ogma meret . d2 . fin

Part one: why is it so hard to live?

I feel like the one thing that's keeping me going these days is my guitar. Living in a previously abandoned shack that I decided to take over, left alone in life by everyone I ever cared about or who I thought cared about me and forced to do everything on my own when I feel like I'm just a shitty person, all I can do to distract myself is play my guitar. It's one of the few things that brings me joy these days.

I've hurt myself over the years. I know it's not the smart thing to do, ripping my hair out and digging my nails into my skin, but it's what I feel like I deserve: some sort of punishment for being a shitty person. I know I'm not a good dude. I'm a trashy person, but at least I'm aware of it.

I just wish life weren't so difficult. Then again, doesn't everyone wish that? People are always complaining about the crap they have to deal with day-to-day. I just feel like I have it worse than a lot of them. They don't realize what kind of shit I've been through when they start complaining.

I just feel like giving up.

Part two: I shouldn't have done what I did

I've always been a bit fucked up in the head, and I've messed up a lot in my life so far. I try to distract myself from that shit by training as a career, but it just isn't enough. What did I do? Well, first of all, I was far from sober when it happened. I'm sure that's not a real good excuse, but it's the only one I have. I was drunk as hell and higher than a kite.

I was sixteen, not thinking straight, and I got into an argument with some guy at the orphanage I was living in at the time. He pissed me off to the point where I told him he needed to get away from me or I'd hurt him. I warned him, and he didn't listen. I suppose that could be another excuse for what happened, but not a very good one, yet again. I let my anger get the best of me.

He took one step closer to me, taunting me and continuing to be a dick about the argumentative conversation we'd been having, so I pulled the pocket knife I always carried with me and pointed it at him. He took a few steps back, realizing I was serious, and tried to calm things down and leave the room. I didn't let him. Instead, I drove my knife into his shoulder.

He's lucky. That's not where I was aiming.

Part three: everyone left me alone

I feel like I must be the devil's child or some shit, outcast and abandoned because no one ever stays in my life. There's a lot of shit wrong with me— I know that much. Thing is, I don't want to change, even if it means I pretty much live my life on my own now.

Mom left when I was six. Dad died when I was eight. When that happened, my older brother moved out on his own, and I ended up in an orphanage sort-of situation until I was sixteen when they decided I was too much after the whole stabbing, drugs and alcohol thing and put me out on the streets instead, never letting me back inside. In Panem, you're not technically supposed to live on your own until you're eighteen, but they didn't give a shit. The people in that orphanage were trash anyway. Maybe it was for the best.

They shooed me away to go fend for myself instead, and I never told the Peacekeepers or anything because, first of all, fuck the Peacekeepers. They're absolutely useless pieces of crap. Secondly, I started to feel that I was just better off on my own. That feeling didn't last long, but now, two years later, there's no doing anything about it. I just live out on the streets by myself.

Things really started to start tumbling downhill in the last year or so. I got a girl pregnant and she refuses to have anything to do with me. At this point, most of the money I make at my job goes toward drugs and alcohol, which is part of why I still don't have a place to live. You'd think I would just wasting my money on that shit, but man, it's an addiction I can't kick.

Trust me, I wish that I could.

Part four: I don't want to live anymore

There are too many days where I feel like just leaving life. I don't mean picking up everything and ditching the District. I mean actually, truly, just leaving this plane of existence. I've tried before. I've stolen a Peacekeeper's gun to try before. Got whipped for that one. I wish he'd just executed me instead.

I suppose if I really wanted to die, I'd just go into the Hunger Games, but even then, there's no guarantee that I actually get to end up dying. I train as a career, so it'd probably be harder to die out there, given my stupid natural survival instincts and trained survival skills. That small part of my brain that wouldn't let my just give up and have someone kill me would irritate the hell out of me. I suppose that's the only reasoning I have as to why I haven't just volunteered for the Hunger Games yet.

I try to tell myself that there's got to be some reason to keep living. Maybe it's my future daughter that will keep me going, even if I can't ever see her because of her dumb bitch of a mother who won't let me. Maybe it's music that will keep me on my feet. I'm not sure, but I guess I just need to try to give myself an excuse to live.