I hate this feeling. The feeling of being empty. The feeling of loneliness. Feeling that no one will ever truly love you for who you are as a person. Feeling that your never gonna experience real love. Feeling that you're never good enough for anyone. It ***** you know, feeling like no ones meant for you, feeling like your gonna be alone for the rest of your life. Feeling that you’ll never find someone that truly understands you. I'm sick and tired of all these temporary relationships.
I'm tired of being ‘in love’ with someone for only two months and then being let down in the end. I'm tired of it. I wish I couldn't care less about being in love with someone and  I wish I could stop worrying about finding someone. But love doesn't work like that with me. I'm hopeless. Its so stupid, you know?
The idea of love. Its pathetic. I honestly wish it never existed sometimes. I get so lonely. And it kills me slowly and slowly each and every day. It gnaws at my insides, tearing me up piece by piece. But no one knows that. Because on the outside, i'm cold. Heartless. Couldn't care less about love. But on the inside, that’s what I crave for the most.
And no one realizes that. No one does. Its funny because I can tell why someone acts a certain way around people and I help them through it and i'm always the one who's there for everyone because i'm the only person who can listen to them and truly feel empathetic towards them and can help them.
But when it comes to me its like no one even tries because they all think I don’t have problems and that I never get lonely and that i'm so strong but in reality i'm not and i need someone too but there's no one there for me because like I said, there's no one meant for me and I don’t know i'm just so so very lonely and I need someone but there's no one there but myself. So the only thing I can do is what I've been doing for the past nine years now: take care of myself, without anyone else. Because its just me, and **its always gonna be just me.

It hurt. It hurt looking at him hurting. Hurting himself,  screaming at the top of his lungs. It all hurt. Knowing that there was nothing anyone could do, nothing I could do to make it all stop. To stop the screams, the hits, everything. All you could do is hope that it would end before he got hurt even worse. It was like watching someone drive themselves insane, except he was already insane. He had been mad ever since he was diagnosed with insanity when he was 15 months old. At first he was okay; he didn't do anything to harm himself nor anyone else. He was a calm child growing up, never caused any hardships to the family , but when he turned 8 that’s when it all started. His dementia gradually worked its way up till his 8th birthday and that’s when it all became too much. All the temper tantrums, hurting himself, the screaming, the aggression, everything. All because he was born with this craziness. People call it “severe autism” or a “mental disorder” but I prefer to call it insanity. Because that’s what it is: pure madness. Don’t get me wrong; there are times when hes the perfect little angel, but there are other times where he would turn into the devil himself.