1.25.15

I always made fun of people who kept diaries. Honestly, I still think it’s pretty fucking stupid, but here I am… sitting on my bed in my newly obtained apartment writing out my thoughts like some goddamn high-schooler. I’ll be the first to admit I’m losing my mind. Kind of why I decided to pick up this pencil and start writing, I suppose. I’d say I wanted to start this, so that whoever found this thing after the infection takes me would get some semblance of an idea who I am and what happened to me, though that’d be a lie. I’m writing this mostly so I can find that answer out myself. – I don’t even know who I am anymore.

I guess I should really start with the ‘what happened to me’ part, right? Makes sense, given I can’t really figure out who I am without the why. So, let me just start with the facts. Here they are; outbreak hit, my parents died, I killed a little zombie boy while dragging my sister, her husband and his sister south under the assumption we’d be meeting up with family in SoCal, stopped in Arklay, met some people, met Eric, almost got eaten, Eric became my boyfriend, we both watched some old homeless man get eaten, Eric killed him, I still have no job. Yeah, that about sums it up nicely. Short and sweet.

Anyways, this ‘diary’ is a hot mess. Stupid idea. Why am I still writing? Oh yeah, I needed to ‘find’ myself. Well, if that’s not a tall order I don’t know what is. My life wasn’t exactly put together before the world started going fucking crazy, so I’m not sure why I think I’ll be able to figure that out by writing a journal. I used to be a bartender and I loved it. Late nights made even later by partying with friends afterwards and sleeping all day. That was my life and it was glorious. I made enough to pay the rent and I was pretty much living the dream, minus the fact that I purposely ruined every relationship with a man I ever had. All my exes are straight up losers and that’s the way I liked it. No messy feelings, no messy breakups, no need for commitment.

My sister and I are polar opposites that way. Scarlet always wanted that white picket fence lifestyle with a husband and babies. The whole nine yards. Me? Fuck that shit… give me a sexy, tattooed bad-boy I could use and abuse for a little while and I was good to go. Maybe that’s what scares me so much about dating Eric now. He’s the complete opposite of that and I actually really like him. I’m sure I’m bound to screw things up eventually. I curse like a merchant marine, have already probably ruined a relationship with his sister with my horrible inability to keep my mouth shut and I’m sure had his parents still been alive they’d have hated me too. Tattooed, pierced blondes don’t exactly scream ‘take me home to meet the folks’. Oddly enough he seems to like me just as much as I him, so at least I have that going for me. He’s actually really amazing. I never thought I’d find someone like him; a real clean-cut, gentleman type. Not one I actually liked, at least. We have the same humor, it’s the reason we got along so well in the first place. If I’m being honest, it’s him that’s the only thing keeping me sane right now.

Everything going on in the world absolutely terrifies me, but when I’m with him it’s like nothing ever happened. I look around and see the decay, just in Arklay alone from the looting the town endured and then I look at him and it’s like all that destruction and heartache was some crazy thing my mind made up because surely I couldn’t be lucky enough to have found such an amazing boyfriend when the world around me is dying. I don’t deserve him and I know it. Until he realizes that though himself, I’ll just have to keep trying to be better. I mean, he’s a doctor for fucks sake. A former combat medic who’s seen the other side of the world and the despair of war. I’m just some silly little bartender with nothing on my record that actually means a damn. If the worlds going down in flames, I want to at least TRY and do something that matters. Eric’s been teaching me a few things in the medical field. It’s been really helpful and he wants me to try and get a job at the hospital. I can’t deny it wouldn’t be nice to be closer to him, get to see him a bit more, but I really don’t think I’m cut out for it. I have a lot to learn before that’s even an option, since I’m sure no one is going to hire some former bartender with five seconds of medical training under her belt. People would be dying left and right under my care, I’m sure of it. If not that though, I have no idea. I’m good with people and could probably drink most of them under a table, but that’s about as far as my talents go.

Anyways, I’m already like four pages into this damn thing… I should probably end there. Maybe I’ll think of something useful I can do in my next entry.

Gen