[2022: The final recoverable entries from boy, ~2005. Age ~18. Oldest first, possibly. Written after a long hiatus from boy, marked by a shift in approach, total honesty, and a bleak depression. The actual dates are unknown, due to a corruption of the system that once stored them.]
“i wish i knew what you were thinking”. romantic. always melts me.
December 26th, 2005 @ 12:00am
I’ve made the realisation, probably not for the first time, that i’m one of “those” guys. One of those your mother and father would hate, one you could never understand or get enough of. The type of guy who does drugs, sex and music because that’s what he enjoys, who sees life as a kind of art that’s constructed depending on the choices you make, the risks you take and your perception of the entire thing.
I’ve also realised that everything is made so much easier if you simply stop thinking. This scares me, but only because i’ve been thinking about it.
i dont know what i need to write. normally, i could sit here, and it would flow out of me as it needed to. nothings flowing anymore. im not happy. i mean, im generally a very happy person. i am chirpy. i smile for everyone, im genuinely interested in what others have to say, i can build a conversation on anything if i need to. i try not to be miserable. but god, im so fucking sad. im hurting. i cant admit it. i find myself staring out of windows, at blank spaces, and it takes me a moment to recover. i dont know what i was thinking about, but for those few seconds, im lost, and something feels calm. incredibly sad, but calm. i dont wanna be like this, but i know it doesnt go away. its always been around, and always will be. reading back through this journal, i can see the progression of myself through the years. The earliest recorded date is August 2004, almost 2 years ago. i feel that ive come a very long way. ive grown up immensely; my attitudes to most things have changed completely; all my old friends are gone, my old life is gone, and i’m sitting here with a new old one. but its still here. im always so positive. i try to be.
i want to cry. i dont understand. i feel like somethings been scraped out from inside me somewhere, and i haven’t noticed yet. im waiting for the rush to come on, then the pain afterwards. but i think im stuck somewhere in between. theres a sort of numbness that you get with the adrenalin of a wound, that stops you really feeling.
im very, very angry. i hate, but i hate nothing at all. i simply have a burning passion, thats not directed at anyone or anything. it shows when im stressed, it floods out slightly. it makes me seem incredibly passionate about some things; i’ll talk and sound as though im ranting. it scares me.
i dont know. i dont know if this makes sense, i dont know if this is just a repeat of what ive already written a thousand times before.
my best friends are junkies. my father thinks im a junkie too. they’re hardly friends. i dont know. i need to scream. i dont understand any of this. ive worked so hard to be happy, i really have! it just doesnt work. i dont know. its 120am and i need a walk. my head hurts. my jaw is tight, my neck feels sore. i keep grinding my teeth, its a new habit. i hum when im anxious. my head really, really hurts.
This is where i get to be completely open about all the bad parts. I started by encrypting it with baffling metaphors, which meant it cuold actually translate to damn near anything, and hence could be applied to a lot of people’s lives, which was an interesting thing, but i get bored of the lack of firm feeling. There was nothing that said “i feel this”, clearly and deliberately.
Now, i guess i feel more confident in saying what i feel. Recently, i’ve been feeling a lot of pain that won’t go away. I say recently, but i kind of mean for as long as i can remember, but i’ve normally had it under control. It’s never been this bad. So, for the past week i’ve been taking medication for my sadness. I never wanted to do this, but i know i don’t have much of a choice. I can’t go on the way i am, i just can’t.
Marijuana makes me happy. It stops me thinking so much while i enjoy the giggling high. Unfortunately, it makes me more emotional too, so if i do get thinking, my thought train derails itself and crashes into my emotional stability, knocking tears across my face. Have to go now.
If the meds work in the way i’ve been hoping for, this journal will have no purpose. ‘boy’ will not exist anymore. That’s pretty heavy; it scares me to think that i may be loosing such a large part of myself.
So, i’m moving further back than i would’ve hoped. Hey, wait, shouldn’t that be a bad thi
nvisioned myself running as fast as my muscles could take me, speeding from my house, sprinting to the highway, taking a massive dive over the edge, leaping, flying, flailing through the air, hurtling towards the solid cement, what a rush, what a goddamn rush, rain beating against my skin half naked fighting the air and hitting the cement, cracking my face against the road and shattering my bones and i was cryi
ng if i said i didn’t need to be held right now. But don’t we all really need to be? Perhaps; those who have never really been cuddled, never really been wanted. Can anyone really say they don’t want to be wanted? And older version would explain why. A more recent version would leave it there. The earliest versions would be sleeping. Some versions would be fucking. I wonder what the specifications of the current version are? It do
n’t know “gentle”. i’ve done hard, i’ve done it fast, i’ve done it and done it again, and i’ve never just not bloody done it. I really, really nee
but every beginning makes me feel like crying. i’m so tired, so tired of it all by the end, but then it starts again… and you’re so beautiful to me, beautiful for me.
I miss you.
I’m holding my hands and pretending they’re yours, stroking my fingers and pretending like you can feel me. I’m crying and wishing i was better
ican do this. i can
(heh, i only need to stop these tears to focus on the keys!)
I’m imagining the way you smell, closing my eyes and feeling your arms around me, clinging to you and holding you, lying with you… but i’m crying to you. i’m sorry ,i’m sorry for this, for me, for loving you and dragging you, for listening and speaking, for being, for wanting. please
(but i cannot hold a child)
happily i sustain
a small urge
to live
i think im lying
THIS ISN’T ME
i want to be held. i want to have someone who WANTS to hold me. but why would someone want to do that? HA! i don’t give a shit really. i’ve jst been low, but there’s really no purpose in that. SO, wiping tears aside, i am now… volatile? Does it matter? Is this entry gonna be another private one? As you read it now; was it supposed to be private?
Loadsa luvvly garbage for you to try and relate to. I feel like shit. i’m SO fronting. How cliche. How self-critical.
edit: This entry sounds desperately “emo”. I’m not really like this. I doubt anything i write here will capture “my essence”. Mood swings every 20 seconds don’t help much either! If i could keep a consistent theme, it would be far more coherant. Perhaps.
You wish to relate to something? Fine. I am dead inside, my heart has been carved so badly it can barely function any longer. There, there’s your goddamn analogy. In reality, as i sit here with my worn old bracelets, faded pen upon my palms and oh-so-original jeans and t-shirt, i do not believe in “heart carving”. I believe in trauma, upset, nostalgia and comfort. I believe in self-improvement and inner beauty.
“i feel like a place where no-one goes any more…”
They’re not strong enough.
I started crying in the street today.
I’ll get over it.
w – February 24, 2005
02:55am,fri_morn
what can i say? How is my opinion of any fair consequence? Whatever objection i may have, whatever i feel is wrong, immoral and disgusting, i am powerless.
Am i loyal?