I can't seem to go a week without having a bad thought. I learned today that one of my brother's friend's dad possibly took his life. I feel…strange sad of course but angry too I guess. Did people know he was possibly suffering? I am also angry that this dad would do this when he has children and a family….I guess I shouldn't jump to conclusions but it really touched me or should I say made me think. I've been there: at that moment when taking your life seems like the best option…the only option to end the pain. Maybe my mom is right: I just look for things to be sad about (that is a paraphrase of something she has said). A kid I knew from a vocational school died from a tumor–I just knew his name I didn't know him any further and that too has been weighing on my heart.
I feel like the world's problems are mine…the conflict in Syria…the economy and even a distant relative (well according to her grandma she is doing better). But why do I care about so much I can't change? Why do I care about…everything?
Too bad I saw my psychologist this past Friday…I'd ask his advice. I'll be damned if I'm going back to the counseling department at the college. That was a joke. I even find my story taking dark turns…I know I control that but it seems every time I experience something unpleasant–no matter how small or distant–I feel I need to make my characters suffer too. Maybe I am just crazy for caring about such things. Maybe my mom is right, I am obsessed with death.


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