Dear World,
Ugh, how lame does that sound? Okay, shut up. Forget I wrote that. Re-do.

Sup.
Nope. No. Even worse. Let's try one more time.

You know what? I'm not even going to give a greeting. Let's just get right into it.
My name is Del. You know, short for Delilah. I hate the name Delilah, and I swear to god, if any of my friends were to call me Delilah, I'd punch them out right then and there. Crap, that came out wrong. Whatever. This is my time, no one else's. I'm not going to tiptoe around my feelings anymore. I'm already determined to put my inner thoughts out on paper, I might as well go big or go home. Today, I'm going to tell everything.

So yeah, punching people out. Whew, there are some people I wish I could give a good slap in the face to. I'm getting off track. Okay, bring it back in, Del.

My life is a mess, but that shouldn't be a surprise anymore. The only love of my life died. You know the worst part? It was anything but magnificent. Death isn't really magnificent anyway, but the way you go out really makes an impact on your legacy. Do you want to know how he died?

I'd just told him I loved him while we were hanging out at his house after a party. He responded with the classic, "I think of you as a friend, that's it," bit. I tried explaining a bit more, and he lashed out. We fought, things were thrown. Nothing broke, which I guess is a plus. He told me that I was a horrible friend. I told him I never wanted to see him again. And you know what? He started to leave. I don't know if the dummy forgot that it was his house, but I suppose that doesn't matter. He went right out the front door, but not before sliding on the cold, January ice that had formed on the steps. He fell, and that was that. You see what I mean. I know I was mad (I think I still am, my hands are shaking even now) and bitter, but I'll give him credit: I would've expected a guy like him to go out in a more fashionable way. He wasn't like the other boys in school. He wasn't robotic, programmed to talk about his position on his athletic team or his... "position" in bed, or how his position on the team affected his performance in bed or vice versa. Thank god he wasn't one of those. But now... there's nothing left of him but the memory. What a bummer.

I know I sound insensitive, but that's always been me. When the time comes that I should feel something, I just don't. My heart turns cold, and my logic takes over. Sure, I can be sympathetic, but not really empathetic. In fact, I feel nothing.

On top of all that, my mother walked out on us. And guess what? A week later, my older brother packed up and did the same... just in the opposite direction.

Now it's just me and my dad. You'd never believe how crowded a house of two gets. Put him and I together, and you've got a tornado. We don't exactly get along, in case you didn't catch that.

So, I've made my choice. I will join the circus!

I know what you're thinking: "What the hell?!" And to that I say, ditto. Still, I feel like I really don't fit in anywhere else. My personality alone is enough to make even another screwed up type feel normal. Making other people feel normal with my irregularity; that's my talent. I say that it's time I use it. I haven't decided what exactly I'd do in the circus, but hey. I have a good feeling about it. To quote my alcohol-ridden father: "You've got one of those faces, ya know? One of those faces that makes people wonder how you broke out of the freak show."

Doesn't make much sense, really, but you get the idea.

This is the last you will hear from me. Congratulations for that. To whoever is reading this, I give you this message:

Just don't go near ice, alcohol, or dumbasses, and you'll be fine.

Sionara, suckers.

Del