It’s amazing how good I am at messing my and everybody else’s lives up. Even when I try so hard to not act on stupid emotions, and succeed better than ever before, even though I’m feeling worse than ever before, I still manage to throw it all away in one, low, lonely, depressed, upset night. Not even one night – just one question.
It wouldn’t be so bad if it was just my life, or if it was just the first, second, or third time. But I can’t take knowing that I’m just going to mess it all up again, and again, and again, despite the best effort my tattered heart can put forth.
If any of you invent a time machine, I need you to tell me so I can kill you, steal it, and travel back in time to suffer through my own pain instead of unthinkingly tripling it and pushing it onto other people.
When I get back to the present, I will return your time machine to your corpse, and ensure that I never, ever have to use it again.