I did everything I said I would do. I worked tirelessly and alone. On November 1st I moved into a high security, luxury apartment in the middle of the upscale part of the city. Materially speaking, I have never had it so good. And all of my spoils, I have earned by myself, with little support. But this plan, this move, wasn’t so much about materialism, as it was to provide me with a greater sense of security. So why then do I feel so afraid and sad all the time still? When I turn the light off to sleep, on the nights I am alone, I still fear, heavily, that someone comes for me. I am locked behind many doors now, high enough to where no one can reach me, and in a maze-like building specifically enclosed from any outside street or contact. Why is that not enough? And why do I feel so empty, at times?
I am trying not to deviate from my studies so much. I am trying to learn to pray the correct way.
A fair warning. I must push myself to be better.
God give me strength. I don’t want my decisions to be affected by lower-level thoughts and feelings.
I have been using the anger and feelings of desperation and loneliness to fuel my hustle. So far I’ve been doing a decent job of staying on my grind, but I could still, definitely, stand to do better.
I will be moving on to bigger and better things very, very soon. And I will have deserved them.
In my dreams I am slicing him in half with the ninjatō.
Some times horizontally. Some times vertically.
Is it wicked of me to hope he dreams of this too? That my visions belong to him as well?
I know he is the truly wicked one, and he will have no peace in neither his slumber, nor his waking hours. God be sure of it.
The Book of Isaiah, 57:20 says
”But the wicked are like the troubled sea, when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire and dirt.”
He desecrated my body. My beautiful body.
I suffered through the pain and the fear alone, because I felt there was no one I could turn to at the time.
For three days straight I cried in my room.
For two weeks I couldn’t bare work.
When I finally found the strength within myself to, somewhat, speak out against him he admitted to everything, and got away with it all with just a slap on the wrist.
I will never allow myself to be so weak again.
I want to chop all of my hair off, and move to a big city. Somewhere where it gets real dark, and where it snows in the winter. And where there are lots of 24/hour restaurants and grocery stores, because I want to start sleeping in the day again.
Yesterday that scum actually had the nerve to send me a message on facebook after what had happened. Maybe he felt guilty?
“….You know if there is ever a time you want to just talk let me know. I really enjoyed being able to just shoot the shit with you. Hey question how do you feel about fishing and just hanging out. I know it sounds kinda dumb but it is relaxing. Just a thought. well have a good one, and shout back if you like.”
I was fucking livid when I read it.
But I have been feeling so frightened, and paranoid, and sick to my stomach about all this, I didn’t think I would even reply.
As the day went on, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. What this person did to me, and how they could just pretend like everything is ok. How they could actually have the nerve to try to speak to me again. It made me so angry. It took everything just to force myself to sleep last night, and when I woke up I was still so pissed off. VERY pissed off. I decided to reply.
“Are you fucking crazy? Or retarded?
The last thing I want to do in this world is to ever see or hear your disgusting fucking self ever again. Shooting the shit with me? You mean, probing me with a bunch of fucked up, perverted questions? Your conversations have about as much depth as a dog in heat. You should be ashamed for what you did to me and the position you put me in. I have been crying non stop.
You are filthy and disgusting, and you would be wise to never come near me again if you have half a brain.
ps: You must be as shitty a handyman as you are a human being, because you did the most bootleg, worthless, ghetto job putting up a simple fucking shelf! God knows I can’t actually use it as a shelf and put boxes on it, but I can’t even hang clothes from it (THE WHOLE PURPOSE FOR INSTALLING IT) without it falling out of the wall. I guess that’s cause you didn’t REALLY come to install a shelf, now did you?
Thanks for nothing SCUM.”
I hope this doesn’t start trouble. I’m not looking for a fight. Truth be told, I feel so helpless right now. But I just couldn’t stand by and say nothing while that mother fucker continues to disrespect me.
I’m afraid he’s going to try to get me kicked out of my place before I have the money to leave on my own. If he tries to pull that shit I will probably just break down and tell everyone what happened.
I feel so sick to my stomach.
I just want to run away from all of this and pretend like it never happened. I want some one to hold me and tell me it’s okay like mom sometimes used to when I was a teenager.
I feel so fucking alone right now.
Two days ago I was planning on ending my life. Then my father called me back right as I was about to. Truly, impeccable timing.
I had called both of my parents and my step mom and my former doctor’s office in Atlanta about an hour before, but no one picked up. I only left a message for my doctor, mentioning nothing of my plans at the time, of course. I didn’t want to worry anyone. I wasn’t meaning to call them just to rile them up. I was just so alone. I felt like I desperately needed support.
Dad was the only one who returned my call. We talked for almost two hours. After that I just couldn’t. And I felt better just to hear my daddy’s voice. I just forgot about it all.
I can’t forget about what happened yesterday, though.
Isn’t it an interesting phenomenon - when one horrible thing is only to be subsequent to something yet worse? That “when it rains, it pours?”
Life can be so cruel.
I feel so worthless and disrespected. I feel like there isn’t anyone I can talk to. And I, in my head, question often if I really want to end it all. Tonight I will be heavily considering it. But it is, truth be told, something I usually feel very unresolved about. Hopefully I can just get through it somehow and get some work done. Whatever happens I just really need to get out of here.
Something awful happened today.
But I can’t tell him, because yesterday he found out
I fucked up.
Because I have no belief in no one, even though I so desperately want to.
Now; however, I am sure no one, of importance, will believe in me. He probably won’t ever believe in me again.
He don’t deserve no more grief from me, so I’m just keeping my mouth shut. It seems like the right thing to do, I guess.
I feel very alone. Deservedly so, but alone none the less.
I should have heeded the warning of this card, but I gave into wanton temptations instead. Now I just feel foolish, and exhausted. And vacant.
My dreams have been so vivid lately (and in some ways, still, as I have mentioned in a private entry, instructive), but my long-term recall is shit. I must start recording them, as I used to. Two days ago I dreamed of Necronomicon. This morning I dreamed I was working in the strip club again. But I was not me. Or perhaps I was no one, just an omnipresent witness to what was going on. I think the latter. There was something revealed to me in my dream this morning. Something that felt healing. But I don’t remember what it was. I know what I must do now, though.
I am ordering a hard cover edition of editor Joshua Free’s Necronomicon (Forward by Tracy R. Twyman). It is alleged to be highly informative; however, with minimal commentary. Just my style. Besides, I gave my Simon Necronomicon to a silly boy, who stole my heart.
Maybe I am not ready for all of this, afterall.
I can be such a jealous person. I can be so weak.
I am just not as strong as I wanted to believe I was.
I must admit that to myself.
I must be more mindful not to confuse callousness with inner growth.
I am so full of one and so needing of the other. God help me.
Eliphas Levi “Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie” (Part I: The Doctrine of Transcendental Magic, The Candidate, Rowe pg. 6-7)