The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel.
I broke something, Old Man.
How Badly is it broken?
It's in a million little pieces.
I'm afraid I can't help you.
Why?
There's nothing you can do.
Why?
It can't be fixed.
Why?
It's broken beyond repair. It's in a million little pieces.
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I am alone. Alone here and alone in the world. Alone in my heart and alone in my mind. Alone everywhere, all the time, for as long as I can remember. Alone with my family, alone with my friends, alone in a room full of people. Alone when I wake, alone through each awful day, alone when I finally meet the blackness. I am alone in my horror. Alone in my horror.
I don't want to be alone. I have never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no one to talk to, I hate that I have no one to call, I hate that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me that everything is going to be all right. I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and dreams with, I hate that I no longer have any hopes or dreams, I have that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again. I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness. I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn how to stop screaming. I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness lives in a pipe or a bottle. I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon. I hate that I will die alone. I will die alone in my horror.
James Frey
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It scares me that I understand you. It scares me that I can feel your pain. It bothers me that I do not see you as someone who lives in a different world and who has nothing to do with me. I have loved people like you. I have hugged and kissed people like you when they could not sleep at night, when they kept rocking in a chair, hopeless, mindless, scared, scared of the wall, scared of the sound of the rocking chair. I wish I could think that I can never be that person. I wish I could look at those people and feel no connection. But I can't. I have believed that deep down, under all the smoke, behind the curtain of pipes and bottles, sits a little child, scared, lonely, abused, beaten. I know that what you described did not really happen to YOU, but I understand why you understand it. I know how you can be sober and addicted, drunk, fucked, gone. Some people are just time bombs, ticking, and ticking, and ticking. Silently.
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