March 2, 2002
On this page you can see a very long hair of mine [I had pasted one into the original journal]. I didn’t write yesterday, but not because it was boring. It was quite a day. After school, many of us kids played Hide and Go Seek Tag in a large, open space behind some houses. There are a great many huge piles of dirt back there, and it is very fun. After that, we played Truth or Dare. It was a very exciting night. 10:00p.m. is now my official weekend curfew. Mom’s Old Best Friend is coming over tonight. She’s a friend of Mom’s. We lived with her for about four months. It was quite horrid.
Even though I feel incredibly guilty about what I’ve just done, I had to do it. Tonight is Saturday night. It is around 10:30. I have been sent to bed. Dad said, “I love you” and I said, “Whatever.” He was very shocked, but I had to say it. He treats me like a little child and then expects to make it all better by saying “I love you.” He has to know it won’t work anymore. Of course, I feel horrible. He has to start respecting me, though. I’m worried now that he’ll die or something and the last words I’ll ever have said to him will be in anger. I shall soon need a new journal. I’ve decided to go to college in Movie State. That is my goal. Well, that is actually one of many goals. We went to the “Rockin’ Bowl” tonight. It happens every Saturday night. It was quite fun. I hope that we go again next Saturday. How I wish I could fully enjoy my Saturday night. Without these pointless restrictions! I hate it.
March 3, 2002
It’s one of those Sundays that would be immensely pleasurable if it were a Saturday, but is immensely boring because it’s a Sunday. It’s very cloudy outside, and Dad and I are alone in the house. Powell is out skateboarding, Thomas is with him, and Mom had to run to the store. Dad is cooking our dinner. We’re having tacos. I think that two days is entirely too short of a break. I can’t wait until summer. What a good time that will be. I told my father that in the summertime, I always forget what day it is. My father said, “Good.” When I asked why, he said, “Blessed are those who don’t have to wonder or worry what day it is.” It is one of the most insightful things I’ve ever heard him say. The next time I can do that (besides summer vacation) will probably be around 2047. I’ll be old and retired…maybe. Wait! Not 2047! I’ll only be fifty-nine. More like 2058. I’ll be seventy. I wonder what I’ll be doing? In 2058, I’ll have to get this journal out and look at it.
Monday, March 4, 2002
For some idiotic reason I’ve been hiding my journal under my dresser. Any idiot could find it there. I must find a better place. Wait! I know exactly where! I can’t say, though. Well, yes, I can. [Code begins here] It’s in the pouch of a leather case I keep in one of my desk drawers. [Code ends here] We received our interims today. I got four C’s, one B, and two A’s. I am very concerned. Powell was not so fortunate as I, though. He got two D’s. Dad is talking to him now. I do not think he is too mad, though, because I heard laughing. It has become cold again. I do not go outside much. Just three more months and it will finally be summer! How I detest school! Especially now. My grades are really slipping. I have to push myself further. I must. I have four C’s. By this coming report card I can only have one C. If I want scholarships I mustn’t let my grades continue on their downward trend. I’m becoming very frightened for my future. I must work harder, I must. Whoever said that the good die young was certainly right. However, as I’m not dead, I suppose God has some purpose for me. I’m honestly trying in school. Why is this happening to me? I must work harder! I shouldn’t fill the pages of my journal with things like that. When at home, I need to relax. I want a bath. Dad says baths are feminine. Powell and I pointed out that it was he who had gotten a perm in the 1970’s.
March 5, 2002
One year ago today, Powell and I were hoping for snow. We did not get it. I am so mad at Mom and Dad. They have punished us for no reason. I could kill someone. I really could. Not that I would. I hope my mother Anne comes into some money. If she does, I am leaving, and nothing will be missed. I wrote a hateful letter I will never actually show Mom and Dad which is hidden under my dresser. I had to get it out. I’ve wanted to for years. I’m afraid that if I ever said it out loud, I would be seriously hurt before I could finish. It’s too bad that I can’t tie them both up and force them to listen to me. I hate life. There is no reason to live. I hate everyone. I wish everyone would die. Life sucks. Everything sucks. I hate humanity. No, I don’t. I hate my father, but I don’t want to. I wish I would just die in my sleep, seriously. That’s the best thing that could happen to me. With my father, I have no reason to live. My cursive sucks so damn bad! Can’t I do anything right? I need to snap out of it. [Code begins here] I seriously understand suicidal people. [Code ends here] I’m not going to be like that, though. Just because the two parts of my life that matter most have hit an all-time low. I hate my father. Oh, God forgive me. Oh, Lord forgive me my hate. Why is my handwriting so horrible?
Okay. I’m afraid I just wrote some things that I did not at all mean. I was very angry. I must calm myself. Oh, my cursive is horrible. I still have many pages to fill up and I should fill them with good things. That entry was psychotic. I don’t know what I was thinking. I just don’t understand why my life is so unfair. I wish it were not so. I graduated elementary school on June 14, 1999. The three-year anniversary is only three months away. That means that two years ago I was in the fifth grade [Note to readers: it was actually a three-year difference; my math has never been the best.] Unbelievable. My, how time flies. I don’t know what to do now. After writing those horrible things I feel as if the whole day’s entry has been ruined. Oh, well. I’ll read now, like I do every night. Goodnight.
March 6, 2002
On the next page, you can see the poem I wrote last night while in a rage. What I truly feel guilty about is what was written on the back. I meant the poem, except for the very last line.
[Poem was as follows]
So unjust, so unfair
To be righteous, you do not dare
You make up things that don’t exist
Then deliver punishments for these imaginary slips
“You have no say, you have no rights”
You say to me just out of spite
There are Congress-people who would be concerned
But of your tyranny, they are unlearned
All day I hear, “Don’t fill my head
“You’re less than a person. You’re a child, don’t you comprehend?
“You’re insignificant. I will soon break you
“Along with your talk of justice, too.
“I’ll try to get your esteem low.”
You wonder, father, why I hate you so?
[Letter was as follows]
I never do anything! That little brat gets off scott free, though! I HATE YOU!!!
I have the hardest time keeping my grades up in school and you two retards!!! make my life more damn hectic by making up punishments! FUCK YOU!!! I’ve wanted to do this for so long, and even though I’ll never say it to you and you’ll never see this, it feels so good! FUCK YOU!!! Get a fucking life! Leave me the fuck alone unless you’re not acting like idiots! I would live with Anne in a heartbeat if she had money. So FUCK YOU!!! I FUCKING HAAAAAAAATE YOU!!!
I did not mean what I wrote on the back. I’m running late. I must now go eat.
It is around nine-thirty in the evening. xxx-xxx-xxxx. It is the number to call to get screen tests done. It’s free. It’s in Marble City this Saturday. I hope to go. One year ago today, I was also excited about a similar opportunity. I hope this one is more successful for me.
March 9, 2002
Today is Saturday. It is about nine-thirty in the evening. Unfortunately, I did not go to Marble City today. Oh, well. Anne has not called or sent money. She is supposed to be in Casino State. I wonder. Monday is the six-month anniversary of September 11th. I can’t believe it’s been half a year. We’re watching a special tomorrow called “9-11.” It will be showing video footage from inside the World Trade Center on September 11th. I love Saturdays. Today was very dark and gray. Mom’s Newer Best Friend (my mother’s friend) and her son Tall Boy are staying with us tonight. They’re very nice, although I must confess, Tall Boy has been very annoying lately. He is eight.
It is shortly after eleven o’clock at night. Dad and I just finished watching South Park. It is a very funny television show. I had to get a haircut yesterday. I hate haircuts. I can’t wait for the summer. I am calling xxx-xxx-xxxx tomorrow for information about acting.