I can’t say it’s a new feeling, though. It’s like all my life death has consumed the people close to me. First my parents, then my best friend, now Sarah’s dad.
I’ve been where Sarah is now, but she won’t let me help her -- hell, she’s not even talking to me.
Ever since her father announced to the family that he had an inoperable cancerous brain tumor so far advanced the doctors were giving him a 50-50 chance of living beyond one more month, she stopped talking to me, refused to see me and ignores my phone calls.
It’s been four weeks now. Four long, painful, horrible weeks. I think I’m going to die. I wish I was dead, actually, like so many of the people I’ve cared about.
Our school’s guidance counselor suggested that I start this blog in order to try dealing with it.
So here I am, typing, trying to come to terms with it. But I don’t want to write about how I feel -- I keep stopping and just sit here smashing my fingers down on the keyboard, smashing my fists down on the desk. I want to break something, smash something, throw my computer monitor through the fucking window.
This is bullshit.