I can't STAND these birds! Make them go away. Somebody . . . please. It's like, this is my personal hell. To just be stuck here, knowing they're out there, waiting for me, trying to find me. And soon, they will find me, and then they'll peck out what's left of my eyes and pick at my bones, like they do to animals lying dead on the street, all piles of guts and goo. I want to shout, or yell, or do something! But I can't . . . I'm just here, wherever that is, and I have no control over my body anymore.

Why'd I do it? How could I do something like this to myself? I don't have an answer to those questions. I could blame everyone else, I guess. I could say it was everyone else's fault because none of them gave a damn about me, and I did this to see if it was true. Because I maybe thought that something drastic would show them all that they really do care, they just had never known how to show it. But I was wrong. It's been months. I bet no one even knows I'm gone.