((*Pretty dark topic(s) warning!*
This is the (often dark) rambling typings of the character Louis Veda Schwarts, and the thoughts and whatnot are only Lou's, not mine!))

*Louis opens up a tiny Word-esque app on his phone, while sitting/leaning against a tree in some kind of odd rain-not-rain fog and types in between zoning-out and waking.*

Writing about why i feel the urge to write, when this is my first time opening this program, and the fact that i haven’t felt the ‘urge’ to write in 40 years, and when it wasn’t a part of some piece of shit ‘therapy’ is awkward, and only going to piss me off, so lets start off this shit with somethin' random eh. This whole looking for a lost person while I myself am fucking lost is fucking with my brain and I just need it all OUT. For one goddamn day. maybe that’ll help me find him.

I like pain.
Why do i like pain? Who am I telling? Why am I saying this? Fuck if I know, but I do, and I am. Maybe I’ll find out as I write this out on my phone that somehow still works.
But just like happiness and safety are the most sought after things that keep people going.. the only thing that keeps me going is pain. Pain and the promise of death. Physical pain, that is. No mental pain for me. Nope. I have so much of that already that physical pain is the only thing that hides.. covers the kind of pain i don’t know how to handle.

Fuck mental pain. Fuck it with a goddamn molten ice pick.

I don’t just like physical pain because it hides mental pain though. Physical pain is a wonderful outlet for so much more than that. It’s a release. The only release I have, it’s always been the most effective way to get rid of excess.. everything for me. Energy, need, desire, indecision, uncertainty.. and not having those bogging down normal, everyday life is such a beautiful, pure feeling to me.
I don’t cut myself anymore. I promised someone I would stop, and I have, sort of. Instead, i find others to cut me, stab me, beat me around whenever, wherever. You can get people to do a lot of things they wouldn’t normally do if you push the right buttons, or the wrong ones. Sometimes I wonder if it’s stupid to keep a promise to someone who’s been dead for 24 years.
Though whenever I do end up hurting myself, it’s always so much.. duller than having that power in someone else’s hands. God I wish I could find someone that truly understands this fucked up way of thinking.

Stab me, kick me, punch me, cut me, kill me. Those things aren’t always a bad thing.

That brings me to the second half of whats in my head. i WANT to die, at the hands of someone else. Not my own hands. That wouldn’t be very fun at all. Why does that make others sympathetic, sad, squirmy, or feel the urge to help me ‘not die,’ when the thought of dying obviously makes me happy? is that just the normal reaction to such opposite ‘wants’? It isn’t a shared ideal obviously, i’m not stupid. if we all wandered around thinking getting stabbed and shot was ‘the bee’s knees’ then humanity wouldn’t have made it this far, but when it makes me excited to the point where my entire body shakes? When it’s my main goal every waking moment? Why do people feel entitled to tell me that my happiness is wrong? I don’t shit on what makes them happy, and if any of them /were/ to kill someone like me, they’d be getting rid of that kind of thinking so it wouldn’t continue down the genepool (though no one would have to worry about that regardless, trust me), so what’s the fucking problem? is it something that they can’t explain that makes people want to keep others ‘alive’? Dreams where I die are fucking wonderful, and I wish I had more of them. But most of my dreams are mentally exhausting and filled to the fucking brim with emotional pain, which is funny, but mostly annoying.

So why do I want to die? don’t i have people that love me and care about me and all that other shit? i don’t know. i’ve never truly known. you can never, ever know what’s in another person’s mind, the reasoning behind them saying they ‘love you,’ or ‘care about you.’ People seem to care. Seem to love me, and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t feel love and care towards those people too, but where it’s different is i KNOW what i’m feeling, what i’m thinking, and i would never, ever keep someone around if they sincerely wanted to die. and i wouldn’t put them in a fucking mental institution because they don’t want to live.
Why do i want to die? Because of the pain. The mental pain I’ve lived with since i was too young to even think for myself. Because of the feeling of being very obviously ‘off’ and /knowing,/ and /seeing/ how different my mind works from others, in not very good and idea-changing ways, because I know that i’m alone in my way of thinking. in every room filled with minds, i’m the odd one that doesn’t fit, not just into a ‘culture,’ but the human race as a fucking whole. and let me tell you one thing, all you fuckers that try to 'help' me find meaning in life. you can't. you never will. you can't implant someone like me with the drive to live by telling them to see the good in life. not if you've had to endure the hellish shit i have, so please fucking stop. be whoever you're going to be, do whatever you're going to do, but don't think for one goddamn second that you can fix me with a bandaid of 'but life is so wonderful, you just need to focus on the good!' or 'you just need time' or anything similar. i have focused on 'good,' and it's only ended up bad for someone else. i have had 'time,' i'm fucking 55 years old, and yet that still hasn't been enough time to get over the shit in my head, and no amount of years will /ever/ be enough, because it's not something time fixes.

I don’t want help living, I want help dying. maybe i’ll get that here. maybe i won’t find him. maybe i’ll finally get what i want, in a far more boring, mind-fucking way than i ever imagined possible. By starving to death.

Don’t know if i’ll write again/.