Christine is dead.

I'm alive.

Every time I'm happy, God kills a kitten. So save the kittens, and make sure Erik stays constantly miserable.

I don't know what to say anymore. She's gone.

By the way, welcome back, Elphie.

Who am I without her?

What am I doing?

I... I remembered our wedding. I keep remembering everything. And then I wonder... does she even care? Does she think about these things and weep, as I do? Did she ever love me in the first place--love me as much as I love her? She doesn't seriously think I'll be better off without her, does she?

I don't know how to feel. My heart aches at the thought of her, and our past together, and everything we are giving up.

But then something foreign inside me jeers, "What exactly are you giving up that you should be so sad about?"

And at first, I don't know how to answer.

I suppose... *thinks* ... I suppose, on a superficial level, I am giving up a constant source of stress, wangst and confusion. And I'm giving up the endless days of agony wondering if she'll ever come back, wondering where she is, if she misses me... and, frankly, it will be nice to have an answer to all of that: No, she won't come back. No, she doesn't miss me. Once I accept that, perhaps I may find peace.

But I am also giving up my purpose. She was the center of my life. I lived and breathed for her. And while we were still together, I knew happiness the likes of which I never knew existed. I have known heaven. Perhaps a few weeks of it were all that God intended for me--a charity to an otherwise endlessly damned soul such as mine.

The fight to be with her has lasted so long now that I am exhausted. I have tried. I succeeded for a time, yet ultimately failed. But always it was my fight, my struggle, and not hers. I don't suppose she ever did love me as much as I loved--and still love, shall always love--her. Under normal circumstances--say, if this had been the first or second time I'd lost her--I would never, ever give up on her. But truly, I have grown tired of failure. I am so worn that I feel I could break in half if touched.

Oh, God, this hurts. I'm not ready to let her go.

...what do I do with my life?

-Music
-Perhaps take some new architectural jobs
-Reinstate myself as the Phantom of the Opera? (id est, start harassing the managers and stealing powder puffs again)
-Go back to Persia
-Take a vacation in the Caribbean

Hmm, I think the Caribbean wins.

I shall have to buy myself some swimming attire. I wonder what the strange futuristic creatures wear? Probably something obscene. I wonder if any of the regular type of swim suits are still available.

*sigh*

Right, I sound cheerful enough, but this just sucks. It sucks!

It's over between us now. ... It's settled.

And somehow I don't feel better.

The Dante's Inferno Test has banished you to the Ninth Level of Hell - Cocytus!
Here is how you matched up against all the levels:

Level	Score
Purgatory (Repenting Believers)	Very Low
Level 1 - Limbo (Virtuous Non-Believers)	Very Low
Level 2 (Lustful)	Low
Level 3 (Gluttonous)	Moderate
Level 4 (Prodigal and Avaricious)	Very High
Level 5 (Wrathful and Gloomy)	Extreme
Level 6 - The City of Dis (Heretics)	Extreme
Level 7 (Violent)	Extreme
Level 8- the Malebolge (Fraudulent, Malicious, Panderers)	Extreme
Level 9 - Cocytus (Treacherous)	Extreme

Take the Dante Inferno Hell Test


...*snort* Look at me!

Well, I sort of knew that was coming.

Strange developments today.

This morning I thought of Christine a mere 852 times--a new record low. I began to think I was getting better.

Then I met the dementors, and was bombarded by a lifetime of miserable memories.

When their influence upon my mind was lifted, I began to think--perhaps my life would be happier if I were not under the sway of my love for Christine. Perhaps it's unhealthy, this obsession. Perhaps she isn't good for me. And then I thought, perhaps she isn't good enough for me.

And with that thought, several waves of confusion crashed upon my mind and left me stranded.

I resolved that she caused me more harm than good, and that if she ever did decide to come back, I would refuse her.

And then I found a note from her on the kitchen door; she wanted to speak to me. And I wrote back to her. I'll speak to her, and I shall tell her the truth. Elphaba and Romy say she needs to know the truth; she will have it.

Then, at the close of the evening, I spoke with the other Erik. We have a lot in common, it seems. Oh, and I cut off his wings with a butcher knife.

My typist is "squeeing" in a most irritating manner. She seems to be unaffected by the arrival of the Dementors.

Apparently, she's been given tickets to the musical of my story, as well as tickets to the musical of Elphaba's story. This is cause for an inordinate amount of excitement and high-pitched SCREAMS. -_-

As for myself, I have never felt worse in my entire life.

O.G.

You'd think by now I'd be able to keep my thoughts away from her for more than five seconds.

*sigh*

What a strange evening.

I briefly fought with Romy. She said some, uh, interesting things I'd rather not think about, now that it's over. And I was deliberately argumentative.

Then a little boy named JunkFood showed me various magic tricks he can do with candy. He made little figurines of Christine and me out of sugar. And a little chocolate rose, and a little chocolate mask. *wibble* We've become fast friends. And I've never seen a child with such genius for the craft of candymaking!

Christine made a rare appearance in the mansion--I saw her. She drank a cup of tea and then left. Often I wonder what she does all day when she's not at the mansion. Where does she live? If I only knew I'd probably stalk her.

...JunkFood said he "wubbed" me.

*MEEEELTS, despite himself*

O.G.

( Why does my typist force me to do these things? )

I've been absent for a few days now, and I see that my journal has been updated by a strange individual claiming to be myself at age six.

o_O

*shrug*

I still feel empty. I don't remember very clearly how I have spent the last week. Is this the point where I must accept that she does not love me? I thought I had accepted that 123 years ago. Why is it so hard to do now?

This time, there is no one she is leaving me for; she's just leaving. There is no one to whom I may entrust her safety. It isn't that she loves someone more than me--she just doesn't love me.

I wouldn't blame her, but there was no reason to get my hopes up by marrying me if she did not love me. That is simply cruel.