Maybe they're feeling some of it now . . . how it is when no one cares about you. It sucks, but not as bad as when you don't even care about yourself. That's worse. And I know it better than anyone. It's what brought me here. First their not caring, and then my not caring. And do I care now? I'm not sure. How can I, when I don't even really know what I'm doing here? I don't feel pain, really. Not physical pain. But I do feel something . . . or more like . . . nothing. Just emptiness, really. Like everything I was, which wasn't much, is just gone. It didn't even go somewhere—it just evaporated. And what bothers me is that nobody cared to keep it. Even me.

I don't hope they're feeling it. I don't. I wouldn't wish it on them. Even though they screwed me over, especially Ada, they were the only people who at least did a good job of pretending to care about me. My parents did a shitty job, and then everyone else in the world just kind of floated around me. They weren't people I knew. I drew a picture of them, once. All the people I didn't know but who were just, there, you know? There are millions and millions of them. And I'll never know them. But they're there. And they're people. Like me, maybe. Just maybe.