Entry Three

As of late I've been playing too much video games that I've reached the end of the road on diminishing return. I'd leave a game because I played it to death, setting new goals each time I grinded away another menial task. They became a chore or job, not something I enjoy.

I'd reach one goal like an achievement or ingame progress. "Another," I'd say to myself, just so that I something to do. Anything but schoolwork or having to listen to my surroundings.

I've used the same headset I got years ago. Over time, I noticed that the music seemed lower, so I'd bump up the volume back to deafening (as I wanted it). Then I noticed I was at max volume, and could barely hear it.

"It's old," I lied to myself. My memory did not fail me this time, and I realized I had to confirm people's words or ask them to repeat themselves more often lately; something I hadn't struggled with before.

According to a newsletter from my school, a student committed suicide during this quarantine. I didn't know her, but I still didn't feel sorry at all. My only thought when my guardian told me was, "Oh. Okay then."

Complete apathy. Later I felt like some badass cold hearted cartoon character who gave no quarter, minus the badassery and competence. Just a soulless thing posing as a caring person who genuinely loves everyone. The being behind my masks.

At night I've begun to wear a hoodie, beanie, scarf, and any sort of mask to cover my nose and mouth. I wear gloves and pants with long socks. I think I want to become an idea.

Ideas never die. Ideas don't have a definitive face to it. They can be pushed onto anything and you can't say "that incorrect, it looks like this."

I want to blend in. I want to follow the crowd so that nobody sees me. Spotlights scare me; they shut my brain down and I forget everything I've known until that point.

Sometimes I've wondered what happens after we die. I'm in the process of being a confirmed Catholic, and I find it hard to want it. Maybe it's the permanence that dissuades me.

I considered suicide it of morbid curiosity of what happens when we die. In my head I wrote a suicide note explaining my ambitions. I imagined my guardians finding it on my bed on a weekend morning.

The sun pierces my navy blue curtains as the wind blows through the open window. My room is still, every secret and tangible thing of myself laid cleanly on my desk. There is no trace of me left, except what lies in my room.

No proof I existed, except private records under lock and key. But it's just another person in the sea of private data.

For Christmas, a sibling gave my household a puppy. I took ownership of her, having always loved the dogs we brought home.

Suddenly I had the thought that I would outlive her. This small little thing that fit in my palm would grow up and die within my lifetime. Then I had another sudden though of stabbing my sibling.

It wasn't of hatred or revenge. These thoughts happened often. Violence and killing living things. I've never acted upon them, but sometimes I develop habits to make them possible.

On my bed beneath a pillow I have a knife and sheath; for emergencies. One night while I was gaming, my guardian walked in and scared me. At the time it was amusing and we shared a brief laugh.

The next night I kept my knife on my desk that I played on. I left the securing button loose and the knife halfway pulled out. Any surprises could rise a reaction of grabbing the knife and stabbing the other person.

Every time I had a thought of committing murder, my mind ran to "evasion; lone transfer student; running."

I've loved evasion since i can remember. The prospect of outmaneuvering something to defeat it has been a spark in my soul I never kindled, but always there, staring at the lighter and fuel in my hand. The fuel is the events that create the need for evasion: murder, running from home, combat situation, etc. The lighter is the action of creating those events or the final play of becoming an untraceable ghost.

One day, after school, my friends were singing karaoke in Discord. I, being the asshole of my friend group, told them to sing Frank Sinatra's "My Way", a song notorious for causing death when sung during karaoke in Asia (My Way Killings). Everyone sang, and I never queued a song for myself.

Later that night I sang to myself; songs like Nirvana's and Midge Ure's covers of "The Man Who Sold the World", "Trouble" by Cage the Elephant, "Life is Beautiful," by Lil Peep, and of course "My Way," by Frank Sinatra. Since then I waited for another karaoke night. The closest I got was late at night when everyone was logging off at 3 am on a Friday night.

I was playing Terraria at the time, grinding out Moon Lord for more loot for the best endgame sword when I was running a range build. "I'll use it when I do a melee run." A run that never came.

That moment we have all experienced.

"You are now party owner."

"X has left party: (1)"

The ding on discord when the bot finally leaves after everyone left it alone too long because they too have left.

It made me sad. No tears, just internal pain. I made a song request and the bot popped back in, that glorious ping of something entering the call. I sang my song, then waited for it to leave.

Immediately I paused the game and queued another song. That ping again, and another song. Of course, I couldn't hear my voice as it was drowned out by the music, so I was most likely out of tune since I had never sung before.

It is 2:01 January 16, 2021. I have sat in bed staring at my screen, for what feels to be a long time, without typing. I will assume I ran out of thoughts to write down, so I will log this and go to bed.

I will try to lucid dream, forget, and remember tomorrow night to repeat. Goodnight. Thank you.