March 18, 2014 - March 21 2014

From now on I've decided to keep track of the events that I'm going through. All I could talk about was my wife, the rat, the hole. So, in order to get over all of the pain and misery I've been going through, I got with a therapist, so I can try to forget about these things once in a while. All the useful advice he told me was to keep a journal, so my ideas are more down to Earth instead of off in my emotional thoughts. I'm plain desperate for some way to get over it all, so I'm going with whatever crazy idea I can get. I'm keeping a journal about the events that has anything to do with the hole, nothing else. This is not a diary.

The past few days has been one of the most interesting ones in my life, however not providing the results I would have expected. My house had a hole since the day we moved in, one that extended through the walls so far that I couldn't see the end of it. It was a small one burrowing through a wall, stretching to infinity. My wife and I never bothered to fix it, but looking back now I knew I should have just covered it up with plaster or something. Instead of paying extra costs, we covered it up with a painting of sunflowers and peaches and moved on with our lives. But on March 18, 2014, I got curious.

I wanted to know if the hole ever ended.

I know it's stupid to think that this hole went on for infinite, but I was curious. You can't blame me for that. So, I figure I couldn't do it myself, and doing construction was too expensive for one answer to one question. In replacement, I did it like I would do it at the farm. I took a rat that I found living in my walls for quite some time now, tied a thin, silky string onto its tail, and pushed it in the wall. Oh, he ran. The rat ran fast as if chasing for some smell. He ran so far, far enough to shorten my string supply to one sixteenth of its original length. I had no clue where this was going. This trip was going to cost all my string, and a rat, pretty soon.

But the rat fell downwards. It fell straight down some tunnel. I had just enough time to stop its dive, but all that meant was the end of my string. I waited a while for something to happen, and nothing did. I pulled back.

I must not have noticed it, but something did happen.

The rat came back carrying a small bag containing two black and white pills. They were small in size, and looked like some drug. Someone was in my house, smuggling drugs? I went directly to the police to handle this mess. They came over, and I told them that the guy was somewhere under my house, holding some drug. But the police told me that it would be costly to search for this man, and the search would take enough time for the man to just die. However, they could analyze the drug.

I gave them one pill, the other in my hand.

I decided to keep this pill, out of curiosity, just so in the future I can try it out. But I should have kept it a secret. When I showed this to my wife, she forces me to tell the whole story how I got this pill, and when the police came, and why I still have one.

And then she took it, because she was curious too.

When I was sleeping, she must have taken it. There was no other possibility. I woke up the next morning, and the pill wasn't there anymore, hidden in a drawer like I did last night. Then the rooms outside of our bedroom were trashed and messy, dirty. Everything looked like a tornado had swept through it. My wife was seen in the living room, hair jumbled and had a smile on her face. She smiled like she was dead inside.

She has the rat, pulling it out as I watched, and the rat carried out another pill.

I ran up to her, before she put the pill in her mouth. I took the pill out of her hand, screaming bloody hell about her newest addiction, and what a mess she had done to this place. She yelled back, talking about how inconsiderate I was and how she needed this. But I just walked away, carrying the pill with me, throwing it out in the trash.

I heard that after losing your addiction, you get a sense of withdrawal. Your stomach churns, you go a little insane, and your entire body doesn't want to work that day. My wife had undergone severe psychotic seizures and fits, telling me she feels like she was dying inside. Her body twisted backwards and her screams shattered glass.

"I'm dying! Please help me!!!" she would scream whenever I denied her the pill.

I didn't know if this all was because of the symptoms or the withdrawal I was talking about earlier, but what I know now is that I should have listened to her and just given her the pills.

Because tonight she died to unknown causes.

March 22, 2014

I couldn't give her up. I planned a funeral for her tonight, but I couldn't even go. I was just too sad, worried that without her my life would have no meaning anymore. So, I mourned. I didn't have the courage to do anything. I wanted happiness.

I couldn't help it. I took the pill out of the trash and took it.

I felt wonderful.

March 23, 2014

I was hurting, real bad.

The sunlight pained my skin, my head hurt.

The effects were killing me.

I couldn't go one more day without them.

I put the rat back into its hole and pulled back out a pill.

I took it again and the pain went away.

March 24, 2014

You know, I feel perfectly normal today. I got up, I had my energy and sleep. The only difference was my house, now cluttered with junk and moldy in the corners. But hey, I'll fix that later.

I decided to go outside and mingle, maybe find a new girlfriend in replacement for my dead wife. I stopped at the park, maybe socialize or walk around for a little bit. What do you know? I found a beautiful woman, sitting on a park bench, relaxing and letting her hair flow in the wind. I ran up to her and said:


I don't really remember.

In fact, I don't really remember her, or going outside, or doing anything in particular.

Now that I think about it, what have I done the last couple hours of my life?

I'm just recalling insanity.

March 25, 2014

I can't sleep. I'm ashamed that I took those pills in the first place. In replacement for my sleep, I'm just mourning over the loss of everything I had. I can't live like this.

So, I asked for two pills.

The man in the hole gave me three.

I felt happy again.

March 26, 2014

I was running out of food to ration on, so I decided to hire a grocer for me, so he can buy me food and just drop it off at the front door. I didn't really want to go outside that day. What if I act out in public and make people feel the impression that something was wrong with me? What if people find my pills? I can't live without my pills.

I don't want my pills, I need my pills.

Today I just realized that I'm in a sinkhole money-wise. The grocer did an extra job for me and picked up the mail. It was an overdue note, from my landlord, reminding me about the overdue rents I have accumulated over time.

Oh yeah, last month's rent.

Last month's rent was overdue for about a month now, and I need to pay back by the end of March or I'll lose the house.

But guess who got fired this week.

These drugs pills are ruining my life. I realize how much time and money just went down the drain so quickly. All of the meaning of my life, gone. I want to stop. But I can't go back now. Feelings hurt me.

I would've done an internet job to get some money, to avoid outside contact.

But I forgot how to use the computer.

March 27, 2014

The neighbors complained about loud, high pitch shrieks coming from my household.

I don't remember that either.

March 28, 2014

Memories of my wife's death are fading away, and I'm less sad about the things that happened the past few days. I sit in the corner of the room, taking a pill every second gone by. It's a glorious life, until the pain comes back.

Then it just hurts.

March 29, 2014

I come back to the hole for another renewal of the pills, so I send my rat in for another expedition, but the adventure was fruitless. The rat came back. It carried a torn, crumpled up note. The message was blurry:

Didn't you have enough for now?

I cried. I started sobbing. I don't know why, but I'm crying. Why? Why does he torture me?

One more day until I lose this house.

One week after the death of my wife.

One week of utter despair and guilt.

A whole life forgotten.

And if he doesn't give me my happiness, it'll be one more day until I die.

My life is hopeless.

March 30, 2014

I have a little bit of time before I say goodbye to this poor house. The past weeks had been amazing, even though their memories are fading right at this moment. I'm going to die, I know it.

But I don't want to die now. I don't want to die, knowing that I'm wasted, and my lifespan has shortened down to what I have now. What have I been doing my life? If I knew my existence would have been so short, I would have done more, I swear. I'm useless now. My world had no purpose in the first place.

I don't want to live anymore.

Yet I asked the man in the hole one more time, just hoping for another pill to last me another day. I sent a rat down the chute again, and it came back, unconscious. Its pale, unmoving body laid in my hands, tearing a hole in my heart and leaving guilt inside. I had killed the poor creature that had once carried me life and meaning to it. The stomach was cut open, completely black and holey. Its tiny paws carried a bag with a small pocket knife in it, and a note attached to its seal. When I read it, I knew exactly what I had to do.

You had nothing to live for anyways.