Read Me (or maybe not, I'm not finished)

Prologue: Heaven, Hell, Moths

When I was 19 years old, I saw a glimpse of Heaven. Now, at 20, I've died and gone straight down to Hell. I wish I had never seen it, because I know I'll spend eternity thinking, dreaming, about that little piece of Heaven the Devil used to taunt me.
The Devil first visited me when I was young. He wasn't visible at first, but he worked his way up. He started with little things, saying that I was speaking too loudly or that my friends didn't like me. Eventually, he got stronger, louder, harsher:
"They all hate you."
"You're annoying; they want nothing to do with you."
"You shouldn't be alive."
Until I was about 15 years old and he came to me in bodily form.
Now, this might not sound like what you'd expect, but I was visited one night by a moth. It was colorful, bright, and fuzzy. It was painted in a vibrant array of red, yellow, and blue. I remember it vividly; it was glowing. It flew around and around and around and around in circles, as if attracted to its own glow.
"Hey, fella," I whispered, "I can bring you to some light, it's okay." I reached for it. I tried to show him another way, but as soon as my skin touched his wing, he began to multiply.
Tens, hundreds, thousands of moths swarmed me.
They were pushing into my skin, my mouth, my eyes.
They were dull, and fuzzy, and suffocating, and thick.
I tried to breathe, tried to think, but I couldn't. All I could hear were their voices, in unison, telling me to kill myself. It was so loud I began wanting to. Fuck.
My skin felt as though it would burst, and my body was too small to hold them all.
"Kill yourself."
Get out! Fuck, get out!
I couldn't see; my vision blurred as I frantically scrambled through the house to the kitchen.
Knives, knives, knives. Where are they!?
drawers flew open, dishes crashed, and the moths would not leave.
Where are they!?
Eventually, I found it, the knife drawer. It flew open and broke off its hinges, crashing to the floor. Knives scattered across the floor, and I frantically grabbed the sharpest one I could.
Get OUT!
It felt like a dream, watching those moths fly out of my skin. Half of them were doused in the thick, dark red of my blood.
Finally.
I wish I could say that was the last I saw of him, but quite a few of the moths never left. Sometimes, they multiply again and swarm my body like it's their nest, but I have a kit to remove them. It's full of razor blades -They're the most effective- and bandages.
The cleanup after the first time was a lot, too. So I try to keep my kit on me at all times, so I am never desperate.
It seems bad, I know, but after a while, you get used to it. It's kind of sweet, actually, the familiarity of it all after all of these years.
That is, until I got that glimpse of Heaven. When you live in Hell, eventually you make a home out of it. But, once you see the sweetness God offers, you can't go back. Not truly.