Before I decided to write in my journal, I flipped back through the other pages. It’s been a long while since I wrote anything. And now counting the days I’ve been here is much less important than just surviving from day to day.

But here I sit again “talking” with a pencil and paper but no one’s around to “hear” it. Maybe no one ever will. Or maybe one day I’ll let a friend read it. That’s what I think on a good day. On the bad days, this’ll all be for the person who finds it on my body. Knowing me, I wouldn’t be a zombie but just a corpse because I wouldn’t let myself turn like that.

Anyway, I’m writing while at my new job.

I don’t work for the hospital anymore.

I even turned back in the walkie from Paul.

The AES, the hospital, and the Phoenix group.

Three groups I thought I was a part of to do something good. Something worthwhile. Something to help people.

For the past few days leading up to my deciding to quit…I hadn’t really felt like I’ve helped anyone lately. Like I’ve been utterly on my own. I’ve not seen Mark, Macy, Ameil, Thayer, or Alita for a long time now. At least it feels like that to me. The only person I’ve talked to recently that I considered maybe a friend was Ein. He said I could start crashing in a little room in The Eights whenever I wanted to while he would talk to Darla about things.

Hopefully, she’ll remember me in a good light and see me as someone that can be helpful to them. Maybe then I’ll start making friends again.

That was the point of coming here wasn’t it?

That I didn’t want to be alone anymore.

I wanted people around me to remind me that I wasn’t like the raiders or the zombies or some killer.

I needed to be reminded of what it was like to feel joy. To laugh. To smile.

Lately, even my smiles feel forced. Like a piece of clothing I put on because people expect me to. I realize I smile at the customers at my new job because that’s what I figure will make them give me a better deal. To be looser on their terms when it comes to selling and buying.

Maybe…I don’t really know how to smile any more and really mean it.

Does that mean I’m broken? Or does it just mean that there’s nothing really to smile about?

Am I just fooling myself that I can make friends?

The old me that stayed away from people would have said: “You need ta stay away from people. Aint nothin good gonna come from bein around people for. You’ll get close to em and then they’ll die. Cause that’s what happens now.”

But I chose not to listen to that voice. I chose to come here and give living around people a shot. I still don’t know if that was the right thing to do. That I’m actually fooling myself. For now, though, I’ll just keep my eyes open and see what comes my way.

At this point, I might just welcome a herd of zombies to kill. At least it’d make me feel something that’s real.