journal entries by yours truly..
So I guess this is it. Writing in a journal like all the greats that came before me. Andrew Blaze, Eric Harris, Dylan Klebold, etc. I feel silly even doing this. Writing to no one in particular. It's February now. It snowed yesterday, so the world around me is white. I enjoy it. Though I think I'd enjoy it more if I could go out and wander the streets. But unfortunately, I do not. My birthday is next month. I can't believe I'm turning 19. Only six more years left, maximum. I can't even wrap my head around the fact that I've made it this long. I had expected to have left this plane of existence years ago. But alas, here I am. Unfortunately, though, it was all for naught. Years on Earth wasted. I haven't done anything with my life. There's nothing I can say I've really done. No achievements, no talents, nothing. I'm as close to worthless as a human can be. Isn't that pathetic? I have nothing that I can look back on. My days have felt like they've been on repeat for years now. Not like I can remember it… I can hardly remember yesterday. It all fades together in an uninteresting and boring blur. I just go through the motions of life, not truly living. Observing instead of experiencing. My memory only gets worse as the weeks go on. I worry that eventually I'll forget what makes me "me". That sounds dramatic, but it's just how it is. Sometimes, I wish I was normal. Not so strange. Not so out of place. I think all my hatred for "normal" people, the average individual in society, stems from a place of intense jealousy. They seem to live so easily. No turmoil. No ostracization. Nothing. They live in a dreamy cloud, high above the rainy Earth below where I reside. Their reality seems fictional to me. Entirely unobtainable. Something that I will never be able to touch. I wish I didn't have to live this life alone. Maybe if people accepted me, I wouldn't be so fucking angry…
It's Sunday, April 13th 2025. It's a warm spring day, the hum of bugs awoken after the frigid winter fills the air. But for me, I'm focused on one thing and one thing only. The 20th. Seven more days. This is the day I've decided to be my last. Ironic, hm? It's a very important day this year for several types of people. For the religious, it's Easter. The second coming of Christ. For the stoners, it's 4/20. They're all going out to take bong rips in some dark basement somewhere, giggling over the ligher clicks with their ignorant friends. For the edgy few, contaminated by the internet or radicallized with hate, Hilter celebrates his 136th birthday. He's becoming quite the fossil if you ask me.. And for the individuals I come across on Tumblr, the 26th anniversary of the Columbine High School Massacre. Eric Harris and Dylan Klebold. Every edgy teenage boy's wet dream. Shooting up their school, leaving behind a legacy. Kill all those who've treated them poorly. The works. And for me.. I get to be happy again. Finally. Once the Reaper has wrapped his bony hands around my throat, I will not resist. I will stay strong. And after that.. Pure bliss. The void beyond. I hope it will remember me. We met in my earliest months. But I'm sure the reunion will go beautifully.