-dealing with an increasingly fake and plastic society
-the speculative nature of addiction
-repressed natural violent tendencies
-conformity , even within the self abandons individuality,

Im becoming increasingly violent. Its her, i know it. Somehow the M shortens my fuse and make this nightmare become reality. Ive always wanted to become what i fear, she wants me to become what i fear. Its consuming. Its not the feeling of someone watching you when you have soap in your eyes, or maybe the shadow fluttering before your eyes, this is the all consuming fear that englufs you while your alone. The kind that starts at the base of your spine and you get a shiver before you even know what it is your going to think about, then the images come. The images never leave, you can rationalize all you want but they never leave untill you purge them in the usual sinister fashion.

Maybe i just have an overactive imagination, maybe this is the anxiety getting to me.

But its not just when im alone, the fuse is gone when im around others too. It almost disturbs me how violent my fantasies have become. Kill the bastard and fuck his skull on the barstool, they will all love you as you swell and show them your pride. Fuck the mother fucker right there.

you can't write a story that hasn't finished yet

I thought the suicide would be ending enough

but no, i guess it never does fucking end

We all have these repressed urges that make us feel alienated. They make us feel like we are the only person, or one of the few that have these thoughts. Its so wrong that we think theres something wrong with us. But really theres a little Adolf or John Wayne Gacey within all of us.

Im in class dreaming about bludegoning my rambaling teacher. Curious as to if i could knock her out before she could have the time to turn around and scream. I wonder what the other kids in the class would do. What the fuck would I do if someone did that. Theres a lot of sick fucks out there and id sure hate to get mixed up with one of em.

I wonder if i really am insane or if everyone else is just as fucked up as I am pretending to be normal just like I am. ITs one of those days you just want to go out in a hail of police gunfire after taking the lives of several innocents, repenting to the lord you dont believe in seconds before the final bullets connect knowing damn well that your fucked if theres an afterlife.

Yeah, one of those days

Its fucking rough since they told me. Its not like ignorance is bliss, but, when i didnt know i never second guessed myself. I always knew that was a little off, a little different, not quite right in the head, but had always assumed it didnt mean anything. That everyone was a little different. But im really different they say and now it feels like im slowly going insane, probably almost entirly caused by the fact that i cant trust myself.

I cant tell whats me, i cant tell whats the drugs, i cant tell whats the sobriety. Because even though i think im sober, im still on drugs.

Then they tell me i have to increase the dose. That im not at a "safe" level. What the hell do they know about my safety, these people have talked to me for maybe 2 hours total of my life and they think they know so much about whats going on in my head.

Of course everyone wants to think they are different, everyone wants to be that special exception to the rule.

So im torn, between what i think i know, what i might know, and what they tell me. At no point am i sure of anything.

Its really confusing, but i refuse to believe that ultimatly left to my own devices i will self-destruct.

Im working on making this into a COMPLETE story,

but its all in pen and ink right now, soo im not sure what will become of this journal

Guns are different in suburbia then in most places. First and foremost, no one follows the golden rule here ever, which is Dont pull a peice unless you are going to use it.

But thats the whole thing, people in suburbia are so facinated by violence, "street life" and the lot that people will buy guns just to show em off. No one pulls the trigger in my county. That mondo has gotten me out of a bunch of tight spots, but its fucking true. Even the indie art crowd, people so digusted with the gangster life facination that it becomes a subconcious version of racism, but still even then they are facinated by it. Because the gangster/thug/street life is everything that suburbia is not. Every kid in this fucking town could go to college and really make a financial success of themselves, because even if your parents dont have the money, someone around here has a heart thats bleeding enough dollars to pay for your ass. So our lives our safe, certain, and dull. So if your black or some white kids, you wanna be a thug, if your white its the rock and roll life style, visiting your shitty garage bands, talking about what your gonna say when they make it big. And by make it big i mean get to open for a band that acually is on a label at some two-bit all ages show the next city over.

but getting back on track...

In the circles of gossip, guns are always a common subject, who has one, who flashed one, who MIGHT acually be crazy enough to pull the trigger. And i promise you the ones acually crazy enough to pull the trigger are the kids no one is going to expect because they are too busy being alienated from those social groups of lies, drugs and guns, thinking that if they could just be cool that they would be happy. Again i digress. But the story everyone has is the time they got a gun pulled on them, or their friend who they were standing by, or were in the car, or whatever, like ive said before, everyones got a story. Well, as much as i diestest this facination, i have to tell my story just like everyone else.

First off, i have a gun, no one has ever seen it except me and the guy i bought it from, and no one ever will except me and the guy im shooting at, god forbid that day ever come.

Ive had a multitude of "guns pulled on me", honestly 9 times out of 10 when someone says that, it just means that someone flashed a gun at em, or showed them they were packing. And after the first time, i learned to keep my cool, and give the weilder some lip. Most of the time, when someone pulls his peice, hes looking to get an ego rush, a power rush, if you have the balls to stand there on the recieving side of that barrel and give him shit still, it can totally crush a guy, or piss him off enough to pull the trigger, but no one pulls the trigger in this county.

That doesnt mean i almost didnt shit myself the first time i saw one. I come from a family of hunters, ive owned a gun since i was 3 and so im very familar with how they work, being around them and operating them safely. I was very comfortable when i bought my first one for myself from a meth dealer who claims its unregistered, but somehow i doubt it. But still no matter how much you know about the situation, the first time someone swings the barrel in your direction its fucking scary, of course not as scary as when your backs turned and you the click of the hammer right before the explosion. Ive fired several hundred rounds and never heard that click before till i knew it was being fired at me. I swear it was an hour between when i heard that click and the subsequent boom, even though i knew it was nearly instantaneous.

I just wish all these like 14 yr old boys, who dress like their favorite rapper, and always talk about picking a fight or fights with "their boys there to back them up." Could have been standing next to me when you hear those gunshots you know meant for you. It definitly takes the facination with the whole lifestyle away.

...for a little bit at least.