heyyyy my paper friend

it’s been a while, I don’t even know how to start this.

ummm

okay, well, I’m still a little terrified of life. That part hasn’t changed since last time.

But, I think I’m a little more hopeful about the future than before, and honestly, that’s a win in your good ol’ buddy David’s mind. I was seriously crushed when I originally got kicked out of uni, and telling my parents was heartbreaking too. I never like being the reason why my mom cries.

Anyway, it sucked.

I took some shifts off my part-time job after having a talk with Alex, who told me I looked like I really needed a break, and to be honest… I agreed. I felt depressed, really bored, and really sad for at least a good few weeks, until I decided to get up and do something. What that thing was, I wasn’t sure yet, but I just couldn’t stand still any longer. I was going insane, man. Nora was busy doing her stuff. Alex was out of the apartment constantly attending auditions and filming commercials. And I was just here, in bed, doing sadness-wanks and then regretting them afterwards.

So yeah, one time when I woke up at 5pm, for some reason that day was the day I’d decided I’d had enough, so I got on my computer. And I did what no one should do: I checked my notifications.

There were a few hate comments left by my professor’s close friends and family about how I had ruined his life. That kind of felt weird to read when I was the one whose life was practically non-existent now, but I didn’t blame them either, I guess from their point of view it probably seemed like I was some malicious college student, I don’t know.

And I honestly don’t think I want to know. The more I think about those comments, the more it makes me want to sob. This was never my intention. I never wanted anyone to know who my professor was, I was just trying to vent a little on a blog post that I thought would barely get any views.

Okay, I’m getting emotional again, sorry, I’ll stop. It’s just hard because this is still kind of fresh.

So I’m just going to move on now: there were also a lot of other comments that I hadn’t read yet. A lot of positive, encouraging ones, which honestly helped me more than those people will ever know, because if I had only come back to negative feedback, I think I would have likely not done what I did next: which was write another essay.

Crazy, right? I know. Why the fuck would I even go near the idea of writing another essay when an essay is what ruined my life last time?

Maybe I’m getting a little arrogant in thinking that someone out there is waiting for the next one. Maybe I felt too fucked up to care and wanted to express myself. Who fucking knows, but I wrote one in a single sitting about loneliness in your twenties, barely edited it, then posted it just so I could feel accomplished for the first time in weeks.

And people liked it.

So I wrote another one. Because for a moment, I felt like my life had meaning again.

Somehow, I guess I got into the habit of writing essays, and before I knew it, I had uploaded at least ten more.