More post.

Another letter arrived today, this time for me. It was from the school, asking if I was going to go back in the New Year. The way they phrased it, made it sound like I didn’t have a choice.

I don’t think I will go back. I heard Angela talking to Norman, and it sounded pretty heavy. I see him there, just desperate for answers.

At school I was taking A-level maths, albeit poorly. I could never get my head around forces, and how all the forces of the weight of objects pressing down have an equal force pressing up. It makes nice diagrams and equations, but it’s impossible to believe that the world is so well ordered. I can’t believe that it’s God’s world either. It’s all just word games and concealment until you realise you’re hungry again. It’s essentially pointless, except for the suspicion that if you stay alive long enough you’ll find out what the point is.

If I wasn’t here, who would get the study? And it’s possible the study contains the answers. No doubt that’s what my father thought, which brings me back to futility.

When I asked Samuel, without mentioning the enduring appeal of suicide, he said it was wrong to look for answers – it’s just important to enjoy the questions. To be honest I’d hoped for a little more from him than that. He was quoting someone else (possibly Jeremy Kyle, except he never watches TV), and I was pretending to talk about Norman, whose words of consolation from Angela had escalated into another row, so again I come back to word games and concealment.