10th of Sept 2001.
Started writing diary today. My first post. Never been into diaries before, don’t know if I should start with a, “Dear diary”. Because what’s the point? Diary doesn’t listen. Diary is dead. All the things I talk to, are dead, except for things that aren’t dead, in which case, they are annoying and I don’t like them.
Ellen said yesterday, I must write diaries. Diaries are great ways to remember things. You keep a diary today, it will keep you someday, she said. I don’t know what she meant. But she is smart, so I am sure she meant something nice. Anyway. Got to go. This is all I have to write today.
18th Sept 2001.
Drove car today. Dad said, go slow. I said, I am going slow. He said, then go slower than that, you idiot!
I said, I am not an idiot. Dad said, you are an idiot, and did this thing, where he tapped the back of my head with his knuckles. I pressed the break.
And you wonder, why no one likes you? He said, because you’re an idiot. No one likes idiots.
Dad was angry. I let him be. I don’t like angry people or my dad or my dad when he is angry. I drove slower. He said go slower than that. I went slower than that. He still yelled. I hate my dad.
23rd Oct 2002.
Saw a puppy on the streets. It was raining. Puppy was in the corner. Shivering. Picked him up. Brought him home.
What the hell do you think you’re doing? Dad yelled.
Rescuing a puppy, I said.
From what? He scolded. It’s an animal. It knows how to rescue itself. God knows, where you got it from you fool, he shouted again, do you have any idea what all that thing is carrying on him; germs, worms, fucking bacteria, virus … you stupid fuck. Jesus, you’re nothing like your mom and your sister. And your mom and your sister are stupid as fuck.
I like him, I said. Can I have him? I asked. No fucking way, he said.
Please Marshall, mom said, let him have it.
Fine Stacy, get a fucking pig and a few bears too while you are at it, dad said.
He got angry. Stormed off. Drove away. Heard him pullover at the driveway. Bumped in to mailbox. Dragged the mailbox with him.
Puppy licked my palm. Got him in my room. Put him in a basket. Fed him milk. He licked my palm again.
24th Jan 2003.
Raining outside, but nice weather. Have named the puppy, Jim. Clicked a picture of him, printed it out and pinned it next to Jim Morrison’s poster. Jim and Jim Morrison. They look good. It’s weird, but I like them both. One speaks to me, the other one speaks to me too.
25th June 2003.
Jim is growing faster than I thought he would. His tail is always wagging. He is abnormal. How can someone be so happy all the time around me? He’s got to be abnormal.
Dad having problems with coworkers. Mom said, he could get fired. And if he gets fired, she said, we will have to move to the country side. Give up on this house. Sell the car and the computer and a few furniture.
Told this to Jim, he licked my palm and wagged his tail. He doesn’t know, it’s bad news. Maybe he doesn’t know it’s news at all.
4th Sept 2003
Ellen was crying. Asked her what’s wrong? She hugged me and sobbed.
What’s wrong? I asked. She cried more. Don’t tell dad, she said. He will kill me. I don’t want to die.
What’s wrong? I asked again.
Failed my exams the second time in a row, she said.
Oh, I said. Yes dad will kill you, I said, he won’t consider if you are good at other things. He doesn’t like failures.
I don’t want to die, she said.
I hugged her. She hugged me back tight. Jim hugged her too.
She cried more.
6th Sept 2003
Around forty people came to Ellen’s funeral. Classmates, teachers, friends from her swimming class, her hockey teammates. She was popular. Erik, her bf, gave a nice speech, said, she was the best person he ever knew existed. Cried too, I think. His voice had cracked towards the end. I felt bad for him.
Dad said mean things like, if she wouldn’t have overdosed on pills, I would have put a bullet through her head myself. I don’t like failures. And I wouldn’t tolerate failures. She has not just failed herself. She has failed me too. And I am glad she is dead.
4th Aug 2005
I am tired, due to people, due to dad.
Mom’s not keeping well. Dad is still well, but always angry. He slapped me the other day, and said, if I don’t get a job and move out by the end of the year, he will kick me out. I don’t want to get a job. I barely know what jobs are.
I can’t flip burgers, or clean toilets. I can fix a computer, but I don’t think they give that kind of jobs to teenagers. I have never applied for one, but if I did, I won’t get it. I don’t know. If he kicks me out, someone will have to rescue me from the streets, like I rescued Jim. Except I won’t be able to lick anyone’s palm, and I don’t have a tail, which is unfortunate. I like tails. It would be cool to have one.
4th July 2006
Tasted alcohol today. Was forced to, Sam, my friend at school, got it. Said have it. It will ease you up.
What is it? I asked him.
Just bourbon, he said.
Just bourbon? I said.
See, he flipped the bottle and showed me the sticker.
It said, Jim Beam. I knew it was alcohol. Whiskey. But it was named Jim, so I trusted it. I liked the taste too. Smooth. He gave me the bottle. Carried it home. Put it in the cupboard. Hid it from dad. Told Jim not to tell anyone about Jim. Jim wagged his tail. Licked my palms.
6th Nov 2006
I am tired. Due to alcohol. Due to people. Due to dad.
Dad is an asshole. Finally, I said it. I am no longer scared of him. If I saw him right now, I will knock the fuck out of him. That asshole. He never knew how to treat people as people. Doesn’t know what love means. And his breath stinks too, if he is too close to you.
I am addicted to alcohol. Been having a lot lately. At this rate, will have swollen liver symptoms by next year. Will have died by next year.
Going to sleep. Not that late, but, because sleepy, because tired, because drunk.
12th Dec 2006
Dad kicked me out, said go get a job. Gave some money. I rented a room. This room basic, furniture basic. Doesn’t have a TV. Water comes twice a day. I sleep through the first time. The second time, if not drunk, I take shower.
It’s next to a garage. I smell wet paint. I like it. The sink is broken. Clogged by hairs of the previous tenant.
Feel bad for Jim. Can’t get him good food. He doesn’t have a bed of his own. We both sleep on the same bed. But he doesn’t complain. He is nice.
2nd Jan 2007
Received a letter. Mom met with an accident. Dad did not take much care. She died. Was on bed for twenty days. Doctor said, she could have survived, given dad cared. But dad being dad, did not care. Twenty people came to the funeral; mostly her relatives and uncles and aunts, I have never met.
I wasn’t invited and thank god, because, dad must’ve said something mean again. He never loved her and if he did, he never said he loved her. He never loved anyone. Hope he gets fired and dies soon too.
4th Aug 2007
Can’t feel arms. Arms numb. Got up last night with sweat. Been drinking a lot every day. Tried quitting whiskey, had withdrawal symptoms. Got back to whiskey. Eight pegs down as I write this, pen is shaking, due to alcohol in blood. Due to too much alcohol in blood.
8th Aug 2007
Nose bled a lot. White pillow was red when I got up, this morning. This is not good. Jim looks worried too. Doesn’t wag his tail much. Must be scared.
Must get up and call for help. Must get out and get food. For myself, for Jim. Must take shower, must clean up myself and Jim. Can’t get up. Due to blood loss. Due to tired.
12th Aug 2007
Took painkillers. A few more than I should have. Hands numb again. Can’t see things properly. Blurry. Feet bleeding. Had stepped on broken glass last night. Was drunk. Is still drunk. Plus took a lot of other pills too. Did not call an ambulance. Did not call dad. No point.
Plus, he will not help, plus I don’t want him to help.
Plus, I don’t want him to come for the funeral, if I have one. Looked at Jim. Jim looked at me. Did not wag his tail, just licked my palm.