You're probably thinking, another author's note? Or maybe my intuition is wrong, and you probably don't care. But, anyway, let me tell you what's been going on.
On the second week of school, two weeks ago I think, I got sick. There was plenty of things to do, there was already a project, and I couldn't bring myself to skip two days. It was recommended for me to rest, but I promised that I'll do better this year. So I didn't stay at home - I didn't rest, didn't even ask my gym teacher if I could just sit down and watch the people run around the court, I performed three roleplays with a weak body and lungs partially full. Saturday was the day I should have joined the roadrun, I wanted to, but I couldn't.
On Friday, aka the second day of being sick, I invited my friends to my house. We played games, I watched them dance, we listened to music, and I watched them leave. Now, the problem was, I couldn't find my phone. I contacted my friends, asked them when was the last time they saw me holding my phone, or if it accidentally dropped into their bags, but to no avail. That cellphone contained valuable information, and pictures of someone I like that I couldn't see in person anymore. Without it, I wasn't able to write at my free time.
I stressed over it, my family wasn't helping very well. They're telling me that my friends stole it, that they actually only like me for the wrong things. The phone had a finished version of chapter 56 as well. I've been trying to rewrite the next chapter, but I couldn't do it. I felt angry, stressed, the likes. It was terrible.
The incoming week, a teacher of mine gave an assignment. It's been due yesterday (I'm writing this on a Saturday). We have to post a picture of our family and describe each using Filipino, our national language. I couldn't do it, since I wasn't very good in my original language. And I've been even more stressed.
Until today. The same friends and I went to a cafe, where you can play boardgames and consoles. We had plenty of fun, at least before we played Call of Duty: Black Ops 3. I couldn't play very well since it's been a long time since I played with a controller. So, what I did, I switched controllers with everyone, committed suicide on each one. Before that, of course, I had two kills out of three rounds.
Let me just say, I was a maniac, an insane man while I was committing suicide. Then, I slowly start to become sober again, and I remembered how awful I was. I simply let them kill me while I spaced out.
I was confused; I didn't know if it were anxiety or depression, I didn't know if I were pan or bi, I didn't know why I haven't even left when I wanted to. And I meant the serious 'leave'. I didn't play much attention, it was all a blur from there.
I walked home, my emotions increasing in depth. I felt utterly tired. And I sat down, turned my laptop on, and here I am.
I failed, haven't I? I told myself that if I continue writing, I would improve, people would like me more. But it felt like the opposite. I felt like everything I've ever made was terrible, and people were simply saying that they like it out of pity. I wanted to stop, but I didn't as well. I'm still confused, still tired.
If you've skipped the whole thing, then that's a good thing. I don't want to make your day bitter with more words of... whatever this is. I just want you to know that you will get your chapters, if you're still interested in them, but not right now, and maybe not so soon. Until then, I'll have to figure this all out, unscramble scrambled thoughts, and I'll come back with something.
I hope you have/had a better day than mine.