, apparently, =@º\' and _¨*^?¿· aren't going out, and he hasn't told me why. It's not like I care, he wouldn't have gone out anyway. I don't want to say it directly because maybe I'll back out just thinking about it, but I want to. I just need a rope, I'll be fine buying it at any store and saying my dad asked me to, as long as I buy it with more gadgets.
"I don't want to think about it any longer, because every time I do it, I feel scared and repulsed, but I have to do it. It's the only time in my entire life I've felt a modicum of determination to do it. I've never felt like this, and right now I don't feel sad or desperate; I feel calm. It's because I'm not even going to start yet. And if I do end up doing it, I'll probably delete this before doing anything, for sure. I'd kill myself again if I found out someone was reading this. Go away, stop reading this, go run in the countryside, or do anything else that's not wasting time with this, although at this point I don't think you'll stop... It doesn't matter. I'm going to go buy it; if I do, I'll skip the farewell; if not, I guess I'll continue writing."
"I've already bought the rope, but I don't know if I'm going to do it. It's still early, it's like 5 PM, and my brother will be home around 9 PM or so, so I have time, a lot of it. I can think about it, I can motivate myself, I can get cold feet, but I don't know what I'm going to do. Just because I can do it doesn't mean I want to do it."
"The bad thing about this is that the longer I'm in doubt, the less desire I'll have to try. And the worst part is that I'm still calm. It's not like I'm calm about being at peace; I feel more like I'm indifferent about it, emotionally speaking, if you understand what I mean.
"I'm also not going to waste my time being angry while writing whatever comes to mind about myself. I already know everything. There are so many things I want to say that I haven't said yet that I don't know what to say, and at the same time, I don't know how to explain myself. I feel like I want to vent, but at the same time, I feel like I don't want to, that I shouldn't, that it's a waste of time.
"I don't know what's worse: feeling sad, like I normally am while I'm writing here, or feeling sad right now. I'm afraid of not feeling anything, of admitting that and not reacting to it. What's wrong with me? Seriously, what the hell is wrong with me? What's wrong with me that I have to think like this? What have I done to myself to try to resolve everything like this?"
"I'm not desperate to die, nor am I scared enough to live, so why am I here, talking about this? Why did I buy it? In the end, I'm sure I won't do anything with it. It'll all be a lie, a false promise, I'll amount to nothing. If I'm here, it's also because I haven't learned anything, nothing. No matter how many series I've watched with thousands of messages, I haven't received anything. It hasn't changed me in the slightest. I haven't changed, I never have, not in the slightest.
"I've been the same person for five years. As always, I haven't achieved anything, that's clear. I don't want to repeat myself, but I haven't even been able to change myself, even a little. To achieve something is to make something change, that's what I think. No matter what it is, if something changes, you've done something, therefore, something has changed, and the achievement you achieve by changing it is proof of that. That's why I haven't done anything."
" I don't care if I don't get straight A's in class. I don't care that I don't have friends. I don't care that I have just one person I'm close to. If I'd just changed, everything would be different, it would be better, but I haven't. I don't know how you change in the first place. How do I change? It seems impossible. Years and years of development, only for one day, out of nowhere, to say, "Oh yeah, I'm completely different now!" And shit. I couldn't even do it long-term. Do you want me to do it right away?
How do people agree to put up with this? How do people carry all the weight they're carrying? Do they just leave it to someone else? And what do those others do? I don't get it. And it's not like anyone's going to explain it to me, no no, I'm going to be screwed for the rest of my life because no one's going to teach me how to live."
"A clown who thinks he's got his life made would tell me that you're not taught how to live life, you just learn to live it. What a load of crap. You're taught to live in society, you're taught that you have to be someone in that society, and if you don't get that into your head before you're 18, you have three very, very clear options. I've chosen one of them. I'm not fed up, but I know I am. I'm not dissatisfied, but I feel like I am. I know who I am, but I don't know what I want. Isn't that ironic? No, it isn't, it's stupid."
" That you don't know yourself is your fault and yours alone. Don't expect someone to tell you how you feel at some point, because it's surreal. If you don't know who you are, it's useless for others to tell you what they think you are. If you don't know, you're nobody. End of story. You don't exist. You have to make yourself exist. If you don't make yourself exist, how are you going to exist?
"Do you want the laws of physics, of nature, whatever it takes, just to make ^[Ç+? exist? And if I can't, what do I do? Do I give up? Do I let them throw me away like a dirty rag? Leave it all. Abandon everything. End yourself, that person you could never be. Give up. I'm going to do it, I'm going to do it, I give up, I'm so sorry. I give up, I give up, I give up. I don't want to try, I won't try. Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.
" Sorry."
The cloud behind me covered everything around me, and only the screen—no, only the sheet of text—reached my vision. It seemed much larger than it actually was.
The text of the 20th ended, and I was already on the last page of the document. This wasn't the last of it, but I wasn't going to hear any more about her.
There are things I'll never know about when she was home two days ago, but I can get a general idea of that day.
On the other hand, I can't glean anything from the next one. I'll never know what he thought that last day. I'll never know what he did before all that. I won't know, I'll never know what he said. I won't know his last words, his last will, anything.
I don't know if his "last words" could be considered those in this document, since there's nothing written about September 21st, she doesn't mention it at any point.
But there was still something left to read. It was one sentence, just one, and it was short—just two words.
Two words full of emotions, which have been lost when written on this shiny piece of metal.
"I love you."
That was it. There was nothing more. No matter how hard I tried to scroll down the document, I was done.
At the time I didn't have in mind that my personal document was still there, but how could I read that after all this?
I didn't want it to end. I wanted to keep reading. I wanted to read his entire life captured in this text, no matter the hardship it radiated, the anger it expressed. It didn't matter. I wanted to continue.
I brought my hands to the keyboard, agitated, nervous, anguished, unsure of the purpose of the inertia that had driven me to move them.
From the strain, the useless band-aid stuck to my hand fell off, and a small drop of blood began to form in my palm. If I forced it, it might fall off.
I started writing. It wasn't much, just four words, just four. They had no purpose, no reason, nothing. I did it on a whim; they even seemed like an insult. An offense. It wasn't going to accomplish anything; no more text would appear, and it wouldn't heal my wound. No one would see them. She wouldn't read them.
And when I finished, the drop of blood fell.
" I love you too."