"He was such a quiet boy"
Sky
-A premature popular saying that describes most of today's serial killers and psychopaths...

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Nothing so childish...
05:12 29/11/2004

Never try to kill yourself. There are many reasons, such as possible happier futures, how people would cope with your loss, etc, but a very good and very selfish reason is the fact that should you SURVIVE you get the happy stigma of being an attention seeker. Yes, no better way of trying to understand someone's mental problems than by calling it a "performance".

Next time I'll do it with more care for the audience then. Moo.

Life is horribly tedious at the moment. I'm living for everyone else and getting vigourously stiffed for my trouble. Not that anyone should ever expect people to treat them kindly, but you'd expect to have some sort of sanctuary.

Tedious tedious tedious.

Maybe I SHOULD go into politics.

Back to the mundane - I need another haircut. Its not that I mind so much as I begrudge the sheer waste of money. My hair grows like bulrushes, I don't like cheap haircuts, and thus its effectively a hole in my pocket. Garr. Still, it looks neater and doesn't get trapped under me when I sleep.

Roll on Christmas. A week off work playing games. Too many games. I should sell them all and find something else to do, perhaps. Sell them all and buy a handgun.

Its odd, I always thought of myself as chaotic neutral, when it seems in reality I'm more of a lawful good. Rather annoying. Strange, because I don't recall really when I started taking serious notice of injustice.

Rambling now. Want to sleep but cant. Life so dull, everything so tedious and lacking flavour, I may as well be braindead for all the difference it'd make.

I always wanted to be in a coma so I could live the rest of my life as an omnipotent dream entity. Hits a snag however because I can't/won't allow myself to enjoy certain things in my dreams. Had a lovely (and non-sexual, perverts) spooning dream, had to change that one fairly quick. Couple of years ago dreamt I was propositioned, changed that dream too. Although funny I still commit murderous atrocity in my sleep. Somehow killing someone or torturing someone I know in my dreams is a-ok, while expressing love is a no-no. I'm a total hypocrite.






I can't hate. I still can't cope with not being able to hate. It was what kept me awake and energised, now its like someone's pulled my batteries out. Its nightmarish that someone should NEED hate so much in order to just get along. But is it because I love so much? And by that I mean the joy I have in so many things, watching flowers bloom, or children born, or people holding hands in the park. When I was younger I put my feelings in a small pencil sharpener shaped like a safe. I closed the door, scribed "do not open" on it and hid it away. Since then the only thing I allowed myself was hatred, anger, not kindness and love. I still have it, in fact once when I was cleaning my room someone found it and I overreacted a bit when they touched the door.

Shouldn't have said that, should I? I suppose everyone has their own little quirks, but I feel like a lunatic every time I write mine down, or talk about them. People form an image in their mind, and its not the real me, they take all the dumb little details and interpret them to mean something else. I could kill my friends sometimes. Not all of them, obviously, but just a persistent few, with their little "comments" and "insights" on how they think my mind works. They don't have a clue. They don't understand my motivations and it hurts me every time they make me out to be something I'm not. Its not like they're trying to understand, they don't say "well I think (hypothesis)", no, they say "the probem is you are (insert wrong conclusion)". Yes, I'm looking at my mobile because I'm expecting a text message from someone. The fact I spent a 3 minutes phoning every family member to find out why one of them had phoned me is entirely beside the point. I mean, its not like I'm concerned that someone in the middle of nowhere phoned me and then turned their phone off, nooo, the reason is obviously that I'm a lost puppy waiting for some text message dog treat. Fucking 12 years and they still don't know me. After 12 years I can predict their next bowel movement, and they don't have a clue about me. Maybe its my fault for being secretive, but the fact is you CAN'T TRUST THEM. They pass around any nugget of information you hand them, or even tell unrelated people about them. They promise you to your face that they'll keep matters private, but then they'll run off to tell another. Their word is worth nothing to me.

I'm doing this, I'm doing that, oh why would I be doing such a thing? Didn't you know? X and Y happened last whenever, thats why. So you give them as little info as possible, but then they just make their own little opinions up, and once repeated often enough they become accepted and once accepted become fact.

Times I wish I could totally betray them, just so I can shatter their little mental image of me, see how they like being analysed behind their backs, all their little secrets handed to everyone they care about. But I cant hate anymore. They're all just me, me with a different upbringing.

A thousand faces, a thousand different me, all the result of a modified set of criteria. I am they and they are me. A nudge and I could be any one of them. But that means that any one of them could also be me. Broken mirrors, shattered glass everywhere. Mind your feet. Understand the paths and you can see down them all. Explore them in your dreams.

So very tired. My soul hurts. I think my life to this point is best summed up with:

"I've said too much, I haven't said enough."

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