I need to disappear for a while. I need to pay my rent and then just disappear. In the news once, I heard about this girl who hitched a ride with a random guy and slept on his couch for a couple weeks or so out on Long Island. I'd love to do something like that. People got upset that she let her family worry the time she was missing. I don't see what she did as so selfish. Self-preservation is not selfish. It can't be. Sometimes those people who say they love you just don't get it. As much as this sound like teenage angst, sometimes nobody gets it. How can they really when you're the one dealing.

I fuckin' hate that word sometimes: dealing.

I'm on the train back to the City. I dread it. If they had a cafe or something near the Southeast station, I would've considered staying there for a while. I dread that I have to put my cell phone back on and deal with Mark and rent and everything else. I thought again of suicide while waiting for the train. These images keep popping in my head now. Razors, wrists, blood. "Just remember: vertical, not horizontal"

Yesterday I hardly spoke when Gary picked me up after work. A shower and dinner made me feel a little better, then I turned my cell phone off (ignoring the voicemail alert) and pretended I didn't have to return home ever. A fugitive, I felt good. This morning I grew quiet again and now i can hardly write this and fight the knots in my stomach at the same time.

"Well, you can't run from your problems, Angel"

"But I don't. Not for long anyway. I always end up dealing with them (there's that fuckin' word again) and I'm just tired of it. I'm tired. It's not bad to feel tired. It's not bad to want a break from everything. I'm not a bad person."