frank m. ahearn

The stress won't go away. It's constantly here now and there's not a fucking thing i can do to stop it. it's getting worse and it's killing me in more ways than one.

i've never really felt like a failure before. i really thought i'd never honestly give up hope. i'm at the very end of my rope, and i'm tired of this constant stomach pain. i'm sick of vomiting. i can't sleep or eat without feeling ill.

i don't care anymore about things. i just want to feel ok again. it's all i want. it's really all i want. and all the ways i know how to feel okay and get by are gone. i feel like i get in the way. so i'm going to move out of the way for awhile.


pat, i trust you and i believe you, even though you lied to me. if you don't think i'm worth knowing or worth being around, then i think you're right. i'm going to go fix that.

(and btw, i was working on a comic for you. i lie and say that it's only for myself, but it's really for you. only the first part was going to be about you though, the rest was about my grandma. she said she really really wanted to meet you when i saw her last and told her about you, and i told her that i thought you guys would get along great but she got sick two days after and then died. i kind of haven't been able to forgive myself for that, even though i know it's not my fault. she was the only one who was really OK with me being a faggot. she was my secret best friend. anyway i'll never finish it because no one is really going to give a shit about it, especially you. the sad part is, i think working on it was the only reason i didn't do this earlier.)


i'm going to go try and breathe again now