i think it happened about two months ago. or at least that's when everything started going really bad. i didn't get into politics or anything; i didn't care enough, so i don't really know why the country is like this now. i know it isn't safe to go outside; people burn shit in the streets, and the air smells like nothing but gunpowder and melting flesh. my entire family died; my parents died in the first week, and my little brother and sister were too young to protect themselves, so they got shot in the face while i watched. i haven't been to school in a while. i broke into some random studio apartment on the third floor with a broken patio door and ivy growing up the wall, i haven't left since. i boarded up the doors and windows, and i slept with the gun the man used to kill my siblings under my pillow. his blood stains are still on my clothes. i can't sleep because of the mixture of people screaming and the anxiety of someone bad figuring out i'm still alive; i can't eat because there isn't any food; and i can't be happy because i'd rather be dead.
the lights go out at six, the gun always stays loaded, and you sleep when your eyes physically can't stay open anymore. that's what's been keeping me alive, but i don't know what i'm staying alive for. there's nothing out there anymore; no one cares about anyone; the only thing anyone can think about is death. surviving is stupid; maybe a bullet would taste nice, but then they'd probably fuck my corpse. i don't know why i'm still trying, but at least i found something in the old tenant's medicine cabinet to numb the pain. maybe i'll end up dying from this anyway. it's slow, but it's better than nothing.