Jilted generation

Before I start, it was Abby's idea that i shoukd write in this book....

I sat at my desk, pen in hand watching as the ink slowly splashed onto the page. Drowning the blank space with sticky black glue. Regardless of this I began to write. I wasn't sure what I was writing. Or what I was supposed to be writing really. Just something. Just something to take my mind of it. Something to distract me. I always try to distract myself. It stops my mind from thinking too much. Stops me from scaring myself and allowing my mind to trail of into deep dark spaces where it's difficult to pull it back out from.

I put my pen to paper and began to scribble some stuff down in my scrawny handwriting. But then my mind just kinda stopped. 'What's life?" I asked myself, jumping at the sound of my own croaky voice because I was surprised that I had actually spoken out loud. My throat was still sore from the night before. It felt like spines were attached at the back and every time I tried to speak they stabbed into my neck. Sometimes it was so bad that I could almost feel it piercing through my skin in my throat. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. Ugh! Not again.
I switched on my desk light as I could feel the dark creeping in around me and I looked past my ink sodden hands to see two words written on the page. It didn't look like my handwriting and I never remember actually writing them. But there it was. A simple question. "What's life?" It was there. It was real. I traced the words with my fingers. That was a good question. What even is life? I read the words over and over again, feeling every sense of usefulness and point leave my body. What even was the point? I wasn't normal. I didn't seem to fit in. I threw up half the stuff that my parents tried to give me anyway. I was just a waste of space. A rubbish bag that had been left on the streets after it had forgotten to be taken to landfill.
But that inspired me. Strangely. After a few minutes I stopped to look down at the page. I ran my fingers alongside the words:

What's life? Well, basically. You go to school for 12 years. Then you work 'till you die. No wonder, my mind often wonders to suicide. When you throw up and throw out what it took so much effort to make. So don't rub salt in my wounds. 'Cause it'll just leave the same numbness as when they were made. But I'll keep these thoughts to myself. 'Cause no one really cares. No. No one really cares.

Was that really my writing? No. It wasn't. But I'd written it. I didn't seem to remember. But I obviously had.

Keep them behind a smile that I've faked for years. Because this fear, of nothingness when I go? When I go? Will anyone care? Will anyone know? I doubt that anyone would even notice. Just be happy that I was off this god-damn earth. No more breathing. No more worries. No more anything. No more.

Woah! this stuff is getting deep I told myself. I should stop. I should stop writing. But I can't. I feel compelled to carry on. I feel like I have to. I have to keep going.

They say do you want to try something new? Why do you feel like this? How can we change? You have to change! How does that make you feel? Just think happy thoughts! This kinda thing just makes me mad, 'cause it's just not that easy. Not that easy. When you have to persuade yourself to even go outside, for a minute. For an hour. Then you think, Is this my fate? No.....

My hand started to ache from the frantic scrabbling. So I sat back trying to stop myself. Trying to stop myself from carrying on. Couldn't I just stop this mania....

They say: Put your faith in god. Why would I do that? I never believed before and I still don't now. But, when the earth crumbles and falls to pieces will he too? Like a captain with his ship. Falling to pieces in front of our very eyes. Except we wouldn't be able to see. No. We wouldn't be able to see. 'Cause we'd be gone. Long gone. Then at least my eyes would no longer see. The suffering, the pain and the misery. As we bomb for peace.

I felt my stomach begin to churn, throwing the remnants of my tea around my stomach. I tried to keep it down, gritting my teeth as I carried on and on and on....

Ignore the weak. Stripping our home bare. Buts that's okay. 'Cause I'll sit here giving £2 here and £2 there. Just to show that I might care. While you patch up the mess that you just made. And I'll sit here with my bag for life and a special light swinging above my head. While millions of pleading hands are going to be dead. We judge each other like there's no tomorrow. And if we don't watch where we're going, there might not even be one....

I'd finished. I sat back in my chair satisfied that I might have actually achieved something in life. Even if it was just, just a poem. Just some words. Just words. But it meant something to me. And that was all that mattered. It was just a distraction. That was all it was.
I felt my insides twist and my throat screamed again.
"Not tonight" I whispered to myself. But it was too late. And I couldn't stop it.....

Notes

So. Hi. um, I'm not really sure where on earth this thing is going. But, hey, I'll figure this out as I go along. As you do. And, yeah, for some reason I decided to write this is first person. Is that weird? Oh, well. I hope that this was okay and not a complete waste of your time. Have a good day/night. :) Xx