I apologize for nothing but the constant change in POV.

December 2

I feel so alone.

It is like I am standing on top of the highest building on Earth and the world has crumbled away around me, bit by bit. Like the sod and the soil are being eaten away by some strange acid and there is no way to stop it, though it leaves me untouched. But I am not at all alone there are people all around me, people I know, people I love. They see me standing in this sea of acid, see me falling to my doom, yet they do nothing to stop it. They don't care enough to stop the downward spiral they ignore it, or hope it goes away. Maybe they are too ignorant to see it. Either way they are doing nothing to help me.

I hate them, but the worst part is I love them. If that even makes sense. I would be nowhere without them in my life, but then again, if they had never come into my life, I may not be all alone on top of the last building in the world. The strange thing is, I like being alone, I enjoy the solitude, but I hate feeling alone. Feeling and being are two totally different things. To be or not to be, that is the question. But if I am surrounded by people who supposedly love me, why am I alone? Well, that's the question I've been waiting for somebody to answer for a long time, and nobody cares enough to. The answer that I have come up with on my own is that they all say they love me that they'd never leave me, but they are all two-faced liars who say these empty words to humor me.

I can feel myself crumble, like the Earth being eaten by the acid. It's a terrible feeling, knowing that your whole world is falling apart, and there is nothing that can be done, besides sit back and watch the show. It is sick twisted show that only the Joker and Harley Quinn would buy tickets to. I can see it now, the one boy act, my name in flashing lights: Dick Grayson in The Boy Blunder! It seems like my whole life is like a play, like I'm just an actor and everyone else is spectators, expecting me to put on the best show of my life. So I dance for them. I put on a fake smile, I laugh at the rude jokes thrown in my direction, but every smile and chuckle rips away another part of my being. Maybe the acting is my acid, maybe it's the only way to go down with the rest of the world. Like the old saying, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

Sometimes, I cry myself to sleep, hoping that while I am lost in the black bliss happy dreams will find me. But I am plagued with reoccurring nightmares. From time to time I also cry publicly. I admit that I am a bookworm and usually have a hardcover detective novel by my side, Sherlock Holmes being my favorite. On the off chance that I do cry in front of people I just write it off as a beloved character passing away in one of my books. They all accept my excuse, never asking anything more. Perhaps they suspect something more, they just don't care enough to dig deeper, and I hate them for that, but I love them too much to hate them.

I'm not quite sure when these feelings began to surface. I just know that one day the world was bright with flowers growing in a lush green meadow, and the next the sky was filled with dark clouds and freezing rain beat upon my shoulders. Sure, I have lived most of my life in the darkness, and I do not doubt that I will live the rest of it in the shadows. It's funny, really, looking back on the vast years of my life, then looking forward and seeing nothing. Every decision I make, every step I take will plan out the rest of my life. What I do today will affect tomorrow, and all the tomorrows after that. Whenever I think about the future I get a horrible, vomit inducing feeling in my stomach. I do not know what tomorrow brings, and it scares the hell out of me. I don't know what will make or break me. Every thought in my head weighs me down like a one ton anchor. It's impossible to think with all these what ifs flying through my brain.

When did I become so scared? As stated earlier, I'm not sure when any of this began. I remember the crushing feeling in my chest, and then the tears. I am not kidding you, I know I am going to break down when my heart feels like it is being sucked up by a vacuum cleaner. There is no other way to describe it. It feels like the nozzle is being pressed to one of my four chambers, and like the super vac is on high. It's that feeling you get when you are at the peak of a hill on a roller coaster. I used to relate the feeling with pleasure and adrenaline, which is why, when it first started, I didn't have a clue what was going on. I was blind to my own emotions. It was my body's way of telling me that I had reached my breaking point that I had had enough. But still I plowed on, not realizing that the cracks had already begun to form, and I was just setting myself up for scars. I suppose that is why I am so vulnerable. The cracks run too deep to heal over completely. I am splintered sheet of glass, and everyone I loved is a single nail driven into my core. Every snide joke I take, every fake smile I dish out, is a hammer driving the nail further into my being.

The tears are hot and salty; I hate them almost as much as I hate everyone who is doing this to me. Does this mean I love them? I'm not sure, maybe you can tell me. Maybe someone in the God forsaken world can make sense of the broken thoughts that make up my mind. A therapist would be nice, but I would never admit to anybody that I need one. I am already a liability, why make myself look weaker? Besides, a head shrinker wouldn't do me any good anyway. He or she would just make me relive my tragic childhood, then make me cry some more. Here's the thing though, I don't think this whole mess came from my tragic past at all. Sure, maybe that is a factor. I just don't think it is the whole painting, just a small piece in a big picture. Don't look at me, I don't have a degree in psychology, but I can make some sense of my own thoughts and emotions, even if it is only a little. Who needs sense anyway? Look at the Joker, he's just fine.

Why am I telling you this anyway? It's not like you care. Most likely you are a complete and random stranger that stumbled upon this by chance and thought "Hey, it'll be fun to watch this kid suffer." Or maybe you just needed a good read. Either way you are in now, sure you can go back, but I cannot guarantee that the words I will write will not haunt you. I am writing my heart and soul here, as well as my thoughts. I can tell you that these thoughts haunt my every waking moment, and they may do the same for you. But that's good. You see, I want someone else to feel the pain, preferably someone I love-slash-hate, but a random stranger will do. God, Alfred, you better not be the one reading this. It's not your fault, you always tried to help. As for the rest of you, you aren't even knee deep yet. You have simply stuck your toe in to test the water, whether it is hot or cold is for you alone to decide. This is my only warning, if you continue on it is at your own risk.

Maybe this will never be discovered; maybe it will sit on some shelf gathering dust for years, and finally die in a house fire. Or maybe I will keep it clutched at my side until my dying day. This was never meant for anyone's eyes but my own, so I suppose the warning was unnecessary. Still I have the fear that Alfred will be sleuthing along and find it, or it could possibly be dug up by archeologists. So, I guess my efforts were not in vein. I probably lost half of you back there. I'm rambling, I know. But I thank those who remain, if anyone did come across this. That means, to an extent, you care. Already my heart swells at the fact that someone, anyone can look upon my words, and understand. No, I no longer want you to feel my pain; instead I want you to understand. If you can't then I suggest giving up reading this right now. I will not tolerate pitiful feelings, I am not a kicked puppy, and I just want somebody, anybody, to understand the way I feel.

Wally and I used to share a joke about roller coasters. You know that little bar, the one they put in front of you on those old wooden coasters? We named that bar, appropriately, the "Oh, shit" bar. So grab onto your oh, shit bar and hold on tight, this is going to be a long bumpy ride.

It seems no one liked the first chapter. Reviews would be nice.