L-chan

Age 24

2024: leaving what i wish was my home, flying thousands of miles by myself, forever lost, returning to the place i have lived all my life but that i will no longer truly recognize

2023: so much crying. so much isolation. they were all there but i couldn't face them. i felt like a burden. i felt like a parasite. i felt like there was no hope left. i ran away and couldn't live with myself, so i went back. in a silent 5 am morning in pitch black darkness i dragged myself back there. for a proper goodbye. for a proper sendoff that, at the time, i did not know would be my final one for the forseeable future. to see them just one last time.

2022: the day i died as a person, the day i sent many parts of myself to the grave, the day my metamorphosis into something completely different, unrecognizable, perhaps monstrous, began, the day a switch turned on in my mind that could never be turned back off, the day that would hurt me the most when thinking back on it, the day where everything changed for me

2021: new places new sights new rooms new walls same old problems same old demons

2020: he shows his true colors and the realization sets in that i am trapped and i slowly feel my soul dying

2019: leaving the only thing i understood as "the world" to move to a new one with someone who would be the death of me

2018: misery, it's all a blur, nothing makes sense. i try to pick up the pieces of what i am meant to be but none of it makes sense

2017: from one hell on earth to a different one, the cage around my trembling body grows but it still remains what it is: a cage. white walls. a window that leads to nothing. outside the door is chaos and danger and uncertainity. nothing can hurt me while i stay inside. nothing can hurt anyone when the whole world is within these four walls.

2016: the moment where the ridiculous facade of the "person" i was is shattered and i lose my way in this world, the way i pretended to have, the moment where i finally know that nothing is ever going to be the same again. i desperately await the help that will never, ever come

2015: an attic in some noname street, a little crevice in the wall to crawl into, none of this felt remotely real

2014: he leaves us. i never see him again after this. but he leaves behind something that would ruin me years later. a time bomb.

2013: the same house every single day. the same routine every single day. you could see me moving around but i wasn't alive. not in a true sense

2012: the moment where everything goes off the rails. my fate is decided. this is where it all begins. this is how it all went so wrong

2011: one early morning, the sky was pitch black, i was in the living room by myself, in front of a large screen, i was delaying the inevitable any way i could. they did not enjoy that.

2010: she asks me a question i refuse to answer because it's a stupid question. i'm in the kitchen, mug full with chocolate milk. it's the same thing they made every morning for me. it's almost the only thing anyone drinks here.

2009: the backyard garden that felt like a whole different world. there was no city out here, this was something else entirely, like i'd been transported somewhere else. bugs on the plastic. it's always so damn wet. we used to eat out here sometimes. we used to have parties out here. it's all so faint now

2008: sitting on the computer seeing things that were probably not meant to be seen at such a young age, the year i developed a paranoia that would never be cured again. they would just stand there behind me. watching. not saying anything.

2007: if i have my hand behind my back they can't hurt me

2006: it's all such a blur now. i don't remember. i can't remember. maybe i didn't exist anymore past this point

2005: nothing that makes sense to me

2004: the door to the basement, the stairs to the basement, sitting on the stairs leading up to the fronr door of the house with a sinking feeling i'm not meant to be in this body

2003: where has the time gone? where was i? who was i?

2002: a large flock of birds in the courtyard, all feeding on bread

2001: and then nothing. nothing comes anymore. it's just a void from here on.

2000: nothing

1999: nothing

1998: nothing

1997: nothing.

Additional comments: thank you and good night