I don’t think I’ve ever felt as alone as I do right now.

I came home after work to an empty flat again. I waited about an hour or so before I decided to go down to the police station where I filed a missing persons report. They told me they’d start looking for him immediately. I’m racked with guilt, so I decided to try killing it off by drowning it in alcohol. So far it’s not working.                                                                                                                        S̥͚͍ͭ̉͑ͣͪ̏̌͟o far it's n̊̍ͨͤ̅oͣ̀̓̋̑t͇͚̮͒͑ͮ̾̂͑̍͝ working.

So̢̪̞̫͈̝͙̥̓̽̔̚ far̢̺͚̠̥̆̆̍ it's̼̹̠̞̭ͨͥ͋͂ͫ̚ not͕̖̪ͭ͠ͅ worki̶̟̟̭ͥ̔͂n̟̠͕͔̩̠̣͐̅̇g̬̘̯̹̺̈́ͮͅ.̦̲̪͍̯̗̌ͤ̐.
S̜̯͍͈̗̒̈́͞o̸̤ͬ ͎̬̯f̟͙̜̦̦͙ͦa̮͕͉̘̙̹̥̅̀r̠ͦͩ ̵̼͚̾ͤͮ̃̇i̯̖͕̺̊ͯ̇ť̲̖̹͖̖̃ͤ̈́ͫ'̸̗̬̦̊̍͛͛ͪṡ̘̯̺̮̭ͭ ̢̃ͮn̫̤͈̰̓o̫͕̬̗͈̳̼͠t̃͂̿̄̍ͯ ̹̤̠́ͮ͑̽ͪ͠w̲̆̅o͋͑҉̟r̒͗ͣ̃́k̤í̧̫̭͕̫̤̤̈́ͅn͔̲̜̤̪̬͉ͣģ͙̰̻̲̯͔̆ͦ̽̔.̢͎͎̯̤̺͌́

Sͫ̏ͯ̍ͣ͏͚̬̯̫͖͔̜̀o̠͚̮͑ ̶͚̎̐͂f̵̧̗͈̱̗̤̫̐̈́̎̈́̄̀̀ả̧̟̖͖͢ͅr̵̸̼̝͙͎̯ͨͬ͋͂̄ͫ ̢͈̱̭͔̼͕̿̍̇ͬį̵̰̰͕͎͔̇̈́̇͊̉̊t̴̡̧̬̙͒̄̓͌'̵̧͓̤͍̠͈̅̓̊͆s̲͉̺̲̯̥͙̬̈̄̓͂ͨ̊́̚̕͟ ̛̠͇͓̰ͥ̓̊ͩ͌̐͛̄n̡̲̰ͦ̂̈́ͣͣͬo̧̢̤̤̹̲̞̝̤̫̦ͬ͌t̵̲̲̰͚̞͇̭̱͗̀͝ ̴́ͤ̌͏̹͍̲͓͚̖w͖̬̠̲̉̀͒̇͞ͅo̴͎͎͇̥̖̮̮̽ͪ̆̽̂̆͌ͮ̀͟ͅr̰͙̟͊ͨ͢͝k̸̭͙͔̒̈̍̉ͣ͑́̈́ͤi̴̦͔͚̜̥̦̇ͧͨ̓̈́͗̇̂ͭ͝n̺̻̓͌͗̋͑͆͘ģ͍̱̗̦̇͗͗̀ͧ̈ͩ͟͞.̸̡̝̰̭ͤ̈́ͦͬ̅̇ͮ͠

S̵͍̦̳̻̻̠͆̓̎ͨ̀͟ȍ̷͉̘̗̳͚͕̰̺̻̙͖̦̟̺ͥͪ̊̑̏̿ͯͭ̕ͅͅͅ ̨̧͙̻̪̰̩͉͚̯̰̞͙̮͍ͯ̋̿̊͂͐ͭ͐̚͠͞f̡̪͖͇͚̺͔̮̥͚̺͖̬̤̱̱̝͋̽̓͌ͣ̀̓ͤ͐ͮ͛̌̏͐́͟͞a̷̵͇̩̱͍̮̬͉͚̘̳͙̲͎̟͎̬͖͐͛̐̾̕͝r̷̩͚̖̩̗̜͓̳͖͍̮͓̟̲ͨ͌̋ͨ̓̆ͤ͑̏̄̐ͮ̔̊͌͘ ̨̨͕̯̤̲ͬ̀̊́͆ͦ̽͘ï̢͊̿̇͊͏̵̰̫̖͔͕̮̺̭̗̥̣͓̺̬̫ͅt̘̳̦͕͚͓̺̫͓͙͙ͧͮ̓̅̃̿ͯ̂ͣͧ̽͢͠͠'̛̓̅̊̐̈́̔ͥ͐ͪͦͭ̓͛ͭ̋̍͆͟͏͔̝͙͈̙͍̜̩̫̩͍̜͔͖͝ͅs͖͈͇͙̞͎̩͓̃ͪ̑̏͗͌ͤ͌̈́͜ ̨̛̞̙̯̦̟̜̥̹̲͂ͭ̑̔͐̿͂̾̾͋̇̉͐̈́͂ͣ͗̽ͅn̸̢̩̹̙̤̗̳͎̰̻͐̀ͣ̄̊ͪ̀͝o̜̘͙̝͚̥̤̼̩͎̹̻̱̦̙̪͙̠͛͑̂͂ͮ̉͊̑͠ͅt̵̢̥͇̹̺̖͇̦̟̩̮͂͛ͤ̅́͠ͅͅ ̴̧͑̒ͤͥ̑̽̉̇ͪͪ̑͗ͥͭ̎̍ͭ̈́̓͝͏̰͓͈͙̹̟̠̤̯̰͍̮̝̘͈̼̙w̴̧̨̗̠̪̼̦̬͖ͮ̂͛̑̀̈́̓͆̊͘͘ͅǫ̨̓̿ͪ̓̉̚҉̰͚͓̻̜̭̰͎̭͔̺͉͚̜r̵̸̮̦̖͈̖̞̤͖̂̅͑k̸̖͕̭̥͓͍̼̱̙̞̦̬̭̖ͨ̅͋̆̊̈́ͪ̕ͅi̶̠̥̲͈̝̰̤̟̳̒ͣ̌͑ͬ̈́ͩ̄̆͗ͪ͆ͭ͑͂ͧ̈͝ͅn̸̶̅ͩ̓ͣͬͪ͒҉̤̥͖̦̬̭̤͈̬̘̲̺̖̟̫̹͓g̢͆ͨͫ̔͞҉̸͕̼̜̗͖̘͈͘.̴̧̡̛̰̼̮̯͉͚̯͈̣ͫͫͣ̓͘ͅ

Ok… so I looked through his stuff but hell, why shouldn’t I? He’s been acting crazy lately and I want to know why. So… now I’m surrounded by all this… I don’t know, documentation I guess, that I found in his bag; these notebooks filled with drawings of faceless men and inane scribblings about being followed. It’s just nonsense. I don’t understand it. Then I find passwords to some goddamn facebook page with all this stuff already on it, and several mentions of a “slender man”. I have the internet, I’m not stupid, I searched for slender man. It’s a myth. It’s a fucking myth. Are you kidding me?! He’s been acting all paranoid and aggressive because he thinks some goddamn fairy-tale villain is stalking him?!

…But he’s still gone. I haven’t heard from him in over 24 hours and to be honest I’m scared (and pitifully covering it up with anger). I found his phone in the front pocket of his bag with several missed calls and messages on it, all just from me (it must have been on silent). No one else has seen him since he left here, or if they have they’re not telling me. I’m seriously considering phoning the police. They say you should wait 24 hours before you file a missing persons report; it’s been longer than that already… but he might still turn up… Would he be angrier with me if he knew I was responsible for people looking for him?

This is just awful. I feel sick. I didn’t go into work today.

I can’t believe I’m venting all this to the fucking internet.

I took the lock off *****’s bedroom door last night when he was out. It was the first time in a week that he’d been out of the flat for longer than an hour. He got furious when he returned and realised it was gone, then started shouting about me putting him in danger, and was I “trying to get him caught?”

 I tried to calm him down and explain to me what was going on, but I have to admit I was scared he was going to hurt me; he was all up in my face shouting and such. Eventually he stormed out after a neighbour angrily came up to tell us that she was calling the police if we didn’t give it a rest. I haven’t seen him since then. I called a couple of friends to ask if he’d stayed over with them but with no luck. I just hope he’s ok. I don’t think he even has anything with him, in his fit of temper he left his bag (which he usually takes everywhere). I have to admit I’m tempted to have a rummage around in it with the hope of actually finding out what the hell is going on.

 ... If he gets hurt it’ll be all my fault; maybe I should’ve just let him be. I feel horrible.

Oh, speaking of finding things, I forgot (until now) to upload that photograph I took of his painting. Though I saw it again the other day, for some reason he still hasn’t finished the face.

*̠̫̰̱͔̰̲̱͈̺ͦ̎̈͒ͯ͛̓̒͗̓̾̊̓ͭͬ̾́͌*̥͓̜͈̝̦̃ͣ̋͋̏̓*̘̻̼̼̝̯̦̣̞̯̰̯̗͚̯̮ͣ̌̓͋̅ͭ͗ͬ͛̓͌͑̾̅͗ͨ͗̋*͔̻̠͉͉̮̮͎̻̆͒͑ͣ͒ͫ͌ͤ*̥̬̳̠͇͚͋͛ͪͯͩͨͅ ̪̤̰̫͎̪̤͚͍͔͌̐̾͐͗̇͑̏̑̓ͣ̋̍͑͌͊i̗̘̰͓̦͖̳̞͚͎͇̠͒͒̃͂̒̂͆̒̽ͯ̾̋̚ͅs̞͖̬͇͕̖͙͓̻̞͉̜͇͕ͤ̾ͬͨ̃ͅ ͎̱̪̝̠̺̲͈̦̉̄͑̆̒̋̈́ͤ̋̓̃ͧ͌ͭ̾l̯̤̮͚̦̝̟̻̹̦̫̦̩̝̟͖̂ͭͯ̏̏̔̽͋̆̿̄o̞̰̙͚͈̻̜̤͈͉͍͇͇͓̫̙̱͚̹ͮͭͪͥͬ̂̄͊̂̿̊̎ͯs̗̙̫̟͙ͦͦ͊ͪ͑̐͒ͦ̾̏ț͖͈̹̣̬̲̞͈̯͚̹͊͊͗̚ ͕͇̩͍̟̬̣̱̹̭͕̝̳̙̤̲̻̤͆ͫͬͬͯ̾ͥͣͬ́ͨͩͥ́ͭț̠̮̳̹̯̯͎̰̟̳͓͖̲̰͔͇̖͆̃̈́̂̐̆͌̄̽͛ͯ̈́ͬ͊̈̿͛ͮͅõ͉̪͎̖̻̭̙̟̙̮͇̟͇͕̦͖̺͔̃̇̔͋̒͂͑̉ͯ̋ͬͅ ̖͍̹͔̹͚̖̩͈̳̬͖͍̝͎͉͐̅ͨ͗̆̌͊ͦ̌̔ͣ̏͆y̬̫̘͙̤͇̩͖̘͔̥͆ͭ̃͒̋͗̈́ͅo͕̻̥̫̹̬̭ͫ̿̒͑̎͛͛̓̀̅͛u̬̟̹͕̔ͮ̆ͬ̐ͯ̆ͤͯ̍̂̏ ̩͍͇̫̂͂ͮͣ̈́͗͊͋̊̇ͤ̈͗̃͋̎͐ͬ͆ṉ̯͉̠̳̜̟͈̟͍̗̯̜͓͓̠̘ͦ̽̑̚ͅͅõ̰͔̯̪͇̱̀̿̏͒ͪͨͨ̆́̏ͪ̾ͮ̑͆̔̂ͫͅẇ͉̞͈̖̳͛̽̓̃ͧ͑͆ͣ̾̾̓̉̃̌̓̔ͨ.̖̠͖̪͖̜̯̜̱̤̻͈̼̑̿ͬ̉ͨ̆ͩͬ͂̍ͩͅ ̗̙̱̹̽̇ͤͦͥͮ̀ͫ́͛̾̂ͬͫͮ́
̤͉͍̠̠̯̞͖͒̂̾̐́ͩͨ̄̾̄ͫ̀D͇̫̲̹̖͔̫̬̲̑̉̍ͪ̈́i̹͇̪̦͇͓̪̮̙̤̳̔̅͌̂ͣͦ͊ͯ͌g̤̫͚̊ͦͬ̊̈́̈̔̋̈́̋̓ͤ̍ ͚̳̱͎ͯ̂̈́̋͋̌̆̾̓̋̽͑ͨͮ̐̆ͭd̪̰̗̬͈̠̻̰͊̉̄͗̃̋̋ͣͮ͌͋̔̚e͍̤͓͇͇̦̭͔̦̤͎̙̤̝̣ͪ͋̌̓̓́̃̽̉͐̌͋̈́̋ĕ͚͇̭̥͖̩̘̟͕̜̜̭̱̖̰̠̪̤̥̋ͭp͙̦̼͙̪̺̂̇͒ͥ̍͌͐̉̎ͭe͖̫̪̳̼̰̯̙̘̠ͪ̿̍̓̈́ͩ̇ͮ͒ͪ̾̂̏̊r̝̲̗̙̳͔͖̲̪͔̺͊ͪ̓̎ ̤̮͔̹ͩ̆̂ͦ̂ͮͦͭ̎͒̓a̰̙̼̼̣̦͈̗̞̫̝̺͌ͣͩ̏ͫͩ̓͆ͧ̐ͭͫ̇ͫ̚̚ẗ̝̬̱̠̘̤͉̲̙̩̼̠̯̬̩̥́͊ͪ̂ ̘͍̼̦̼̫̟̣̦̼͖͙̪̖̋ͣ͒̒̓̍͐ͅy̝̰͇̬̦̭̭̲̜̙̣̻̝̓̋ͨ͒̂̾͂̇̉̑͛̆̐̇̚o͔̭̣̠͓͉̣͕͉̜̝̖̣̝͔̽̔ͨ̿͊ͮ̽̾̂u̗̟̖̳̫̻̠͉͔̼̎̾̇ͬͪͭ͆ͣ͌̊̒ͯ̒͑̓̆ř̲̲̭̰͓̥̻̗͍̠͕̗͔̠͍̩̹̼̑̂̽ͯ̊͌̄͌͆ͣ̚ͅ ͈͓͍̻̱̥̰͍͎̰͉͓̼̝̤̜̭͈ͦ͊̅ò͇̖͕͚͎͉̈́̑ͧ̊͐̏̽̈́́̐̓͆͑ͮw̲̼̗̫̩͈̩̰̜̪̟̭̼̘̟ͭ̆ͩ̎ͫͥͅͅn̺̩͔̩̼͕̪̳̞̩̒̽̅͂͛̊ ̬̪̮̬̥̮͓̂̉̔͒ͮͅṟ̺̰̗̣͍̯͚̥͇͈͎̽ͭͬ̏ͫ̔ͩ̍ͥ̇̉͋î̘̰̺̂͛̾̾̃ͥ̇̆̒ͭ͑ͣͦ͒͆͑ͅs̗̠̞̞̫̮̪̆͊ͧ̆ͨ͑k͕̩͚͔͚̖͚̖̮͍̋͛̋̃̈̑͂̚.̭͍͓̘̘̐͂̒ͧ̐̉̚̚ ̜̼̝̺̣̳̬͖̣̱̒͗ͨ̆ͤͥͅ ̤̬̖̙̗̱̗̻̙̿̆̽̂ͪͨ̇ͤ̈ͥ̓͐͒̈ͦ̈̚̚ͅͅ
̥̹͙̖̯̖ͮ̓̀ͪͬ͆H̱͚̰̀̈́̂ͨ̒̾̆e͉̖̹̪̤͎̻̳̮̼̲͈̩͎̲͚̫̓̇ͣͨͣ̂͐̔̆̊̿̈́ͫ̈͗͂̎ ̼̺̱̱̻̰̭͕̹̯͈͖̩̙͐̏̌̋͌̇́̃̾̇̓̌̆ͭͣ̈ͪ̐ͅͅa͔͎̟̪̬͓̱͚͇̙̱̻͉̪ͦ̍ͬ͗̉ͣp̗͖̬͔̘̳̥̖̱̙̓̈̑ͧp̺̫̯̻̦̮̯͐̾̎͊͗ͥ̿͊̑̚ŕ̥̭̭̼̟̗̻͇̹̳̭͙ͬ̄ͤ̈́̒̑͂ͪ̎͆ͫ̓̈̅ͥ́̀̿o̼͈̲͖̮̰͉̰̤͈̬ͫ͑̍ḁ̥̰̥̥̯̗͓̖̹̹̏̐͋̏͂͋̌̈́̒ͤ̿̍ͅc̣͙͍̰̜̻̉́̾̿͒ͤͅh̗̠̳̊̎̓ͥ̓ͦͦe̖͚̙̤͉͈͇̣̠̯͕̫̝̱̠̔ͦ̆̿̈ͦ͗͂͆͑ͤͯͪ͊̽̈͊̽̀s͎̳̬̱͖̙̭̫͐͂͂̿͊ͬ.͖̥͈̘̭̻̫̫͈̳̻̠̩͂̆̏̅ͯͨ̇̓̇̓̈ͯͦ̏ͅ

This is going too damn far. The house is a total mess. I have no idea what ***** was looking for but he’s fucking wrecked the place trying to find it, and of course there’s ink over everything AGAIN. He’s also smashed up his own laptop for some reason (who the fuck knows why, he never even uses it anymore anyway) and there’s bits of it everywhere. Seriously… what the fuck?! I’m left to clean it all up again since he’s LOCKED HIMSELF IN HIS ROOM. He’s acting like some sort of mental patient. I’m fed up of being ignored; next time he’s out (not that I know when that’ll be, he never leaves the house anymore if he can help it) I’m taking the lock off.

I came home yesterday to find ink over fucking everything; ***** stayed home from work for some reason and he’s obviously been busy doing whatever the hell was more important than making money for rent. I, naturally, lost my temper and started shouting at him to clean up the mess. He didn’t even argue back, just went and locked himself in his room. I don’t know how much more of this I can put up with.