Random commentary [journal]

Wherever I may turn, my secret weighs me down, and so do all of those other difficult truths. How will I know that I have earned enough understanding and trust that I could tell someone and not be shunned for the truth? For I am a terrible human who was meant to be punished for all of this, but could not be because I have never physically done anything wrong. People were supposed to be afraid of me, to run away from me, to call the police at the sight of me, for their kind was hunted by me. But none of this ever happened, because I could not make it happen without sacrificing the identity that would allow me to survive. And even if I acted so, in the name of justice, they would be blind to the true reason I would deliver it this way.

O the memories - first time in print!

I was digging around in the stuff (read: junk) lying around in my room collecting dust when I found a couple of sheets of looseleaf with stuff all over it. I thought I'd share it with you because it talks about my feelings after the Cataclysm or the Sundering or whatever I've called it in one of my other journal entries. I'm going to try to type this out word for word with original punctuation. I might add some editorial comments, in footnotes or in-line notes, if I deem them necessary, but I don't know yet since I haven't typed it out as of right now.

Although the colour painting of the "fish" symbol (mentioned within) that I have elsewhere in my room appears to be in the style of the stuff I painted in grade 9, the absence of any mention of Survivor in this piece indicates that it was written before the discovery that the TV phenomenon would become my next source of spiritual sustenance.

( So here is something that I wrote, most likely at the beginning of grade 9 (late-2000). Either that, or I wrote it during the summer that year, after I came home from vacation. It was probably in my binder because I wanted to show it to my friends. I don't think I ever did. )

Now my fingers really hurt from typing. Ow.

More memories

( Here, from beyond the pain, is more stuff I dug up from the deeper recesses of my room. )