22.9.1999

Tiny red spots on my t-shirt
Sucked inside the fabric
Blood-inspired poetry...

I feel foolish for letting them bleed
I should have
Chained them better, suffocated their screams.
Instead i bend,
Like a river on the edge of something monstrous and strong
I'm weak, noted (dotted) with white faible letters

"Everybody has scars. Only some wear them on the outside rather than inside." -or something...

Only some, only some... Only I
Fake them with razor blades and numb excuses.
I cut the teeth inside my skin instead of letting them slip away from me
I make them more than real, i make them memorable
So that no one, ever, can forget anything said or done.
It's all carved inside my skin.

And i claim the marking hurts but it doesn't
It's a leeway, not an act of revenge
I heal myself
By following steps i learnt long ago.

To accuse you i'd do anything
To escape everything i'd pile everything on you;
Blame you for every step i take
For every mark i make.

I'm evil, i claim, to make you say otherwise
It doesn't do as much damage to me as you think
I always have my scapegoats, almost like you.
They're only a little quieter ones,
They scream with muted tongues, bright red lines.
You won't find an escape from them if i ever let you go,
It's my prize,
My gift from heaven that you'll never forget to feel (see).

My escape from myself is to blame myself.
This is how complex it can go.

I feel relieved and lonely,
Nothing beats this exhaustion though.
Some seconds i believe i'll make it allright
Even that seems to be pretty much gone now.
Haven't felt exactly this way ever before
Never this sad, never this tired,
Never this way...
I wish it'd make a difference
I wish i didn't have to do it on my own.

26.9.1999

I promised i'd go to bed
A million hours before
Still here...
There's nothing to apologize for.
I'm tired and messy, my fingers feel like
Lingering worms
My eyes hurt.
I don't want to go to bed, I DON'T WANT TO I DON'T WANT TO
<SCREAM>
IDON'TWANTTOIDON'TWANTTOIDON'TWANTTO!!!!!
</SCREAM>

It's late.
I have to wake up early.
I'm tired.
I hate sleeping.
I hate the way my jaws get glued together and i hate the dreams i see.
I hate the headaches and i hate the back-aches and i hate the eyes that act like blind men and refuse to lead me.

5.10.1999

I should e-mail Tiina
But there's nothing to write
I have nothing to say to her
I can't even figure out something useless and stupid
The whole thought of writing makes me feel tired and worn
What on earth could i say?
"How are you doing?
What have you been up to lately?"
What then?
What then?
Nothing.
Short mails, stupid mails
Surely i should go back to sleep.

---------------------------

I lost it. the whole goddamn thing
In mistake i closed the window and i don't know what to feel.
I wrote about myself and it's gone, everything i've ever done.
Just like that, because i forgot to save...
And now it's gone... and that's why i hate computers.

I still feel the pain, i still hate. Only now i have no proof of it.

I won't re-write it,
Something's still not the same
I can't create what i've once erased
I promised that to myself,
An unknown promise, still in existence
Like a sky i had forgotten once existed, like hope, like dreams, like crying it all out.

I said i'd soon be off to bed
And that i felt depressed
But now it's different, now i'm furious
For him, for me, to her and to everything.

Then, what to do with this rage
And even before i ask i know the answer i have to give
And the substitutes i have to search to end the frustration, the incapability of... everything.

Too much of psychiatry, i'm sick of analyzing everything
Yet it's the only way i can go (Others have yet to be presented.)

No, you're right, the voice in my head, there's nothing to be said.

7.10.1999

So bleeding tired, once again.
I wish i could go to sleep and never wake up.
Today i felt like one more, even mild, shock would collapse my central nervous system
And kill me.
Just like that.
One more word.
Of course that never happen/s -ed.
But i felt like that.

11.10.1999

I did it, oh yes i did.
And i feel happy and weird and disturbing
I'm sure i shouldn't be like this
But i got it, oh yes i did
My first razor-blades
And i realized i had been all wrong
I never knew what i was talking about before
Because they're special, the razor blades
I don't have to push them, shove against my skin
The just glide in, nice and steadily
So easily it startled me.
And they don't hurt as much as the knives.

And i was wrong for i thought they'd be like knives
But they're sharper than i thought even existed

I bought myself chocolate to calm me, to comfort me
But it wasn't as upsetting as sometimes before
Nice and clean and only a bit hurtful
The first time i realized what kind of damage one can do with them
I've been blind, took it the hard way again.
Now i realize how powerful they are, how easy it is to get really hurt
(And i thought one would need discipline for it).

i'm scared of them, still, this was my first time
it's like a first sunshine
everything's clear
and sharp like that. I could do anything with them, anything i wish
So easy, i should've bought them before.

I'm doing virus-check
Downloaded mp3-player
Only afterwards i realized i already have one.
I'm so cold,
I should close the window.
I sent Tiina an e-mail
There was hardly anything written by me
Mostly her old text
Otherwise it would have been 99% empty
Not that i care.

The scratches ache.
A bit.
I'm gonna have to clean them again tonight, i think.
I feel like painting but somehow
I can't get around doing it.
I've changed the settings to prevent a future catastrophe
Automatic saving every minute.
Like that was to change anything.
But i'm paranoid, it happens.
(Anyone could tell i've read too much alt5)
(listened too much puressence)
(i like dying, yes i do)

It's raining outside
Raining like it'd rain in Hell
I don't want to have you anywhere near me
Loneliness is... something. I forgot.
A smashing pumpkins song
I'm blathering.
I'm lonely.
I want to get away, want to forget everything.
Tired.

20.10.1999

Yay. A sicboy is back. I'm back, as well.

I'm fond of passwords. They make me feel important. Like i actually had something to hide. An important enough person to need secrecy... everything we do, it's only an open book
For the literate... i don't think most of the people are literate.
"if you had only one phonecall to make, who would you call and what would you say? And why aren't you calling now?" i wish i knew where
she (Sara) got that quote
(if it is a quote)
and i wish i knew where it all ends, somehow... to clean it up after myself, leave
an empty hallway waiting for
the next to come by.
I'm not tired i'm not
okay?

I guess i
Crashed the party?
Said nothing at all?

I'm sadi'm not
Really, what changes has little significance in it
What stays the same, well, that's something...
By-gone.
Nothing worth remembering.
Think of it.
All the ants look the same.
No, that's not the story heydon'tblamemei'mokay
I'm okayer than you.

Idon'tthinkicanreallytakeitbuthtatdoesn'treallymattertoanyonebtmeandthat'showit'ssupposedtobe
Say they. In my head.
I have too many voices in my head.
What is crazy then, if i'm normal in their eyes?

Yes, i'm angry and upset because no one cares enough and no one asks me how i've been and really cares about it
'cos i need caring, more than is offered. More than could possibly ever be.

What do you need courses on Word for? What's so difficult in using it, you just tape the words in.
I've never realized most of this stuff. Most of the let's take classes stuff. What the hell does one need classes for?
To use word, even? That's what makes me think i'm really stupid. I just don't get it.
Classes to use word?
I haven't got a clue.
Must be, cos otherwise
World would be a much worse place i had thought it to be.
I don't get classes.

Oh, of course. There's the other stuff too. Not only writing. Diagrams. Yeah.
But still, classes?
There's the tutorial, fergawdssake!

I'm weird.
I have a headache.
No one has called me pretty lately.
I'm lonely, as funny as it sounds.
What gets on me is that i'm always lonely
But i still get to feel that way.
You'd think one'd get used to it. but no, it's like a bad song in your head, you can't get rid of it.
Whatever you did.

Page twenty?
I'm ahead of my time.

Nonsense. I want to get away.
I'm tired of the headaches.

21.10.1999

I claim i'm invisible.
Here and there, sometimes i try
To make it better

I should talk to them.
Ishouldishouldishouldishould...
Discharge.

Today is just another epileptic scene.
In a surreal teeth-gritting world.
Sinus problems make it (less) comprehensible.
We are what we eat. = Vegetables-r-us.

26.10.1999

Tired...
My arm aches, even.
It's like i'm too tired to clean the wounds. Letting them bleed is so much easier.

Headache, yes... i can't e-mail them. I wanted to but i can't.
I freeze in front of the screen and then turn around to escape.
Too afraid to expose myself to the 'net, even.

So tired, for no reason.
It's cold in here.

I want to go outside.

This is the end, i think.

------------

Tired... like i was something else, something else than human.
I don't know... I'm tired. Whatever i say it never sounds right...

Yes, i've decided. It's weird.
I'm gonna try. Flying.
Weird.

In the end we're all alone. I knew it all along, but i still don't want to believe.
I could talk to them but what would i say?
And i can't even talk to them... so the words aren't a problem.

I want to be left here because i'm tired.
So tired i don't want to try anymore.
I want to be left alone because it makes everything easier.
I know they'll survive.
Without me.
That way i owe them nothing, i don't have to think of them when they aren't here.

Sometimes i believe some people are just meant to be unhappy,
In a way that crashes the sky...
Some of us aren't meant to be here, not really.

We're all just visitors.
I'm tired.
So tired things don't matter anymore. Nothing matters anymore except sleeping.
And i have a way to fall asleep and never wake up.
I have a way to get away.

Someday soon i'm going to use it.

I have the date fixed, actually.

----

I want to get away. I really want to get away from here.
I want to be able to see people i don't know, talking a language i can't speak...
This is loneliness, i think.
I want someone to care about, someone to love.

Sometimes i hear someone saying my name in my head. It's a call of somekind, asking me to come back.
And i always try to supress that call, make it go away.
To stop hearing it, i'd do almost anything.
Or, rather, anything.
I can't handle it.

I find comfort in music, soft noise coming inside my head.
It's so distracting i can almost handle reality for a while.

30.10.1999

Yeah, woo.
It's 6.30 am and i haven't gone to bed yet.
I just didn't feel like it.
(Is that a valid reason? I'm not sure.)
My head is getting fuzzy in a tired/tiring way...

31.10.1999

I'm tired of being alone.
I don't want to be alone.

I'm tired.

Tired of this shit.

I'm not ready to fall, apparently.
I chickened because i was too tired to care.
Too occupied with getting up&getting things done.

I want to be around the suicidal and the cutters
I want to feel the suffering, the pain
Of what? (i don't know.)

So i amuse myself… or try to, vaguely.

Nice little parallel lines.
And they bleed and they don't hurt.
It's an awkward situation.
I didn't know it'd be like that this time.

I realized it hurts less to cut on the inside of your arm (the side that doesn't show most of the time).
I thought it'd hurt more.
Completely painless.

And i covered the wounds (yes, this time i call them that).
I feel very numb.
My arm feels lovely.
Warm, even.

I can't remember how many lines
I thought it doesn't matter...
Some day i'm going to
Cut deep, deep inside.
Let myself go.

I have this feeling it won't hurt nearly as much as i think it will
Because i'll be numb, all over then.
I'm sure it goes that way.
I'm sure i can get away.

You know, there's a reason why i want to keep myself alive right now.
I want to see the episodes of buffy, the vampire slayer and la femme nikita.
I hang around just because i realized i'd miss them if i went now.
And that's really pathetic.
The worst excuse ever.

And if i died today... i don't know.
It wouldn't matter, after all.
Funny, my head is confused
And my arm's still warm. And i haven't had that warmth ever before.
(But i can't remember much, so 'ever before' has no real meaning.)

Some day i'm gonna... fly to the moon...
Yes, i need to remember... something, i need to
Believe.

The morning has come.
So suddenly...
I didn't realize...

What am i going to say afterwards?
What am i going to say after i die?
How am i going to excplain? (how do i dare to think i ever could explain?)
So that they'd understand...? (understand what? Understand me.)

Some day i'll realize the painkillers aren't working and i've got to realize
It's all going to end. (What? Where? When? Why?)
What if i
Cut the wounds so deep i can't see the bottom.
Will that overwrite my soul and sweep me into mindless, numb existence?

Or will i only stay here
Paralysed by the fear of the things i've seen?

And will it change anything?
I don't believe in change.
I don't believe in relief.

Is that all we get, that what we believe in?

I think i'm unnecessary, the lights should be put off.
The rope should already be here but i can't see it
I can't find my escape, my relief.

And what am i to do
But cut and burn, cut and burn?

All the candlelights i lost
All the flames disappeared
And i'm bruised and burnt
So tired of walking on and on.
And what am i to do but leave this?
What else am i to want but letting go of everything?

Suddenly the world as we know it is no more
And we, we're twisted and turned and we can't find ourselves
By the flames of hell or the new dawn.
And we're here and we're gone,
Whatever there was it never was that real
It disappears now, in front of us.
And we disappear with it.

I can't think straight, why should i?
I'm entitled to crookedness, i'm entitled to everything.
So why do i feel then that i deserve none of this?
Why do i feel then that i'm a parasite and sucking away
Your warmth (because i have none of my own).

Why do i feel then i'm not worth anything i have, nothing here
Is burnt like me...

And someday i'll stop believing
And i'll realize it's all over,
Has always been.
Now i'm stuck.
With vain beliefs.
With hope.
With that ridiculous hope.

Funny... i thought it'd change somehow when i grew up
That it'd miraculously change.
But i only found new ways of escaping. And i found out the road can always sink deeper than i ever thought.

And that the hope never really goes, the guilt never goes away.

Everything will come back, again and again and again.

Exhaustion could never fool a damn thing.

Do you know why i don't sleep? Do you?
Because i stay awake to be tired, i refuse to sleep because i want to be tired.
Ever thought how good an escape it is?
It hurts way too much to be completely awake.
I don't want to feel that many things, i don't want to notice.
I want to stop breathing and i only have the courage to try it when i'm half insane by the lack of sleep.
It's so good to stop feeling, so good to stay awake because dreaming never helped a damn thing.
Dreaming never took anything away.

Being tired, constantly, always, to the point i'm too tired to get up.
That takes things away, that excludes hurtful things.
I can be happier this way.
I can be more numb this way.
I self-medicate like this. I escape like this.
No one ever left me any other choice.

There's nothing else i could do and i think
You just don't realize it.

Write, then. Write papers full of desperation.
But i do, all the time.
And it never helps a goddamn thing.
All i ever wanted was to get away (and now i can't anymore).

This is my way of self-destruction.
This is my way of staying alive (trying not to hurt you).

1.11.1999

I don't want to cut right now.
It's strange...
I wanted to cut earlier.
Didn't.

Now, i'm such a good girl.

Some day, i think, i'm going to kill myself.
I wish i wasn't such a coward all the time.
I wish i tried something, anything.
But i'm too afraid.

I hate everything, i want it to go away.
I hate change.
I hate change more than the current conditions.
Change scares me, i don't know it.
I know what's happening now.

So, there.
I'm screwed.

3.11.1999

Steady.
Steady...

Slowly pulling off the butterflies' wings.
Flickering, slowly.
In pain, perhaps.

Do butterflies feel pain?

A strange notion today. A feeling i cannot detect.

The rest of the a.s.h. got angry at one poster
For using to many LOLs and hugs in posts
It scares me, the rows they have.
I hate arguing people.
And i can't stand those hugs either but i tried to ignore them.
For the sake of peace.

I'm tired.
Nothing to say.

4.11.1999

Gee... so tired.
It isn't late yet.
And perhaps it isn't too late either.
Some say there's hope as long as you're breathing.
Everything can always change.

I read the newspapers today.

About the murders and crimes and rat-races.

Dead men on dead paper, dying to change.

And i've been wanting to cut.
All the ugly words make things so frightening

5.11.1999

I don't think it matters. However much i try it doesn't matter, after all.
I'd love to e-mail her, tell her what the world is all about
But i don't have the courage to it.
I'm not sure if i could make it.
It's terrible, that way, to notice how impossible it is to do things for other people.
How you can't change anything for anyone, even if you wanted to, even if you cared that much.
And how it's always risky to get involved, and how you always have to think of yourself first.
And i'd like to live their lives so that i didn't have to live mine.

----

Listening to the Cure.
I feel sad and lonely tonight.
Funny.
It's such a long time since i last felt like this.
Since i last felt anything, for that matter.
An intense feeling. Weird. Not a slight, light, feather-like feeling.
But a real emotion.
I wish i didn't have to be alone tonight.

10.11.1999

Yeah, I'm still awake.
The thought of sleeping terrifies me.
I want to be awake, to keep on guard.
To keep watching.
(It's easier to escape if you know what's going on.)

I don't seem to get stuff scanned properly.
Things are too large for my scanner.

11.11.1999

It hurts so fucking bad.
I want to help but i don't know what to say.
I'm afraid i'd hurt him (GS) even more.
I just feel like hugging him
I wish i could say something
But i crumble and get stuck and my heart tries to explode

And i don't know what i could say.
Something...
But i don't know how i could change it.
Perhaps it's just that i should talk to him.
I wish i could.
But i can't.

HA.
I did it.
http:\\www.-----/---/---/----/index.html
HA.
I'm fucking pleased with myself
(I hate word for doing such a stupid looking smilies.

But, yeah, i did my fucking page :)
And i didn't even feel anything, no angst, anxiety, nothing.
Yeah!

Now i just have to decide exactly what I'm going to put there.
I'm a bit freaked out, really, when thinking of the content.
But yeah! I have my own webpage.
I guess I can't be that hopeless after all.
Haven't felt this good for a number of days/weeks/months/years.

13.11.1999

I've been thinking so much today.
Now i seem to have forgotten all of it.
No, it doesn't really matter what i thought.
Mostly about the page, death, cutting, depression, sp, and such.
&now i have nothing left to say.

18.11.1999

I'm way too tired
To bother to find out what's wrong with my modem
And what's wrong with my computer.

Everything's wrong, y'see.
Nothing works.

I thought i'd go watch the blair witch project either tomorrow or on saturday.
Prolly tomorrow.
Now i'm not sure.

I hate computers.

Been eating too much today.
Tiredtiredtiredtired.
I dunno.

I'm supposed to be… normal, i think.
Wish it wasn't so tiring just to be.

19.11.1999

I don't want to die.
And what breaks me is that i can't stand living anymore.

"(Don't fear) the Reaper" (Blue Öyster Cult)

All our times have come
here but now they're gone
seasons don't fear the Reaper
nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
we can be like they are

come on baby, don't fear the Reaper
baby take my hand, don't fear the Reaper
we'll be able to fly, don't fear the Reaper
baby I'm your man

valentine is done
here but now they're gone
Romeo and Juliet
are together in eternity-Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women every day-like Romeo and Juliet
40,000 men and women every day-redefine happiness
another 40,000 every day- we can be like they are

come on baby- don't fear the Reaper
baby take my hand-don't fear the Reaper
we'll be able to fly-don't fear the Reaper
baby I'm your man

Love of two is one
here but now they're gone

came the last night of sadness
and it was clear she couldn't go on
then the door was opened
and the wind appeared
the candles blew then disappeared
the curtains flew then He appeared
saying don't be afraid

come on baby and she had no fear
and she ran to Him
then they started to fly
they looked backward and said goodbye

she had become like they are
she had taken His hand
she had become like they are
come on baby don't fear the Reaper

22.11.1999

Here again, sitting by the 'puter and being awake.
Being cold.

Someone told a ghost story on ash today. Freaked me out.

My fingers are numb, not working properly.
Like anything could work properly.

I should be sleeping, the night is already
Getting ready to rise. I can't
Make it this far, often.

I wish i didn't have to make it (this), i wish i could go.
Afraid, always afraid.

I don't know... The sky is weird sometimes,
I don't believe i can fly.
Nothing's ever like they say.
Nothing is ever what i believe it to be.

For one flickering moment it made some sense,
The world here was in order,
Shiny and soothing

And yes, i think i'd like to go back now.
I just don't seem to find the way.

The air inside me is cold.
If there's air at all, perhaps it's just
The lack of air and freedom inside me that makes me dripping wet in the freezing wind.

Perhaps it's the lack of faith and hope inside me that makes me struggle,
Not the other way.
Perhaps it's the fear that makes me struggle.
The fear that replaced the hope.

And in the dark, years back,
It doesn't matter when it all begun.
Some things cannot be measured in time.
Some agonies cannot be scaled, defined, replaced.

Yes, it's time to go now,
But i still can't go.
I can't face it,
It'd be too real to try to deal with it.
To try to get over with it.
I can't face it anymore,
Not at all anymore.

23.11.1999

The password to this file appears to be fairly accurate.
I cut with razor blades then. Blades that are razor sharp.
Sharp enough to damage me.
And i like it.
I like to damage myself. I'm that kind of a person.
Damaging by nature.

I like to bandage myself afterwards. To show myself i care.
I'm the perfect prototype of an abusive person.
"I'm so sorry honey, I didn't mean it. I'll never do it again."
Except i show it by bandaging my cuts.
"It'll heal. I didn't really mean it."

I justify my cutting to the part of me that obliges by taking care of the cut.
"You see, I'm not that bad to myself, I took care of it. I made it nice and used sterile dressing."
Which means: "I didn't mean it. I didn't really hurt myself intentionally. And even if i did, it's okay now, I didn't mean to really hurt myself because I made sure it won't get infected."

That, to me, is a manifestation of my self-love.
"I love myself, I only cut when I lost it. In the end I love and care about myself."
=
"Honey, don't throw me out. I abuse you but it doesn't mean I don't love you."

Bandages. They're the manifestion of my self-care.
"I'll never do it again."
("It could have been worse. I could have left it without dressing so that the sleeve rips it open again. But I didn't.
That's just how much I love myself.")

25.11.1999

This house is so very cold.
I had ranting thoughts today, i thought i'd write them down.
Now i seem to have forgotten whatever it was i meant to rant about
Suddenly i'm all quiet again.

I'm going to germany again in two weeks.
Need to stop cutting before that.
(bugger)

This is one of the 'I'm-not-really-here' days. I did some painting but i couldn't really see what i was doing.
Like the canvas hadn't really even been there.
Out of this world -stuff.

Lately i've been cutting again.
Often.
A lot.
Stuff like that.
I think it's the darkness but i'm not really sure.

I'm fairly certain there's something more wrong with me than depression.

I can't stand the thoughts in my head.
That's why i've been cutting.
Because of the thoughts and emotions.
I can't handle them again.
I feel faint because of them.
I feel weird and disturbed.
I feel tired.

I don't know...
Perhaps there really isn't anything wrong and i'm only imagining
But sometimes this reality is far too transparent and vague for me to deal with.
I seem to forget i'm alive, often.

To be honest, i'm fairly sure i'm dissociating.
I dunno.
What does it matter to anyone anyway.
Stupid me.

I want to fly away.
My cd-player's still broken.
Like i ever had the courage to get someone to fix it.
What a joke.
(Not a funny joke though.)

My watch has stopped too.
It almost feels appropriate.
Everything stops functioning.
Maybe i'll soon follow.
I hope so, anyway.

I can't sleep at nights again.
I also stopped crying every minute.
Now i'm fat and numb again and i can't feel a thing.
I can't react to any feeling with my body.
The soul and the body have been separated once again.
That's why i'm not really here.

I erased my web page btw.
First i moved out of geocities and deleted all of my connections to yahoo.
Then i moved to crosswinds.
Then i deleted the crosswinds account too.

I might do it again.
I feel like expressing myself to no one in particular.
I doubt it though.

26.11.1999

I saw a movie tonight.
It had a girl who saved about a dozen or so jewish people during the german occupation in poland.
She married one of them afterwards.
And I, being the complete romantic fell in love with the movie.
And i want to be someone else, somewhere else right now.
There really isn't a word in english for that.
I just want to be somewhere else tonight.
In a faraway place.

It's snowing out there and i wish i could be there, feel the snowflakes on my skin.
Walking through a world that's soft and clean.
And, most importantly of all, a world that's surreal, unreal.
I want to be some other place tonight.

I go through this often at nights.

I've been dxing since i first got a radio.
That means listening to faraway radiostations.
I don't get very far, i don't have good enough a radio for that.
But i do get far away enough.
Outside finnish borders.

I like to touch other realities.
And after i've done that i never want to come back again.

26.11.1999

The something of the day.
Or of the week/month.

I'm a goldmine, me.
Goldmime.

It feels good to stay inside, wrapped inside the blankets.
It feels good not to wake up.
Does that make me... what? Sick?
(I don't think i'd be happy if the government paid me for just staying alive.)

Society makes me feel sick.
But i think everyone with a least a little bit of emotions is sickened by these people,
By this society.
That shouldn't make me sick either.
Self-hatred for a good reason isn't sick.
And i do have a good reason.

Everyone here has.
For some reason, the majority refuses to acknowledge it.

If there's one thing i've learnt at school is that the majority isn't always right.
Majority might be weak, even sick.
Majority might be the one who's wrong.

Also, there's no wrong or right in this world.
It's all subjective.
That's why no one should have the guts tell other's they're thinking the wrong way or are sick.
Because it's all subjective.
Society should have no power over people.
Everyone should have the right to leave the society whenever they want to do so.
Everyone should have the right to isolate.

Sure, perhaps it'd leave to anarchy and chaos.
But i'd be willing to pay that price.
I don't have enough to loose, it seems.
I already live in chaos and anarchy.

But no one should have the right to judge others, to command others.
I don't vote because i don't want to give the power over me to anyone.
It's mine to keep.
I have the right to refuse to participate in this society.
I will argue every thought that is given to me that i'd want to come back if i suddenly
Lost the security (what a laugh) and health care the society gives me.
I never said i wanted it. No one ever asked me.
I have the right to refuse to take care of people and most importantly i have the right to refuse to
Be taken care of.

29.11.1999

I've gone crazy, surely i have.
My mind is all numb, dumbfounded by every inch of air around me.

I'm dying, surely i am.
I must be.

How else could i keep on living?
If i knew i was going to live, after today, after the day after tomorror.

The air is all dark and cold, i could almost drown in it
Always almost, never deep enough
Never cold enough
Never lethal enough.

I'd like to talk to someone
But suddenly there's no one here.
Everything's cold and numb, i don't know...
Food makes me feel sick.

I wish i could sleep but i don't really want to.
I wish i could talk to you but i don't want to hear what you say.
I don't want to answer, i don't want to think.
I don't want to hurt anyone else anymore.
I don't even want to hurt myself anymore.
There's not enough energy to hate.

I want to paint something, mark something down.
There's the lust, the will to use the colors
I'm never good enough, never good enough for them.

I'm tired and i wish i could only stay here, safe inside, for the rest of my life.
I don't want to go out, get a real job, start studying again.
I can't believe in being able to do what i desire so much.
I'm too negative for that.
"hardcore negativity" - yes, i know what you meant
And i can't even convince myself i truly know
I can't make even myself believe and i know you wouldn't either
I know the way you'd look at me and tell me "you don't really know"
And i don't know how to convince anyone, how to prove anyone i'm not what they think i am

Their preconceptions weight on my back, still after all these useless years.
I can still feel the hatred, your sacred belief of how i can never be anything, how i can never
Become anything because i'm something you consider the lowest on earth, something you can't stand.
Mute and blind, that's what you think i am.
Dead inside, that's what you expect me to be.
And you never, never look at me waiting to find anything worthwile, anything good.
You hate me because you don't know me, you only think
You can see what's inside my head.
And what is on the outside, that's what you judge and hate.
Because you can't stand something in me.
And i don't know what that something is.

I only know i must be something blacker than black, evil, by the way you look at me.

My lungs hurt.
When i breathe in i can feel it
Like razor blades inside me.
Inside my heart and my lungs.
Something hard, something sharp,
Something scary in the dark.

And still, still i shatter.
Still i tremble.

I'm going away for a while.
I hope it helps, distracts me.
Makes me less aware of things.

Weird.
I'm a bit afraid.
Afraid that nothing will ever be enough.
Still i want... everything.
I know it won't be enough.

There's something in me that keeps me awake and alive.
If i were to kill myself i could sleep a bit better each and every night.

What i seem to have learnt is that it can change, everything can change.
I'm not sure yet, if it is so.

If i could close my eyes i think i would.
But there's always something that takes me away.
Something that makes me believe, something that makes me so human, i think.
I should be annoyed at it.
Right now i'm not (thought there will be times...)

I'm glad i get to go away for a while again.
It's nice to have some rest.

30.11.1999

It's been raining for a few days,
Wind's been blowing like it was hell on earth.
Like hell was here again.

The days just go by, faster than i care to notice.
Everything's mute... the minutes passing have nothing very special in them.
No pain, no loathing, nothing excessive.
Nothing special.
I think this is as close to happiness as I can ever get.
I don't feel like breaking apart every minute.
And i'm thankful for those minutes.
It's still not good to be alive, though.

I don't want to go to bed, i don't want to be quiet again.
I don't want to be found, i don't want to wake up again.

2.12.1999

I didn't sleep at all last night (but it's okay, i woke up at 4pm).
So i do feel a bit light-headed.
Been cleaning up all morning, doing stuff that has very little of real meaning to it.

The cat stopped by a while ago.
I watched him play with his food and realized,
It's just the same for him too.
A bunch of stuff to do, a lot of time to consume.
And none of it has a real meaning.
None of it matters that much.
Most of the time the air is empty and grey for them too.
Do cats get depressed too?

(I never ever thought there was the slightest possibility for that
but cats have even fewer means of killing themselves than we do.
There's a lot to be grateful for, i think sometimes.
At least we know we will die.)

Empty, useless,
Why people care so much about their jobs they kill themselves over it?
Because there really isn't anything else that'd be even a bit more meaningful to do.
It's all the same, every day.
Whatever you can use to occupy your mind and stop thinking of the endless time we have to spend.
Make something, do something.
Because you just can't lay still, however much you want to.

There's a soul in everyone.
A soul that keeps us moving.
Because we have to.
Because we're built that way.
No other reason.
No possibility to choose.

She (LG) cut one night because she couldn't take it anymore.
Did her first ever cuts.
And i know what she means
By getting a little closer to death through it.
Getting a little closer of turning all the strength against yourself.
A little closer to letting go, (left hurting a little less by every cut).

It snowed again
The winter is here again even if i refuse to notice it.
The light is all gone, again.
I'm tired of not sleeping, of not being awake.
Someday i'm going to... i wish i knew what.
I wish i wanted something, i wish i had dreams.
Dreams i could believe in.

I can't believe in anything.

"Shoplifters of the world, unite and take over."

I want to cut. Those books i read as a child, none of them told me what to do when all the hope is gone, and when you can't stand living regardless of all the things you've tried (and you've tried it all). And they never told me that you can cut to make it better for a while. That sometimes physical pain is all the pain you can take, and all other pains can be forced to go away. They never told me this. And they're the things i would have needed to hear, the things that could've made it tolerable for some moments in the past, the present or the future.

And i don't know why but i thought i'd grow up just like the other kids,
I'd grow up and change somehow, radically.
Because they all used to be able to handle it and they used to be
Something more than i was.
Without trying anything, without struggling under the load of life.
I still don't know what they have that i lack.
And still to this date i haven't found out if it really is bad to be this way, if there really is
Something universally evil in me, telling me stuff i could ruin the world with.
Sometimes i know i can make it, i can survive, just like them.
I can be like them, i can do out and play, just like them.
That's where the hope in me is, perhaps i still can fit in.
Perhaps i still can participate
(Even if it dries me inside out).

Whatever things they gave away with creation... I think i missed the whole happening.

I'm cold, oh yes i am.
And nothing will change that.
So i'd better stop believing.

This moment, right now, i'd do anything to make myself sleep forever.

---
"The visiting time's over"
The talks i have with my mum,
I hate them.
Perfectly innocent at first.
Then like a snake, wrapping itself around me,
The inevitable question.
"Why did you cut then?"
Ha. I still cut you bitch, i never stopped it. And i was only starting when you found out.
And no mum, i'm not queer. I couldn't give a shit about sex.
Don't ask me all these questions, i really don't want to share.
You just proved to believe in life, i could never explain it to you.

I can't explain how the silence screams at me,
How things were wrong all along,
How whatever anyone did never changed anything.
And no, i don't believe anymore, i don't know
If i ever even did.

Hell. Yeah. I'm tired. You could never change a damn thing.
I'm tired of your opinions. You tell me to talk.
By telepathy, or how?

You never stop, do you? Never stop believing you're right.
Never stop being what you are (and i don't want you that way).

Hell, yeah, i'm alright.
How did you ever believe otherwise?
Didn't then?

At least i'm not telling you i'm cold.
And that there's a secret hidden in my arm.
I'm not telling you i want quit, leave this job of mine,
Just float away.

Whatever whatever whatever
I'm a big grey stone.
"I can't pull you out of this unless you choose to do so"
I'm told.

Starstartstarstarstarstarstar s t a r

And if i cut somewhere you can't see?
And if i lie to you?

-------

I'm cold.
So cold, everything's cold.
Freezing.
Perhaps someday I will be warm.
But i doubt it.
Perhaps someday i'll freeze completely.
But i doubt that too.
Not soon enough, never soon enough.
It always takes the time i don't even have.

"Why do you want to kill yourself?"
Why not live? Why not
Do something different?
Like die?

If i'm tired.
If i'm awake
If i'm rising above your dreams
If i'm whatever you dreamt up in your mindless half-asleep fantasies
If i'm nothing but death, after all?

And i will want to fly.
And i will want to be like you and everyone.
And i will try
Until some day
It all proves to be too late.

I'm not what you believe me to be.
You don't know me, i can't even know myself.
I can't be like this,
Morbid and in pain.
It must be better, somehow.
Somewhere.
I must be dreaming again.
Recurrent nightmares, like (in) my reality.

If i'll go to bed early tonight
Will you promise i can sleep?

3.12.1999

I hate her, often,
Sometimes.
She doesn't leave me alone.
I hate that.
She doesn't understand and she never could.
She ackowledges that but still doesn't undestand it.
I hate that.
She thinks i should be of public property.
She thinks i should talk.
I don't want to talk. Not to her, not anyone.
She makes me homicidal, gives me headaches with her demands.
I'm done ranting about her.
I don't want to affect me this much anymore.
I think i'll just stop listening.

7.12.1999

I thought of dying today,
That way you know you don't have the energy to get up and go.

Back home again, last night i was certain.
I knew i couldn't anymore.
Today it's not that important anymore.
Too doubtful, too tired.

I don't want to be here anymore.

8.12.1999

Who am i to ask for anything...
I'm tired, i don't feel good about myself.
I don't feel good about my life.
I've never wanted to cut so long in my life.
Not even cutting helps.
I scratch, and then i want to do it more.
I cut and i cut and i cut.
And it isn't enough.

Nothing is enough anymore.
Something is finally broken and i can't fix it anyore,
I can't make it better, i can't even forget it anymore.

There is no future anymore.

Every minute i seek for the courage and every minute i seek for something
To occupy me, change me to something... dead.
Like a rock, i am. Dead like that.
Cold as hell but not really here anymore.
I'm already gone.

Images of blood flicker in front of my eyes.
I want it, and nothing is enough anymore.
Nothing is enough until i've drained it all out, until i'm dried out.
Until i'm dead, like sand and the desert.

It doesn't hurt but still it's the pain i'm afraid of.
And no amount of blood is enough anymore.

Getting out of here is everything i dream of.

10.12.1999

Jesus, I hate computers.
I hate programming html.
I'm tired of doing stuff.
I haven't had the chance to paint at all today and i feel like cutting again.
Which isn't the thing to do.

My feet hurts.
Stupid me.
I had the sudden urge to cut my leg yesterday.
I now remember why i stopped doing it.
Even a tiny scratch hurts like hell.
I think it's the dry skin or something.
But really, my arms never hurt like that.
Also, i cut the outer side and i couldn't sleep properly for the whole night.
It kept hurting, it still does.
Funny, eh.

I also cut my wrist, way too visible places.
I taped them and now wear long sleeves.
For ages, until they get better.
I don't understand how i could get away with it the whole last year.

I'm out of stuff to eat and i'm hungry.
(I'll probably do some painting later...)

It's friday night again.
Doesn't feel like it at all.

Tired tired tired.
Couldn't even concentrate on reading ash.
Boring me.

11.12.1999

Here I am again.
And i should've gone to bed already.
I bought some christmas lights today.
I thought i'd put them up on my wall, near the ceiling.
An idea shamelessly stolen from Rob.

Been listening to metallica all day.
I haven't done that for years, i think.
I've totally forgotten how good they are.
Apparently they've made a new album or something. Dunno.

I did painting and drawing and i actually came up with new ideas.
I now have to start painting 'properly' again.
I was so happy, after the drawings.
Like I had gotten rid of some of the bad stuff.
I felt good.

I can't remember when i last did.
I'm not much of an artist though.

Whatever.
I don't feel like going to bed.
I won't be able to sleep anyway, my leg is still too sore.
There's nothing to do.
Nothing i'd feel up to doing, nothing i could stand doing.
It's too late to paint. I'm too tired to do it.
Nothing else has any meaning either anyway.
I'm too tired to do anything but ramble.

I'll go to bed now.

12.12.1999

And I am fake.
Snowflake. What does it matter?
Walking like dead through this pitiful world,
Arrogant as ever.
Afraid, always.
Whatever. It doesn't matter.
I'm not important. I'm not you.

"--- the silent hedges
needing some other kind of madness
looking into purple eyes
sadness sat upon us"

I can't make out the words. I don't know what he's singing.
I guess that makes me deaf.
"We don't understand, we don't understand!
Kill yourself and all your fans!"

I don't understand.

I don't know where i'd like to be, right now.
I don't know if i wanted to be dead, i don't know
If i can ever imagine happiness again.

Everything that's here, it is just to disappoint us.
Poison us.
Eventually kill us.

I'm very tired.

I don't even know if i can do it again.

If i can kill myself again.
Try and believe in succeeding.
I can't try without believing.

I know i won't die.

And i know i want to die and i know i will die.

I don't know if i'm alive.
Perhaps this is all just a delusion.
Perhaps this is just a sub-life of some kind
And after we die there's people laughing at our fear of death.
Perhaps we'll be born again. Only to die again.
I don't know.
I don't think i care either.
Not really.

Nothing carves too deep into my skin.
The scars aren't real, they aren't deep.
They don't last.
Like everything everywhere i will disappear too.
The only question is when. Not why.

14.12.1999

I'm still the one they talk about.
It's like they had no lives of their own.
"What's she doing now? What's she going to do?"
Like it mattered.

Like whatever I told them would satisfy their curiousy.
And yet they know nothing.
They know nothing about my life, nothing of what i think or feel.
They don't even know what music i like.
And still they think they have the right to question me, question my motives.
Question everything i say and expect to not be questioned themselves.
Like they had any more justification than i do. Like their justifications were more valid than mine.
This isn't, of course, the case.

"I am the God of Fuck"
I used to feel inferior and i still sometimes do.
But i feel angry also.
I feel inferior because of people who don't accept suicide, i feel inferior to people who
Only know how to gossip. I feel inferior compared to people who mock me because they don't know how
To think themselves.
I feel inferior because i can't have reckless sex and go on shopping sprees and gossip with people i don't know
About people i know.
I feel inferior because of people who are selfish and stupid and generally can't think ahead of them.
I feel inferior because i can't give irrelevant speeches about irrelevant things in front of irrelevant people.
I feel inferior because i know they suck but i can't slap their faces with that knowledge.
I can't make them realize how many of their "important things" are actually irrelevant, useless.
I can't shout at their faces, " I hate you, you worthless pieces of crap"

And the whole point is that i think exactly like that. They are worthless pieces of shit. I have no respect for them.
I just can't go around insulting them but i can't pretend i like them either.

And then they think i'm a snob which is very accurate.
What i don't know, however, is why they think they can bash me and insult ma and hate me because of that.
I don't yell at them, i don't throw things at them. I just can't pretend i like them. And why should i?
But why do they think they're allowed to act like immature brats and be rude to me?
I'm not rude to them. I just don't like them.
And i don't like them because i think they're stupid and irrelevant (which they are, to most people other than themselves). I have the right to do so.

What bothers me is that they say, after hearing that, that i am an elitist. That i try to be better than them.
What if i am? Better than them?
But can't i dislike people because i simply don't like them? I don't have to like everybody. They don't like me and yet they expect me to like them?
Isn't there a contradiction? Yes, right there.
Why do they think i think i am better than them? They don't know me. They don't know how i feel, they don't know what i think.
I actually do feel inferior to them. But i still don't like them.

Yet they judge me. Judge me why? That's the part of humanity that i don't understand.
If i don't want to/can't socialize with them why should they think badly of me. I don't think badly of people who don't like me, even.
What gives them the justification for their actions? What gives them the feeling it is right for them to do so, to judge?
What makes them feel they're entitled to judge me, to hate me, to act rudely to me if i simply don't talk to them (because i'm ill, because i can't talk to them.). I don't hate them for not saying hello to me.
I don't hate them unless they've hated me first.
And they have shown me they hate me.
But i still don't know why they think they're entitled to such an elitist feeling.

(Because hate is elitist. Not everyone has the chance to hate. Let alone demonstrate it.)

15.12.1999

Jesus... i can't read. Anything.
The text itself makes me sick.
And i feel so ill anyway. Physically sick.
I'd be throwing up if i could stand doing it.
If i could do it.

I can't really paint either. And i can't write. Can't talk.

I splashed my sleeve with blood. Cutting made me sick.
Totally ill. I thought i'd throw up, right there.
I haven't had such a strong feeling of physical sickness for a long time. Perhaps never.
I don't know what's wrong, really.
I don't seem to be able to do anything.

A breaking-apart feeling.
No one i could talk to.
Not that it'd help either, talking.

I'm so sick of my little world.
I hate it.

16.12.1999

And here am i, even more ridiculously tired than before.
So tired breathing hurts, so tired no amount of sleep is enough.

I try to avoid the inevitable moment of having to let go, having to loose control
And i fall, fall, fall.
So tired it doesn't matter anymore.
So tired i ache all over.

I wish i was dead.
I don't want to wake up to be tired again.
I want to sleep, with no beginning, with no end.
Only soothing dreams
Calming my restless body.

Cold and tired, there's not much more to it.
An occasional panic attack perhaps.

19.12.1999

Back here again.
The weekend's over again, lost again.
I didn't feel it pass me.

I'm dying to go shopping.
I'm dying to go out and look weird and shake people up.
I'm dying to change something, even for a minute or two.

20.11.1999

Too tired to read. Too tired to care.
I should go and greet my uncle tomorrow. Or some other day, i don't know.
I don't think i care either.

I need to buy something for my sister.
And i promised to clean the house.

I thought i'd be up to it but now i'm not.

I think i've never loved
Anyone like that.

22.12.1999

Exactly six months since i started writing this.

I should wake up, get up, move.
I need to clean up and paint and do... something, I'm certain.

It's time to act like it's christmas, cheerfully. Fake it if you can't be it.
Christmas-time.

The presents have been bought, with surprisingly little hassle.
The house is getting cleaner sometime soon.
Only my room and the cellar left. It's not that hard (I have to convince myself).

There will be relatives but not that many.
There will be angst about food and presents and everything that isn't perfect.
Perhaps it won't be that terrible this year.

I still want to escape.
I'm going to play around with my web-site.

---

And then she cleaned.
Or vacuumed actually. (But anyway.)

And then i drew.
Now i don't know what i should do.
I should draw more but i can't concentrate on it. Which is pretty ridiculous considering i'm almost finished.
It's just that i want to start painting already.

I decided i won't be cleaning up my room.
I just can't be bothered.

Painkillers are really nice.
I think i'll never stop abusing them unless something better comes along (which i doubt).

Woke up early today.
After eight hours of sleep.
I'm getting normal again. Yay.

I want to pain the current pic i'm doing and then put things back on-line.
Or something.
Perhaps.

----

I'm on the outside.
Completely outside, completely alone.
Today i knew, first time in along time, that i have no one beside me.
...
Well, she's there, around somewhere.
...
I have no right to complain.

There are the screams and the yells,
All buried inside my head.
Cold and weird,
An alien, am i not?

I realized... there's no social life.
Not a bit.
And i was happy about it. Until i heard of something happening in ash.
Wanting to be a part of it, of course.
Feeling left out, of course.
No right to ask to join, either.

Well, yeah, better to get up and go
Better to
Paint and read and write
Better to... be alive, without really noticing it.
Without really feeling it.
This glass around me… how should i describe it?
How should i say… something so heavy and cold and lifeless...
How to describe? How to say anything?
How to share anything with anyone?
Why share anything?

24.12.1999

"...Feels like I should be getting somewhere,
somehow neither here nor there..."

---

I guess i shouldn't feel this way, utterly discouraged, on Christmas eve
I'm a chocolate monster again, eating way too much, rotting my teeth
But it shouldn't even matter so why do they think it does?

I'm definitely not a christmas-person.
The faked happiness is too transparent, it's
Too easy to see how things actually are.
The glitter doesn't cover the rust, the rotten smell.

The sun has sat already, you know,
And it isn't
That less lonely on the christmas eve to those who were already born...
I don't have any questions now, there are no answers either (i know that).
Always been the quiet one, always been the one to shut up and escape.
No less now than before.
Only it was easier then.

I'm vaguely hoping i'll choke on the chocolate.

Too much food, too many presents.
Too many relatives even if there's no one...
Too much of everything.
Nothing that'd matter the slightest bit.

I'm going away soon, i hope.
I'm going away, like everyone else.
I'm going away and never coming back.
I'm going away to never feel a thing anymore.

24.12.1999 (had to section this, for i'm feeling so different!)

It's quite horrifying to notice how glad i am.
I got presents and it made me so happy!
The boots i bought were even more beautiful than i remembered.
And i got lipstick from my sister (*giggle*).
And i got a terrifying skirt but just getting it made me so happy.
Knowing someone had thought about me long enough to buy me anything made me happy.

And i got the book i knew i was going to get.

And i sat there and read it and i was happy.

I ate chocolate and a zillion other things and giggled and didn't concentrate.

It's funny actually.
Just these presents made me happy.
The same thing happened on my birthday.
I got happy.
Not like when i was a kid. Happy.
I'm actually pretty sure i haven't ever been happy in my life before.
This isn't content. It isn't relieved.
It's happy.

I'm pretty damn sure i've never felt this way before.
I'd remember it.

If "normal" people feel like this even some of their time i can fully understand why they still want to live.
I feel good about myself, good about life,good about being alive.
Good about almost everything.
And those things i don't feel good about i feel able to stomach.
If only i felt this way more often.

I think it is said that one can't know true desperation until one has been utterly, overwhelmingly happy.
I understand it better now.
It's always been better than before but it hasn't been like this.
Never, ever before.

It makes me feel very weird.
I have to think about life again. From a different angle.
Not that i'd like it any more.
But now i'll have one more happy memory now.
I think it totals in about three.

26.12.1999

To scream is not enough.
To bleed is not enough.
The skin is everything i can influence and change and it isn't enough.

I want to scream, at the top of my lugns, "I need to get out of here".
I need to, i'm choking here.

I can't find a way to help myself out of this hole.
I'm tired of thinking i should even try anymore.
It won't change, however much i do
Because i simply can't be anything more than i am.
Anything else than i am.

Trapped here, claustrophobic.
I never would have thought that just being alive could make me claustrophobic.
The world is too small for me, too limited in it's existence.
And i don't know what i could do.

There's nowhere to go.
Nothing else to do but die.
And i can't get that done.

I feel like i am exploding.
And i think i'm exploding.
How could one not fall apart under this pressure?
(There's no pressure.)

It simply is hard.
It simply is difficult.
I can't even breathe, let alone express it properly.
But it hurts like hell.
Panic. Nothing else but panic.
Pain and panic.

Melodrama.
Someone once said i had a reason for it.
I don't see the reason myself. I don't see any justification for anything that i'd believe in.

------

Why on earth do i believe i have the right to envy?
I'm tired of being forced to come back from my dreams.
I'm tired.

There are no dreams.
The dreams are useless.
There's no justification for them to be. They can't change a thing.

Useless, useless, useless!
They must go. Everything must go.
I have no right to envy, to believe, to hope.
I have no right to be.

My body should have died years ago when my spirit died.

27.12.1999

I saw this dream the other night.
I cut my arm open.
From elbow to the wrist, wide open.
Blood squirted from the wound, it was cut to the bone.

I woke up and i could hardly lie still, I was hardly awake.
I wanted to, i needed to, go find a knife and cut. To slice myself open like that.
Violently.
Permanently.

I lied there, for hours it felt like, and wanted to, desperately wanted to.

28.12.1999

The inevitable death...

Tonight i want to curl up and close my mind, get drown into music, do nothing at all.
Not even breathe.
I want to decorate my room with blood red lights and let the candles burn to an end.
Choke the flames on stearine.
Be black and melodramatic and mean it.
Get burried under the load of blood i carry inside me.

Tonight i don't want to be cold. I don't want to be ice.
I want to let the flames in me consume me.
(If i can ever awaken them again.)

I want to be something warm and real
And stain the floors so that others can see my pain
Dripping over the edge, slowly.
I want to make myself rush, run, hurry across the invisible lines.

I don't want to be ice tonight.
I don't want to pretend, to disguise myself.
And the lines i draw, maybe
They'll prove something to be real.

------

I'm so tired.

29.12.1999

I don't know what's wrong.
I don't know if it' wrong to miss someone who doesn't miss you, someone you hardly knew.
I expect it is.
But i don't know.

How could emotions be wrong?
Or is it not the emotion that's wrong but the fact i hide it?
Or that i don't want to aknowledge it?

I feel it is wrong to feel in such a way because it isn't fair.
Fair to him.
And he can't disapprove or approve either.
That's where i'm unjust again.

I don't know what i would say.

I know i'm not alone with this though.

I'm supposed to not think about the past, i think.
I've programmed myself such a way.

I wish i could analyze the feeling, find out where it's coming from.
Because it's just this "I want to", nothing else.
"I need to", also.
There's no basis for the feeling to appear.
It just was there.
And that i can't understand, not really.

The feeling is undefined.
All i know is that i miss, well, either him or something else.
I'm unsure about myself.
I don't know why i feel that way.
I don't know how i feel.
Except longing.
I miss him.
His presence in my life.
Nothing else.

30.12.1999

Still here and never here.
I can't find any courage to post, anything.
Right now i wish i was able to talk to someone, about anything.
Joke, like them. Rant, like some others. Cry, like someone else.
Not to be alone here.
To know someone knew i existed. Had existed, still existed.

Not to be so alone. Share something with someone. With anyone.
I'm yearning for human contact and yet i can't say anything, do anything.
Locked here inside my shell, on my own.

I don't know if it has ever been anything else, if it'll ever be.

I should go to bed. But sleeping never helped a thing.