( It's weird, talking so freely on something like this. "Talking"... Well, putting it into any sort of acknowledgement or discussion, no matter how anonymous, is scary. He feels like he's being annoying, writing this in the journal in the middle of the night. He feels stupid, ridiculous, like this is his own problem he has to deal with and any words of attempted comfort are undeserved and aimed at someone better than him. They just don't know what he's like, they don't know—
He frowns, gripping his scarred left hand with his right to steady the shaking. It takes a moment for him to reply. )
Do you feel that way, too?
Someone does seem to care. But what if I care more? What if I'm imagining it? Or what if I hurt them, or abandon them on accident again?
What if someone like me doesn't get to have people who care without something going wrong.
no subject
He frowns, gripping his scarred left hand with his right to steady the shaking. It takes a moment for him to reply. )
Do you feel that way, too?
Someone does seem to care. But what if I care more? What if I'm imagining it? Or what if I hurt them, or abandon them on accident again?
What if someone like me doesn't get to have people who care without something going wrong.
It sounds stupid when I write it out like that.