You'll never see this, dear girl. I have no idea why I still bother with you.

. . . Never. Nevernevernever. Tell yourself it's inappropriate to feel what you do. I've been down that road. Worn deep ruts in it, I know it like the back of my hand. I've been feeling guilty for having any emotions that were not joy since I was a small child.

Yes, I love my dad.

[that was a low blow. i don't care. i am free here to say whatever.]

Trying to surpress it just makes it a thousand times worse. Maybe, maybe I'm wrong and you can handle it better than I can. Maybe there is something within you that I lack, or something in me that you lack, but I doubt it. I first became fascinated with you because you remind me so much of myself. A younger, purer, infinitely more focused version of myself.

I mean, think about this for a second.

[i don't care what their "real" names are, i'll call them whatever the fuck i feel like calling them]

Jyiis was so much a better version of me. Artistically, creatively, humorously. I looked up to her, and I guess. My little crush on her came from that and from the small amount of attention she paid to me. Keep this in mind, it's a recurring pattern. Anyone, anyone that I look up to for any reason whatsoever, if they pay me just a slight amount of attention I will enslave myself to their shadow. I can't help it. Wish I could.

[wish i could a lot of things]

Corwin, he could write. Really, really well. And . . .
[i don't like remembering this. how easy it was. to break it down.]
. . . he sang. Flying Pickles In The Sky, I think, will never leave my memory. How could you forget a song like that? He made me laugh. Often. He wrote for me, a couple times, I think. Something. It's hard to recollect exactly what went on, then or five minutes ago [my memory is such shit.]
No, it's . . . pretty much what I just said, I guess. He paid attention to me. And so much of him was like me, in certain regards. Of course, I also realize that when I find someone to look up to, I mold myself after them. So how could I help loving him and Mel? They were both sort of versions of myself.

I want that time back. Or rather, I want memories of it. I want something to look back on. I wish I hadn't freaked out and destroyed everything. I'm not sure if it would help if I had found his old diary, though. I fucking damn near memorized a few of those entries . . . that's not good, if you can't already tell. I get obsessive so easily.

Tie-dye. Motherfucking tie dye, poofy hair, Doctor Who. God. I miss it.

Emoticons. -.^ Bastard.

I should really learn to trust people more. Where was I.

Alicia, with Le Rouge of course, and the John Smith fixation . . . she understands more about that side/s of me than I think anyone ever will . . . & I am so grateful for that. For knowing I'm not completely alone, not a total freak. For knowing that someone out there will know what I mean when I say that skinning a corpse can be beautiful. And why I want to break mirrors.

Jim, who feels that raw intensity of emotion. The less said about him at the moment, the better.

Eli, the amateur philosopher, eternally curious at the nature of the human animal. Always managing to find beauty in life, even and especially in the worst moments.

I'm a fucking narcissist, but I doubt anyone will ever believe me because they don't have all the information at hand. They don't have the reactions, the thoughts, the reasons. They only have the surface of it. They only have what it looks like from the outside.

But you know, maybe that isn't such a bad thing.

Maybe I've spent too long convincing myself that I am Filth. Maybe something something something. You know?

Maybe . . .
[long, bitter laughter. the only one who'll never leave, who will ever be that dedicated, is my greatest ally and worst enemy.
i am such a fucking narcissist.]

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