Oh what lows insane stalkers drive me to

It's funny. I always thought bloggers were dumb. What's a blog, anyway? Just someone bitching into their journal, only it's in online format. Isn't the point of a journal that it's private? That's what I always thought, but I guess, as ever, the world and I just aren't on the same page. Come on, world, get your head in the game.

Umm. I'm really not sure how to word this. Which is borderline retarded, who's going to read this? I can say whatever I want completely consequence free. I could start talking about how genocide makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside and not get the typical 10,000 liters of bile dumped onto me by the faceless masses.

Let me just come out and say it. Cut the melodrama some. I'm being stalked. Like, not by a real person, even. If it were a real person, I could just hit them with a guitar and my problems would be solved. I...GUESS I could try it with this stalker, but something tells me it wouldn't end well.

See, um, he's sort of the Slender Man.

Assuming you have finished your chortling at what you see as my pathetic attempt to start my own Slenderman thing, let me continue. I started out my fourth semester at the local community college back in January. I was...relatively happy. I had a good chance of getting into college (and as it turns out, I did), and most importantly, my life was normal. God, what a wonderful word.

That's not the case now.

I started to see him. In the woods by my house, mostly. Just..I'd catch a glimpse out of the corner of my eye, and turn my head. Nothing. I didn't chalk it up to much- I used to watch Marble Hornet and EverymanHYBRID (not anymore, too depressing for me now) and I have an overactive imagination, I see him out of the corner of my eye all the time. Only this time, he just...I dunno. Seemed a bit more solid.

Then in March, when I looked, he wasn't gone. I'm not really sure how to put what I felt into words. I don't think I can. Just...try to imagine if something terrifying beyond belief was REAL, and OUTSIDE YOUR HOUSE STARING AT YOU. But even then, it's hard to imagine, isn't it? It's impossible to really understand what it means to be afraid until your fear manifests in reality.

It has. He's appeared more and more to me. Even at school. (No one else seemed to see him, but he was pretty well hidden. I guess he knows I have a habit of looking into wooded areas a lot, slim bastard)

Again, in the interest of cutting melodrama, let me say that it's driving me fucking insane. I have no idea what he wants. He just stands there and looks at me. (at least I THINK he's looking at me, he has no eyes, it's not like I can tell) I'm checking my peripheral vision like every five seconds. And once I do see him...well. That initial shock hasn't gone away. The second I lay eyes on him I feel sick to my stomach. I've got a cough, too, that I've been trying to hide from my parents (who have no idea about any of this). I guess part of the legend is true. If it's even the same thing. I guess it is though. It's tall, has a blank white face, and wears a very stylish suit. It's like my brother except even less funny.

So I can't exactly tell anyone about this. Bad as things have gotten, getting sectioned would be significantly worse. Plus, how would that conversation go? "Gee ma, I've been testy lately because a HORRIFIC DEMON FROM BEYOND THE VEIL OF TIME IS STALKING ME LICKING HIS NON-EXISTENT CHOPS"

Ugh. Sorry if I'm going overboard with the sarcasm. It's sort of how I cope with things.

I made this blog because it's the only way for me to really talk about this. I don't want to mention it to my friends and family, cause what if it starts going after them, too? If it's out for blood, I don't want more to be spilled than there needs to be. Instead, I'm going to scream out my feelings of frustration and loneliness to an uncaring unbelieving audience.

Funnily enough, that's better than no audience at all.

And if you think this is all just a big hoax...sorry, I mean: Since you think this is all just a big hoax, let's cut a deal. You can treat this like it's a work of fiction, and I can treat it like it's the awful, shitty truth. Deal? Deal. Let's shake.