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The psychosis is starting again. I try to block it, banish it from my subconsciousness, but it creeps into my brain no matter what. I witness its affects as I did with all of you, and I wonder if there is a cure for this debilitating illness? It has no real symptoms, no true identifiers, yet it gnaws at my soul as surely as any other terminal disease. It extinguishes the fire in my heart until I lose hold, and I become a spectator of the self-sabotage I inflict. I disappointed her, and that's why I don't deserve to be happy. I let her fall and then she was gone forever, so now I am left with nothing but the shell of who I had the potential to be. I want to love so much ... you have no idea how hard I'm trying to construct a reality in which I am simply a boy, and you are someone I can love without burden or restraint. I failed before, so it is quite certain I shall fail again - exactly as I did, precisely how I feared. I wonder what you'd say if you knew, if I told you the truth? Would you run like those before you? Would you erase me from thought, from matter, from mind? As all my dreams come crashing down, I see you as I close my eyes, and I wonder, why does everything I touch, slowly die?
