Book Description

November 7, 2018
Dear Diary,
I haven’t written in a very long time. Years. And its just occurring to me now, that I’ve never written my journal on a computer before - but what the hell, it’s the 21st century. Sometimes I feel nostalgic to read my old journals that I threw away about five years ago. Ten years of journal entries and poems and drawings, all gone forever. Perhaps it was for the best, as they say: everything that happens was meant to. I imagine them to be very sad and confusing. The hysterical ramblings of a deranged teenage fucktard. Besides, I’m different now … I’m a deranged adult fucktard.
Since we are starting from the beginning, I guess introductions are in order. My name is… my name … Actually, I don’t know if my name is important. Considering the reason I threw out my old journals was due to the fact that I didn’t want people to know my secrets. It wouldn’t really make sense to write new journals and put my name on them now would it? My secrets are too dark. And the only purpose of writing is to rid my mind of these “slivers” – so to say. That is the word my brain keeps spilling out lately. On a side note: I don’t give a shit about my grammar and or syntax. You’re lucky my writing is legible. When I used to write, my handwriting would sometimes become as erratic as it was from my mind. My handwriting would change total style, pressure and size within paragraphs, as if it was a clue to my mental state changing.. deteriorating within my writing. A clear indication that Im anything but stable, sometimes becoming entirely illegible. Anyways, I am 28, female, about to be 29 in a couple weeks. Its fucked up because sometimes I still feel like I should be early 20’s, top. I am scared to turn 30 as I feel like Im too old to be this sad still. As if pain had an expiry. As if we only were rightfully due to suffer for so long and then magically life gets better. Oh, the blind hope we hang on to.
For the past two years I have badly been needing to get psychological help. Maybe my whole life I have but the last two years ive actually been WANTING to. Maybe now that Im older, I feel like I owe it to my friends and family. They are my motivation to want to be happy. By friends I mean my one friend and my family. I know Ive had much more fucked up times in my life than the things Ive been through in the past two to three years but I expect more of myself now a days. Its disappointing that I’ve allowed myself to go through certain things again.
Do you wanna hear about the slivers now? The slivers are my secrets. They’re my secrets and the painful reminders of bad things. They randomly sting me on a normal day. It can come from a song playing, or just randomly come from any sort of reminder that signals a memory. A lot of the slivers are of HER. Other slivers are of my cousin – only one of the guys who molested me as a kid. As if it wasn’t bad enough that he molested me as a kid. But just over a year ago, I let him fuck me in the ass one night. The same night that I smoked crack and was extremely drunk. And another sliver when I fucked three different guys in one night. All separately. Slivers of living in my car. Pissing myself in my car cause I was too fucked up and scared to go pee. Theres all sorts of bad slivers that keep hurting me from the last two to three years of me degrading myself as a human. And I blame HER. Because I was so happy and doing so good in my life when I met HER. And I was happy when I dated HER for three years. Until she hurt me so bad and ever since then …two to three years ago… I have been on a crash course.
Ive been through worse in my life. My childhood, my teenage years. I just am so sad now that Im further traumatizing myself. All I wanna do is blame HER tho. I feel like if she didn’t leave me, none of this would have happened. And Id be so happy. So im constantly hating her for leaving me, hating myself for being so disposable. And just as im writing this, she texted me. We bought a house together a few months ago. eye roll That’s a story for another time. She doesn’t love me. She doesn’t care about me. I don’t know why she wants to be my friend. It’s a fucking insult.
J.C YB