I need to write, when I find the time.
I feel so terrible inside and out.
The troubled thoughts inside my head are making me physically ill.
My stomach is stubborn; it won't stop turning.
I want to feel nothing. Nothing is better than this.
Edit**:
bdhhfdsmids hsa bfusghsdgsdglh
Hairstyles of the Damned. I cannot explain how much the book has made me feel better,
about myself. About everything
Brian Oswald is exactly me. It's crazy.
"Other than that, I would sing gospel out loud, really loud, in church, and that made me feel OK. Really. Every Sunday to get out of my house I'd go to mass, by myself even. The church I went to was Queen of Martyrs on 103rd, where I had gone to grade school, and it was nice, all baby-blue inside with these shiny staned-glass windows and light-wood pews and with all the gold of the altar shining and these nice wook Stations of the Cross posted along the wall everywhere. Everyone in the neighborhood went to church, I guess, even if they were pretty shitty. My mom went by herself early in the morning. Me, I usually wen around 11 o'clock mass and I would sit somewhere in the back, usually with the old people, their white hair like whisps of cotton candy, their grubby clothes smelling like mothballs and the thrift clothes Gretchen would buy at the Salvation Army- old people, who, like me, were there by themselves, maybe. I guess if you go to church enough, you just go and say the things and kneel and pray without even thinking, because that's what I did. I mean, I had been going to Catholic school all my life and I never really thought about what I had been taught; I just kind of went through the motions of it all. Worse than that, I would kind of check the women out- you know, high school girls, hot-looking moms, stuff like that. I would have all kinds of weirdo fantasies- nothing satanic, you know, but pretty involved anyway. Most of tha fantasies involved me imagining what the hot girls would look like as they walked up the aisle to get married, their hair all done-up, their soft faces behind white veils, smiling nervously. I dunno why I fantasized about that. Sometimes I would take the time to think about what was going on with my mom and dad and sometimes it would make me so sad I'd have to excuse myself and go to the bathroom to keep myself from fucking crying. But like I said, the thing I liked best was the sining. I mean it- I would go there adn really belt it out like a total retard, you know, because I was there by myself and didn't have to worry about looking dumb for doing it, and it felt nice to be singing the same song as everybody- you know, belonging- and, well, all the old people around me loved me for it; they would nod and smil and I would shout, "Amazing Grace" or "How Great Thou At," thinking that someday , one of these old ladies would be interviewed for some rock'n'roll documentary about and and in the film the old lady would nod and wipe her glasses and say, "That boy had a voice like a saint. Like a saint," and have to look away from the camera to keep from crying tears of joy at the thought of me, Get this, though: One time Gretchen and I were in the car, and she was smiling and watching me only mouth the words along t "Hope" by the Descendants, and she said "My dad told me he saw you singing in church," and I said, "No, man, I just mouth the words," and she said, "No, he told me you were really singing," so I stopped singing when I went there, from then on, and I went back to just thinking about my mom and dad."
Shit. Just like, the whole singing really loud,
and thinking about how one day an old lady would say shit like that about you.
And going into the bathroom just to stop yourself from crying.
That's me. In so many ways that no one can even understand.
And yes, I just typed that from the book, because I have nothing better to do with my time.
Shit, I should do this more often.
Later, losers!
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anxious
sleepy
rejuvenated
discontent
ashamed
giddy
ahhhhh
dead
blissful
jumpy