Sunday, May 8, 2011

Everything's wrong.

It's like my life just keeps getting more and more twisted. Everytime I think that everything's gonna start getting better, something fucked up happens. Like today.

I went to Sheila's old house. Well, I went to what was left of it, seeing as it had been burned down last Wednesday. Like, here one minute, charcol the next. The police department is clueless how a three story house burned to the ground in under half an hour. Everythings gone. All the stuff Sheila's mom wanted to give to me is just ash in the wind. And I can't even go ask her about it. Oh yeah, I forgot to mention. She was instutionalized following the fire, after she tried to attack the lawyer who was offering to sue for her. She's locked up in an asylum, babbling about something in a language I don't even understand.

All my leads have gone cold. I don't really have a choice now, I guess. I'm going back to Seattle. I'm getting a new, cheaper apartment, since I can't afford, nor want, the one I had with Alex anymore. I'm gonna bury the diary. Probably next Sheila. Yeah. That'd be a fitting way to end this unpleasent little chapter. Then I'm done. I'm not getting on this blog ever again. I don't want redemption anymore. I don't want to be reminded. I just want my old life back. Goodbye guys. Have fun with your lives.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

What's going on?

I'm writing this from a cafe in the middle of nowhere. I'm mooching off the Wi-fi of some buisness type with a mobile hotspot. The chick at the bar tells me I'm in Wyoming. But that can't be possible. I went to sleep three days ago about 50 miles from the Washington-Oregon border. How the hell did I get here? Why can't I remember anything?

To make matters worse, the diary's back. I woke up with it in the seat next to me, just lying there like it had ben there all along. I flipped through it and... things had been added. Recently. Stuff in red ink. It looked like the stuff Alex had in his rooms. Which reminds me, the stuff I took from there when I left is gone. The drawings I mean. Just poof.

I'm seriously freaked out. By now, I'm pissed too. Somebody's fucking with me. Stealing days of my life in God knows what way. He's trying to ruin my life, and I'm not playing that game. I'm going to see Sheila's mom tomorrow. I'll post again after that. Hopefully I find something that'll help me beat this guy. Cause I'm done running. It's motherfucking war now. Game on faggot. Let's play.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Taking back what's mine.

Hey. It's Jason. I went back to my apartment last night. It was... well. It was wierd.

I walked in the door, and everything was just the way I'd left it: trashed. Nothing odd about that. I walked the apartment, just to make sure, but it was like no one had been in the apartment. I mean, I should have seen some sign the cops had been there, but nope. Guess they're just good. lol.

Then I went back and tried the door to Alex's room. It still had the mark on it from a week ago. The fucking Operator symbol. Can I just say, I've never understood the point of it. Marble Hornets never really explained it, and I've seen so many blogs try to, that I've given up. I don't see what it is expect a sign that ol Slendy's gonna start creeping on you. Apparently, my stalker's a fan. I guess that's one thing I know about him.

Anyway, I decided to try the door to Alex's room again. Apparently the police ha been in there, cause it was unlocked now. So, being the crack sleuth I am, I decided to go in.

... there aren't many things in this world that frighten me anymore. I had a rough childood, A hard time in school. I watched my uncle wate away from a debilitating disease. It's kinda hardened me to the world. I'm a tough nut to crack. But what I saw in Alex's room... it freaked the holy piss out of me. From Floor to ceiling, on all four walls, were these drawings. Pictures. Pictures of death, and mutilation. Of things thatshould never see the light of day. Of people in Africa, blighted by plauge. Of Children being fellated by their mothers. Of all sorts of creatures, animal and human, being ritualistically slaughtered. The drawings were simple stck figures, just with horrible disfigurements: Multiple limbs, and hols in their chests. And the eyes. Horrible, detailed eyes staring down at me from all over the walls. And there, right in the middle of the room: A garbage sack, tied with a purple twisty-tie. Just sitting there on some newspaper.

I should have left right then. Gone with my gut, turned, and run scrreaming from that place never to reurn. But I didn't. I couldn't. I needed to find my friend. So I walked up to that bag. I could smell it now: Death. Not the band, thepure stench of decay and rot, muted by the bag. Flies were buzzing around it. Then I opened it. Something... spilled out of the bag. It was just a rush or red fluid at first, then came chunks and lumps of meat mixed with fur. Something alive had been killed, mutilated, thrown in that bag and left for me to find.

I uked. I puked fucking hardcore. Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could. I grabbed some ofthat shit of his walls, grabbed whatever I could got in my car, and drove as fast as I could away.

That was two days ago. I've been driving in circles ever since. I'm at an Internet cafe in Wyoming writing this. I called Jake, told him to let my boss know that I was taking a leave of absence. I'll probably get fired, but I don't care aymore. I'm going to see Sheila's mom. Maybe whatever she has from her would haelp me find Alex. Maybe Alex is with her. I don't know. All I know is, I can't stay in Seattle right now. I'll ry and update you guys the next chanceI get. Please, I'm open to suggestions, and comments. I need help.

Saturday, April 23, 2011

Checking in/ Sheila's Mom.

Hey guys, Jason here. It's been a few days since I posted, mostly because I've been putting in a bunch of overtime at work to keep my mind busy. I'm still staying with Jake, I haven't been back to the house since my last post. Still no word from Alex, still no sign of the diary (I sense a link between those two) Honestly, I'm kinda disappointed in you guys. I was kind of expecting you guys to chime in and say that I need to be careful, that Slenderman is gonna get me. But no, nothing. And just when I thought you really cared...

But enough of my childish petulance. I'm not even considering the whole Slendy notion. Someone is fucking with me. Most likely the person who sent me the diary, most likely the one who made Sheila kill herself. And I'm not playing that game. It's personal. if he's reading this I want him to know that I'm ready for him. Game On motherfucker.

In other news, I got a call from Sheila's mom down out in Wyoming. She said that she was going through some of Sheila's old things and was wondering if I wanted any. Honestly, I don't but since this was the first time she'd ever spoken cordially to me, I figured I could only say yes. I'm probably gonna drive down there in a few weeks to go get it. But first, I've gotta move back into my apartment. I've got a CHL, and I used to hunt a lot, so I've got a gun. I just hate that I have to use it. But, welcome to the world we live in.

I've got to go. Hopefully I hear from ALex soon. I'm worried about the fucker.

Tuesday, April 19, 2011

Still missing.

Yup. He's gone. Completely effing vanished off the face of the Earth. I've called his work, his friends, his family, his girlfriend. None of them have seen him in at least a week. I woke up this morning, and he wasn't there, which isn't odd, since he's normally gone before me. His door was locked, which wasn't normal, but I wrote it off because of how strange he is. I get home from work today, and he's still not here. Finally after, about three hours of waiting, I placed all those calls I mentioned above. Then I realized: Sheila's diary wasn't where I left it... I was certain it should have been on the end table, but it wasn't. I searched all over the house. I even went out and looked in my car.

Now here's where shit gets freaky. I was outside for all of maybe 15 minutes. No way anybody could have done much damage. But when I come back, the place was ransacked. Shit was everywhere. Cushions were shredded, dishes were smashed, pages were pulled out of my text book; it was like someone with rage issues had gone through my apartment. But what really terrified me, was what was on Alex's door. It was... it was that fucking symbol. The Operator symbol from Marble Hornets. A huge Fucking X'd Circle painted on my best friend's door.

I'm not there anymore. I'm staying with Jake for a while. Someone insane broke into my apartment, most likely the same someone Sheila was writing about. From Alex's little addition to my last post, I gather that he was seeing him too. Whoever he is, he's gotta be scary, because Alex isn't afraid of anything. I have no idea what the signifigance of that symbol is, or where Alex is, but if you're reading this man, please, come back. I need to know. I want to fight this guy with you. Please. Come home.
Alex is gone. Just vanished. The journal's gone too. His room is locked. The apartment is trashed. There's an addition to the last post that I didn't write. What the fuck is going on?

Saturday, April 16, 2011

My apologies...

For those of you who read that little ...outburst last night, I'd like to offer some explainations. Yes, the book belonged to Sheila. I was flipping through it when I noticed something written inside the front cover. It was a little scrawl written in silver Sharpie... her favorite color. It said This diary, and all it contains is the property of SRD. So back Off.

SRD. Sheila Ruth Daniels.

I kinda lost it. Ok, I seriously lost it, as you can tell. The fact that somebody would steal her possesions and mutilate it like they did was sick enough. But the fact that they mailed it to me... I don't think it was somebody sane.

This is cemented by the fact that Sheila was being followed. From all I've been able to read, about 8 months ago, some man starts stalking her. She never refers to him by name, just "Him" "I saw Him today. He was across the street from the house just standing there... staring" And then, a month later "I keep seeing Him in my dreams. He always following me, and I hear the children screaming... or is it laughing?" It just gets wierder from there. Most of the pages after that are either damaged by the water or completely fucking incinerated. But the ones I can make out are just weird. Drawings of eyes, sscribbles of "Help Me" One page just a blank circle drawn on it. It's some disturbing shit. I'm not gonna show Alex, or anybody. I was considering putting up pictures, but now I'm not even gonna consider it. It's private. Sheila was so beautiful, so full of joy, I don't want anyone to see her the way she is in this diary. I trust you guys understand.

She was being followed. Right before she broke up with me was when she needed me the most, and I wasn't there for her. Now I know what she meant that day she called me. Oh God, Sheila, please forgive me. I'm gonna keep reading through you're diary. Maybe I can find something that'll help me catch whoever drove you to your death. He has to pay... justice must be served.

Jason has no idea what he's messing with. What is hunting even now. What took Sheila. He's trying to keep it from me, but I know. I see Him, everywhere I look. I can't stay here any longer. It's not safe. Maybe if I'm gone, Jason will be safe. So I'm leaving. I'm getting as far away from here as possible. I'm making sure that Jason can't get any deeper. It's for his own good. You guys seem to know what it is I'm talkig about so I'm begging you, don't encourage him. Keep him safe, or you'll damn him to a fate worse than hell. I've got to leave. Now. I can't see Him, so I'm making a break for it. Protect him.

Friday, April 15, 2011

No... it's nt fucking possible. I don't kow how, or why, but it's just not fucking happening. The Journal is Sheila's. I don't know how, but somebody mutilated her diary and sent it to me. What the fuck is going on?

Thursday, April 14, 2011

Opening the box

Hey guys. I did it. I opened the box. And I'm not gonna lie, I was pretty freaked out. From the way my boss was freaking out, I was expecting a severed head or something, but no. It was two things: A key, which wasn't that special, since I have no idea what it goes to, doesn't work any of the locks in my house. And, far more interestingly, a book, which was the source of the burning smell. The thing was torched. It's got holes in it, and half the pages are indecipherable. I just kinda skimmed through it, and from what I can tell at one point, it was the chronicle of a person who slowly went insane. Like, batshit, seeing things screaming at the wall crazy. I'm gonna start reading it tonight, and I'll let you know if anything catches my eyes. So far all I've seen are just a few doodles and random Stream Of Consciousness writing. Anyway, I'm off TTYL guys

Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Special Delivery.

Hey guys, It's me again. I haven't posted in a few days because, well, nothing happened till today. I went back into work for the first time today. Didn't get much work done though. I walked in, and immediately, I knew something was off. Normally when I walk into the shop, I'm greeted by either a snide comment from my buddy Jake, or a berating from my boss. Today, neither were forthcoming. Jake wasn't even there, and my boss... well, my boss looked like hell. He looked like Alex that day I woke him up about the furniture: Unshaven, Wild-eyed, and twitchy. The dude looked like he was coming of a week-long coke binge, which is saying something for a guy who normally combs his eyebrows (Trust me, I've seen it.) He was so bad off, he barely even acknowledged me when I asked what was wrong. It was only when I asked about the things that I'd gotten in the mail that he seemed to come to life. His eyes bugged out, and he started freaking the fuck out, screaming at me to take it, and get out of his store, before he fired me. It was weird, like he didn't even recognize me... he was just screaming about not letting me bring "him" back here. Finally, I just gave up, went back to the back where the package was just sitting on a shelf, grabbed it, and ditched.

That was twenty minutes ago. I'm in my room right now typing this. The package is sitting next to me on my bed. I haven't opened it yet. Honestly, after the way Dale (My boss) Freaked out, I'm kinda nervous about it. I have noticed two odd things about it though: One, it looks like it was once wet. Like, soaked through. It's all wrinkly and swollen like something that was rinsed and dried off. Also, and this one's really weird, it smells like fire. Like there's something in there that was burned. I have no idea what to make of it. I'll probably open it sometime this week. Till then... I have no idea.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Saying goodbye

Hey gang, it's me again. I went to see the grave today. That nasty bout of whatever it was is gone, though I still feel a tad wobbly. But that's not the point. The point was, I finally mader it down to say goodbye to my ex-GF. Alex was with me. It was hard for both of us.
Perhaps I should explain a bit... Sheila and Alex had been known each other since before Time. Their parents had gone to school together, and they lived right next door to each other. They'd been best friends from birth. They even went out for a few months in High School, although Alex has assured me quite often that they broke it off, since apparently they found it a tad odd. Then, when I moved up here from Texas 2 years ago, and I found Alex through an ad on Craigslist, I met Sheila. Needless to say, we hit it off. About two weeks after we first met, she and I started seeing each other.

The months I had with her were some of the best of my life. I'd never been so happy. So, naturally, it was doomed to fail. She broke up with me in December, and I hadn't heard from her till that fateful day a few weeks ago.

It's just... really sad I guess. She was so full of life. I know that that's something everybody says when a loved one dies, but she really was. She never seemed upset, she always had a smile on her face. She was so adventurous, which absolutely baffled my parents, seeing as I perferred to stay home and sleep. It's just hard to believe she's really gone...

 Anyway, We went to the grave. It was a nice spot, I guess. On top of a hill, overlooking the rest of the cemetary. Right under this big oak tree that looks about 6 million years old. The grave stone was simple. Just a plaque reading Here lies Sheila Ruth Daniels, Sister, Daughter, Friend. 1991-2011.

I cried. Yeah, I know, you were waiting to hear it. I cried there, standing over the the remains of the woman I had once loved. I sobbed like a baby. Alex cried too, although I think for him, it held more meaning then me. Sometimes, I think he loved her more than I ever could have. He certainly was shaken up. As we were walking back to the car, he started screaming at this party of mourners a few yards away, saying "Why, why did you take her? She never did anything? Why?" I had to get him out of there in a hurry, before someone called the cops. He's been acting really weird since she died. Not sleeping, barely eating, constantly looking out the window, like he expects someone to be down on the street watching him. I feel bad for the guy. Most days, he just sits in his room and never comes out. He even had a door with a lock installed. One of those big expensive heavy duty locks. I think I might have to take him to a shrink. I'm pretty sure this isn't part of the grieving process...

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Here there be lulz

I know I said I wasn't gonna post till I felt better, but I found this, and it made me lol. THese guys have the right idea

Still sick, though now I know for sure that I have people aware of my existance:D I love cheap self-validation.

Monday, April 4, 2011

Feeling better.

For those of you who read my last post (Which I now know at least one did, whattsup Lucien?) I missed Sheila's funeral. I know, I know, it's basically all I've been talking about the past week, but shit came up. Namely, everything in my stomach. That's right I got so fucking sick. I was puking up stuff I don't even remember eating, my head felt like the bass to Deadmau5 song, and my nose kept spouting blood at random times. SO, despite my protests, Alex tucked me in bed, doped me up on Benadryl and Tylenol, and left for the cemetary. Meanwhile, I stayed home and tried not to die, which was much harder than it sounds. I mostly spent the day sleeping. Speaking of which, never sleep shen you're on  that many drugs. You get some really freakyass dreams. Like, for instance, I kept having one where I'm being pulled underwater by my legs, and I keep trying to scream, but I can't. Next thing I know I'm waking up, and my nose is bleeding. Just wierd shit. I'm still not feeling much better, but I'm well enough to type something up here, to prove to the world that I haven;t died. Yet.

In other news, I got a call from work today. It was my boss, da Fuhrer. He was getting on to me about having shit delivered to work. Said that if I wanted my pornos, then I could get em at my place like everyone else, instead of at work where everyone can see them. I honestly have no idea what he's talking about, and I really didn't get much of a chance to ask. So I've got something to look forward to when I get back. When that is who knows.

I've decided something as well. The minute I'm back on my feet, I'm going with Alex down to see Sheila's grave. The three of us go way back, and even though things ended the way they did, We still had a lot between us. It just wouldn't be right not to say goodbye for the last time. I guess then I could finally get on to that whole "redemption" thing I made this blog for.

Oh hey, gotta go, Alex just made me some soup, so I'm gonna go see if this one stays down better then the las 5. I'll try and post something after I'm feeling better. Night guys.

Sunday, April 3, 2011

So... sick

I'm gonna keep this short, cause I can feel another barf coming on. I missed the funeral, I'm sick as dog, life sucks. Good day to you.

Saturday, April 2, 2011

Slender Man.

I know I already posted today, but I'm just having the time of my life right now. So I was talking with my friend Jake about today. When I mentioned that incident with the furniture and my TV (Which still hasn't worked, may Vizio burn in hell) and the wierd suit guy, he starts going off about this Internet craze called Slender Man. I, being basically un-initiated into the Web aside from this blog, naturally started pulling up shit on this guy. As wierd as it sounds, I actually kinda enjoy it. I started Reading the blog Scared, Dreams in Darkness and Icthyological. But I gotta say, I really love the youtube stuff. EverymanHYBRID is genius, even though the whole Rake tangent is a tad annoying. However, I really gotta kick out of reading all the people who think it's real. I mean, really? A guy in a suit steals children? Sounds like a plot to one of Stephen King's worser novels. Anyway, I just felt like sharing my pop culture savvy with you, and reminding you not to let memes get too crazy, night guys,

Long Day...

Hey Guys, know it's been a few days since I checked in, but, well, this is the first bit of down time I've had today. I'm just... I'm just a bit stressed.

My restful Saturday started off with a phone call... at 3 in the morning. On my house phone. Now, I get maybe 3 calls on that thing a month. I've gotten that many in the past week. I soon as I picked up the phone I knew I should have just let it go. On the other end was some maniac rambling about how I wasn't safe, about how he was gonna get me. All the while the connection is fading in and out, till finally, it just descends into static. Neat. I hung up after that, rolled out of bed, took a shower, and headed into the living room.

Now, in a normal person's life, I'd have a cup of coffee, maybe flip on the TV to catch some Saturday morning cartoons (Don't Laugh) and just enjoy my day off. But no, my life isn't normal. I came in to see that all my furniture had been rearranged. And not in the normal, "Oh, that lamp is off kilter, the table's to the left" kinda rearrange. We're talking "lamp is on the floor, table is in the bathroom" Everything was out of place. I'm not a neat person by nature, but this was ridiculous. The TV had been turned to face the hallway leading to the bedrooms (And apparently turned to some channel that showed nothing but silent static) the armchair was on it's back on the opposite side of the room, and the couch was facing towards the window looking out on the street two stories below.

Naturally, I flipped. I normally enjoy Alex's pranks, but this was where I drew the line. I stalked back down the hall and rapped on his door. He opened it, and, God, he looked like hell. Eyes bloodshot, hair a mess, he gave off a vibe that said hangover. He'd been having trouble sleeping the past week, since Sheila died, but I'd just attributed that to stress and grief. Besides, he still acted the same. I'd never seen him like this. I started asking him about the interior decorating, when he pipes up says "Oh, yeah, sorry about the couch, that was me" As to why he did that, he didn't let on, even though I've asked him several times since then. In fact, he kinda seems to shut down when I bring it up....

Anyway, I started asking him about the rest of the furniture. That's when he really started to get freaky. He got really pale, and kinda whispered something I couldn't catch. I walked back to the living room with him behind me, and gestured around. This was when he lost it. He starts walking around the room. just staring, whispering, "Oh, God, He got in, He was in here" Exactly who "he" is, I don't know. He didn't seem to hear that question either. So, I ignored him, and started moving everything back in place.

I spent the rest of the day eithor out shopping for a tux for Sheila's funeral, and trying to fix my TV, because no matter what I do, all it does is play the Salt n' Pepper Show on mute. It won't even give me a channel number or something... stupid technology. Anyway, yeah, I've got the funeral tomorrow. Why Sheila felt the need to end it all about a week before my 21st birthday, I don't know, but I'll welcome the oppurtunity to drink my sorrows away... wow that sounded selfish. Anyway I guess I should be off.

Oh, wait, one more thing: As I was moving the couch away from the window, I snuck a glance out the window, and saw the strangest thing. There was this guy, two stories below, standing on the sidewalk across from my building. Just standing there. He wasn't a homeless person or anything. IN fact, he looke like a buisness man, dressed in a really nice looking suit. When I glanced back for a double take though, he was gone, just, poof, into thin air. I just kinda forgot about him till now. More strangeness...

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Fun at the Store.

Hey guys, I'm just got out of work. It's been a couple of days since I posted something, so I thought I might as well relate a rather charming little incident that happened today involving me, Alex, a grumpy old woman, and a can of ravioli.

Alex and I were out shopping for groceries last night (Yes, we shop together. Yes we're straight) We were walking down the aisles, throwing stuff in the cart. Well, I was throwing stuff in the cart, Alex was throwing them in, and then putting them back on the shelves... three aisles from where they started. We had been doing this for nearly 30 minutes, when finally some random old woman, who I swear was following us, had enough. Keep in mind, this wasn't your sweet, grandmotherly type old lady; This woman looked like one of those mummies they pull of off mountains in the Tibet, or get found in swamps. She gets up in Alex's face (or as close as possible since Alex is easily 6'2", and this woman might top out at 4'8" with a good pairs of heels) and starts rasping at him in this emphysemic voice that if she sees him put one more thing from our cart back, she'll call the manager. So Alex, being the upstanding gentleman he is, walks past the old broad, reaches into her cart, pulls out a can Chef Boyardee Ravioli, puts it on the shelf (Next to some loaves of bread) blows her a kiss, and walks off, leaving her looking appalled, and me scrambling for the check-out counter, trying not to pee myself  from laughing. This, ladies and mentlegen, is my life.

Aside from the usual hijinx of my life, it's been a rather calm couple of days. No more strange voice messages, though none of my friends seemed to have any idea what it was that I was talking about when I asked about it. I'm just gonna write it off as a couple of twelve year olds trying to be cool. Sheila's funeral is Sunday. I'm pretty freaked out, to be honest. Her dad was out of the picture long before I showed up, but her mom has always had it in for me, sentiments I'm sure haven't been helped by the fact that I apparently drove her to suicide.... sigh.

Monday, March 28, 2011

More Explainations.

Looking back over my post from last night, I kinda wanna apologize for coming across as the cynical jerk I sound like. Granted, I am a cynical jerk, but it doesn't mean I should act like it. It's just been a long couple of days... weeks... months, you get the picture.

I guess before I go any further, I should explain just who the hell I am. My names Jason Sanders. I'm 20 years old, living in a cheap ass apartment in the bad part of Seattle with my roommate and long time friend Allister (Alex) Lawson. No wife, girlfriends, love buddies or significant other to speak of. As I mentioned above, I'm a cynical person by nature, not always the nicest person to be around, but I consider myself a loyal devoted friend. I work at a Starbucks about 20 miles from my apartment, serving lattes to old ladies and hipsters (quite the life, I know) Up until Sheila killed herself last week, it was my life, and I was happy with it. Now, it just won't do it for me anymore. I guess the point of this blog is me trying to right some of the wrongs I've committed in my life, and try to prevent anything like what happened with Sheila from happening again.

So, now that we're so nice and acquainted (all three of you reading this) I guess I should move on and talk about my day, since I guess that's what most people with Blogs do. For the most part my day was average. Got up and went to work at about 5 this morning, spent 8 hours "Barista-ing"(?) Made it through the day without incurring the wrath of my manager, who's had a hard-on for me since he found those porno magazines under the wipers of his car. (Alex's doing) Went home to find Alex lying on the table in his boxers, trying to snort ground habenero peppers (He's a weird one, my friend) checked the voicemail on my house phone, made some ramen for dinner and went to bed. I know, my life is so exciting, I can barely wait to get up in the morning.

One weird thing though. On my answering machine, there was this odd message. Just about 2 minutes of a guy breathing, then the word "listen" I've been racking my brain trying to figure out which one of my friends could've left it. I've already asked Alex about it, he never even remembered hearing the phone ring for that message. I'll have to talk to my pal Jake about it at work tomorrow. Creepy prank calls are right up his alley.
Well, I'm tired, so I'm gonna go to bed. Sheila's funeral is this weekend, so I've got that to look forward to. Class tomorrow at the U should be fun... not. Anyway, night all.

Sunday, March 27, 2011

Well... this is helpful.

Yay, new blog, millions of people watching and commenting on my deepest inner thoughts and fears... whoo hoo.

I guess I should start out by telling all three of you reading this why I created this blog. It all really started about a week ago, when I got a call from my ex girlfriend Sheila. Keep in mind, dear reader (What the hell? Since when do I use the word dear as an adjective?) that Sheila and I had been broken up since December, and hadn't spoken since late January. Any way, she calls me up out of the blue, to tell me, in no uncertain terms, exactly why it is she had broken up with me. I must have sat there for a good 30 minutes, getting bitched out by the woman I once thought I'd loved, hearing her rant about how I was "insensitive to her needs" and "never able to take things seriously," you, know, standard Raging-Hormone-Bitchfest type aggression, nothing I hadn't heard before. What really freaked me out, though, was the end of our pleasurable little conversation, when, out of nowhere, she shifts gears and begins sobbing, begging me for forgiveness, pleading with me to take her and help her, along with a slew of other assorted hyserical ramblings.

During all of this, I'm sitting in the living room of my apartment staring at the phone, (which I had placed on the coffee table so as to listen to her rant on the glorious speakerphone of my cheap ass Sprint phone) slack jawed. I had no idea how our conversation had come to this bizarre junction, where the girl who had left me less than two months ago, the strongest person I'd ever known, was sobbing like a two year old. Finally, when I thought she had calmed down enough so that I could find out just what had brought on this spurt of lunacy, she said something to me that, even over the crappy ass speaker, sent a shiver down my spine.

"I just... I just wish you had paid more attention Jason... then maybe you could have saved me"

Whilst I was still reeling from that jarring bit of dialouge, Sheila hung up.

Three days later, her roommate calls the phone in my apartment. Sheila was dead. They'd found her lying in her bathtub, wrists slashed.

I honestly don't know what to do anymore. I keep playing that last conversation in my head again and again. I just can't figure it out.... Alex, my roommate and Partner in Idiocy, recommended that I start this blog, to air my feelings and build a network of support. Personally, I think it's a shitty ass idea, but it's honestly the best one I've had offered (and trust me, there were some freaky ideas thrown at me.) So here I am. Hopefully I'll only need to use this for few weeks, and then I can get on with my life. I just need to get over this.