>I enjoy reading these despair-filled confessions.
I couldn't believe it when I saw this post. That a friendly, ordinary user of Heyuri, would derive a sick pleasure from my pain. My imaginary vision of what Heyurizens were like was shattered like a beer bottle thrown against my head. It made me feel nauseous, so weak that I could barely remain sitting in my chair. I slumped to the floor, my will to live draining just like the blood from my face. I needed to get out of here. But as I tried setting foot from my once sacred sanctuary that reeked of urine and dried semen, I slipped on a crinkled can and tumbled headfirst into a pile of used tissues. Pathetically crawling one inch at a time to reach my doorknob, I struggled to just stand on my knees to achieve the height needed to grasp the handle... only to find it locked. I was trapped in this room, in my own hell, with the former comfort that was my computer screen now an icon of mockery. So maddening were the shrill sounds of imaginary laughter in my head, I broke down into a sobbing fit. All the while, it seemed as though the light in the room grew darker, until it was just barely dim. Then, nothing.