This is the first thing that I've written down since it happened.
I haven't called my mother since I left. I don't think I ever will.
The 26th August 2015. I don't drink, but everything has been a toxic, alcoholic blur since then.
I used to cry into my pillow and reach out to the stars - begging for that special someone who could make everything okay.
If you're out there, stop whatever you're doing and come find me. If you're out there, drive over here and fucking help me.
But there's no special someone. There's no one to talk to. At least not anymore. There's just a black void where my heart used to be. An empty page with teardrops on it. There are friends that I never liked and never knew me.
Everything is a blur. Lights and sounds. The only thing that's real is me.
I didn't react to the bad news. I didn't react to anything. I was sluggish, shrugging it off and walking away. Running away. Driving away.
I've been on the road for two months and I don't know where I am. I couldn't get home if I tried.
I wish I could be like my car. When my car runs low on fuel, I just pull over at a station and refill it. But I've been empty for so long that I'm started to doubt if I was ever full.
I am alone. And I used to be so hungry. I used to be so driven. I used to know exactly where I was going but now that you're dead you'll never see me reach the lofty heights I set for myself.
My dreams have been put on hold. I wish I could call you.