...On second thought...
...There was someone, a long time ago, who did something kinda similar to what I'm doing. Talked about wanting to die, disappeared, and then was never heard from again.
Turns out, he faked the whole thing to see if people would care.
...I'm not going to do that.
I'm going to be honest. I'm scared. I don't want to do that. I just...also hate my life.
Plus...I can see the difference clearly.
People cared when they thought he died.
Only one person has even bothered to lie and pretend that he cares.
...There's nothing to be done, let's be honest.
It's better to give up.
I'll never be worth anything. And...it's clear that no one here truly cares.
...It's time for me to disappear. My fate...well, I suppose you'll never know, if I've truly learned my lesson.
But I can assure you...I'm certain it won't be anything wonderful. The greatest fate I can hope for is working multiple dead-end jobs that cost all my free time just to barely scrape by.
...I'm tired of the lies.
I'm tired of being told people care when they don't. I'm tired of being told my stories are great when they're not. I'm tired of telling myself that there's a great future ahead of me when there isn't.
I'm just...completely unimportant and average in every way. A background character in my own story.
...That's just...the way it is...
...I have no skills...
Oh God...every day, I approach the time when I have to have my crap together and know what I'm going to do with my life...I thought I did, but...apparently...I can't do anything.
Because the one thing I'm good at...I actually suck at.
...I really am worthless.
(2/2)
...Though...I think I've figured it out.
You cheer for me to create something, but once I do so...poof. All of that excitement suddenly disappears.
You...don't like my stories. I can see that now.
...Heh. I should have realized that sooner.
...Why did I ever try? I knew it was inevitable...I can't make people listen to my stupid stories, and I can't make people care about my boring interests.
...It's nice to know that everyone who told me that my stories were good was lying.
All the family and friends I proudly showed them off to...they told me that my stories were great...but now they've been presented to a real audience...and they couldn't withstand the test.
...I'm a terrible writer. A hack who has devoted their live, all 16 years of it, to writing, and is still as horrible a storyteller as the 2 year old IO pretending to go on adventures stolen right from the cartoons he'd watch every day.
(1/2)
...I need to go do something for a while.
But...I have one last question before I leave.
...Why? Why did you do this to me?
How did it benefit you to just...abandon my stories?
To refuse to listen to my interests?
To pay more attention to the lowest common denominator of content than to work that I put my heart and soul into?
...Why?