the brighter side...

I don't know where to start, so I shall just begin.
I don't trust people. Recently I disclosed two pieces of information that I have never (and will never again) disclosed to any other person. And while I do not hold the person responsible for their adequate response, nonetheless, the communication has all but ceased. This is what I get for opening up.
You get what you give, and I am unwilling to give of my inner-self any more. I have absolutely no qualms with giving of my time, support, empathy, love to another person, but I will never tear down my walls-I am not Gorbachev.
I shall share with you (whoever you are) this piece of information (never before revealed, but only because I am positive of the three people who may read this):
After 8pm on any given day, I am suicidal. I wish with feverish anticipation that this life should end, but I can't take it- though I know many ways. This may be why I enjoy being with others... it dulls the pain of an existence that is otherwise meaningless... the meaning is in helping others- in caring for others. Despite your belief, this does not require opening up.
I am in constant need of a good friend, but they are more rare than diamonds, and harder to find than a needle in a haystack.. and when I seem to find one... it is only an illusion. For my finale I will transpose the first page of my journal entry, something I have never considered...

How deep does this evil run? The days are long and each consumes me in its own way. A weight, perhaps not mine to carry, is upon my shoulders. My neck is tight- perhaps a sign of my unwilingness to change.
At night I'm left to my thoughts, and rarely is it an uplifting event. I struggle to go to sleep, and then it is often interrupted by dreams that do not comfort (there is little to go around). I do find so little comfort these days.
I awake groggy and stiff, casting off what I believe to be right with the sheets of my bed.
Why are the things I want to do, the last I would think to do? How deep does this evil run, that I cannot bend my ways. I know that heaaven exists- and that makes the days all the harder to bear. I know a piece of the truth, of its sweetness, and all I want is more. (end journal entry)
All I can say is, "whatever," and "f-off, nobody should ever make me feel like this."
but then... I'm sure I'm deserving of all I receive- except the good.
I don't even deserve that.