"You repeat to yourself that they're not really gone because time has proven that fooling yourself into believing a lie is the most effective way to deal with things you have no control over. You keep listening to the voice in your head like a mix tape they made you and you over-analyse every single word you hear, thinking 'was this a sign that things were going wrong... no, no, you were the one who cared too hard, not them. So you stay up every single night, staring at your phone, either attempting to gather up the courage to turn these demons, these constant reminders of your heritage into nothing more than a bad dream, or praying just for one second you could feel the warmth of equally returned love. You talk down on yourself whenever possible, your life is shit because you deserve it, right? You think you must've done something really bad, it's nearly impossible for you to cry now. Avoid us for weeks even though we're the only sense of consistency you have left in your life but if you really wanted to see us, you'd come, but you won't. Who cares when you allow yourself to lose interest in the things you love and watch as you begin to take a backseat to the world around you. You don't fight it. You've become a secondary character in your own motion picture. You drown every single one of your feelings out with the knife in your pocket and you've learned to love the feel of blood dripping down your arm, finding comfort in the warmth, and you think you're doing a good thing now. You don't need other people to drive away the lonliness, you just needed to find a way to talk to it." His words were cold and unforgiving.