I am starting to make a habit out of taking a walk outside, in the streets at night. I cannot stand the long quiet hours inside my dreadful house. It's better outside, The noise in my head is somewhat subdued by the noise in my ears. Where there would be screams of painful memory, they become faint cries in the background, drowned by lights and sights and sounds of cars, people, wind, firecrackers, etc. It's better here. But , like everything else, it has a disadvantage...it's dangerous. Walking around the streets at this time of night..dogs, drunk men, muggers, pimps and their whores.
I didn't get to write.
I didn't get to paint or make any kind of art either
I danced a while then burst into tears.
I'm fucking fucked up.
I watched "the talented Mr. Ripley"...familiar eh?
But would I ever resort to murder? no. I've thought about killing people since I was really small. In fact, I even wondered if i was the devil's egg. I wondered how a child like me, 4 or 5 or 6 years old
would think about these kinds of things. About death, sex, rape, lust, murder, etc. A friend once said which gave the words to my thoughts: "You grew up(in thinking) too soon ." And people would say "hey, he's such a perfect little boy, so behaved, so excellent, so bright.." They didn't know how fucked up deranged I was, I am. Screwed up. Twisted. grotesque.
Yesterday, I broke down. I kept on saying: "I don't know what to do anymore. I don't know. I don't know." How seriously fucked up am I?
My friends have all gone to their respective provinces. I am left in this place were I have stayed for 19 fucking years. I'm sick of this place. I'm sick of seeing, walking the same old paths, the same old roads, the same old stinking rotting dead creeks, the same old scenes...
I travelled to Toledo and back kanina. I brought Jay to the port and went back to Cebu.
Bought porn. Five minutes into watching it back at home, I got sick. I don't fucking want to watch porn anymore. I don't want to fucking fuck. I do not want fucking distraction. I do not want fucking seconds-lasting "happiness".
Christmas is days from now, and I'm fucking scared. I didn't think I would ever come back to spending it alone in my room like all the other Christmases I had since I started realizing I was fucked up or plain different. I am sick of my music, or his music. I am sick of hearing the same things to comfort my weary existence.
I smell, I didn't put deodorant on...Larry's come back for the Holidays.
My hair is longer and messier and drier. I've gotten thinner noticeably. I've been texting people. Only Jay and Larry seem to really reply. I do not want to eat anymore. I'm sick of the left-overs in Chad's Birthday.
I am scared of Christmas..I'm dead terrified. I don't wanna cry, I don't wanna feel the physical stab of pain. I don't want to go back to my closet and cry and shout in a pillow. I do not want to hold myself from making noises while sobbing. I do not want to be silent amidst the firecrackers and the shouts and the disco music and the laughter. I do not want to have blanks every fucking fifteen minutes...
I am scared of Christmas. I'm terrified.
Right now, I really don't want to go home.
