To burn out among the stars

Chapter 0

I am not a star, though I have a plan to change this. Here's the basics, albeit in an entirely nonscientific way:
The universe is infinite. In an infinite area, any possible thing that can happen has happened an infinite number of times. This means that there's infinite instances of me and infinite instances of you and infinite instances of the kid you have a crush on and your hometown and everything else that you and I know and love. Not in some bullshit "alternate timeline" or anything like that either. If you got into a spaceship and traveled far enough, eventually you'd be able to get out and walk to your house and scare the shit out of yourself. My plan goes as follows. Eventually, I'm going to pick a specific place to go to in the universe. Due to the whole "infinity" thing, it's safe to assume that an infinite number of myself got the same idea and are then en route. As we meet up, eventually there'll be enough mass of me that I'll (we'll?) become gravitationally attracted to each other in a clump. As more and more arrive, the gravity will grow and grow, and the inside of the massive orb of me meat will heat up until eventually nuclear fission occurs. As we all know from science class and or old comics, anything with the word "nuclear" in the name means a lot of energy. A large amount of energy and pressure? That sounds like a recipe. A recipe for what, you probably won't ask? More nuclear fission, of course! A large, extremely dense object out in the middle of space producing immense amounts of energy through nuclear fission? Sure sounds like a star to me.

In summary, although I am not a star, enough of me at a high enough temperature would be. Due to the infinity thing, all this has probably happened already. If by star you mean celebrity, on the other hand, there is nothing I can do.
Hi. My name is Daniel McClure. I'm a Freshman at Ascott High. I'm making this blog because my therapist says that I should have something to put my thoughts out into the world. I disagree, but I'm doing it anyways. If I knew why, that would explain a lot.

A few weeks ago, I told someone that I've been having problems with mental illness. I mean, I'd been talking about it on gay forums for a while, but I never really said anything to people I know personally before.

It was with my friend Hank on a bike ride. He acted as if I had said that I've been hearing voices or some shit, instead of just saying that I kinda dislike myself sometimes. There's a part of me that thinks that I was feeding that to him. That I was making things seem worse, that I was just trying to make him sympathetic. There's another part of my that thinks that that's correct.

If that is the case, than I did too good. Hank lasted for a week before he cracked and told his mom. Parents talk, and soon I was sitting in my room having one of the harder conversations of my life.

My parents kept just crying, acting like all this was their fault, like they had done something wrong, that they hadn't given me enough hugs. There's still a small, mean bit of me that thinks they were right. There's a bigger bit of me that thinks it's all my fault. All of me hate seeing my family so upset over me.