So, one year. 

It passed so quickly, didn't it?

I don't know if you remember that awful date. 

But I know that I can't take the numbers 8 and 9 and 3 out of my head. 

Those death days. 

When was the last time that you experienced such a long term fear, that kind that you know that you might die, but this fear? It's a rational one, and that's the worst. 

You know that nothing okay or at least slightly bad can come out. 

It ends up so bad that it's not even imaginable. 

I remember the fight slovement. 

The story sharing. 

The secret being discovered. 

And few hours later, on eight pm, a call. 

I prayed to die and my hear raced and I knew that if they aren't going to talk now, they probably will after the show ends, so I decided to go to bed, I wasn't even tired. 

I was so scared. 

Even my irrational fears didn't bothered me. 

I knew I was in danger. 

It filled me. 

I couldn't stand it. 

That memories are fucking burnt in my head. 

That's depressing and pathetic. 

Why am I bothering to repeat it?

To feel sorry for myself?

Oh please, so stupid. 

....

It's the second day now. 

I remember it. 

Questions causing to tears. 

Forced to remain outside. 

And I blogged nervously.

I didn't want them to know even more. 

I remember deleting throught the following days. 

The self hatred notes. 

It doesn't matter now. 

Because I can't fucking feel. 

Every single action seems stale, not worthy enough to make. 

I'm probably just through that phase now, uh, it'll probably be over soon. 

I walked down the stairs today (like everyday), but I thought, what if I'm doing it all, to create a problem?

What if I just done that for maybe have something to solve?

What if all that I'm feeling (or not feeling), is so empty, it's nothingness, and it hurts so much, that I try to make it seem to me that it's not nothing that hurts, that it's a common mental illness that hurts. 

But no. 

I'm stuck with the emptiness. 

It's cruel. 

It's awful. 

And the worst part?

It's nothing. 

I'll probably watch suicide room again. 

For the third or fourth time. 

It makes me turn to my deep self. 

My old and wise seventy year old self. 

Or a hipster twenty eight year old. 

When I think about the twenties on your life, is a body of a fresh couple on their thirties(sometimes each for it's gender, sometimes the size of them combined), and mentality of a three year old. 

...

I woke up today, and I just felt like shit. 

I'm a bully. 

And I'm it's victim. 

So stupid. 

I hate it.

I just make myself feel worse. 

But it doesn't make the bully feel better, more confident, because it hurts itself, because those are both me. 

...

They are talking about wine "professionals", the people who do those fancy and disgusting thing to this poor liquid. 

Maybe one of their parents went to the whiskey festival or something?

I don't know why, but I'm traumatized by alcohol. 

And South America. 

And them both combined. 

Our math teacher (ram), went to South America with his friend, he was once in some village. 

And they made alcohol for their leaving a celebration with home made alcohol. 

They made it from natrual enzymes and some scratchy vegtable. 

The natrual enzymes are from their mouths. 

...

We just had this weird test, which is more like a check up. 

They check how you feel in school and shit. 

It wasn't the yearly test that includes drugs and cigarettes. 

I personally think that the should add "have you stabbed in the past month?" As a question.