Jan. 9, 1999: Entry 2.

"Maybe I can find a place I can call my home
Maybe I can find a home I can call my own."
- Loreena McKennitt

Isn't that what we all want? What we all wish for?

A place to be home; a place to be yours. It's what I want. A place, a home, a life all my own.

I'm constantly thinking of past, present, and future. I'm a wonderfully contemplative person. No wonder I can write so very well.

I will, some day, find friends, and people to love me, who I can do the same for, in return. I hope that I will, someday, even find a boyfriend, or a girlfriend, to love with all my heart. It seems unlikely, just at this particular time in my life, but, as I said yesterday--a girl can dream, can't she?

I know that there's inherent trust, there--I am a dreamer. I am an idealist, and an optimist, and, in the long run, I know that I will be happier, and better off than most, for it.

Know what? I am. And I will be. And I will do and be my best. And, I will succeed. Not to show anyone up, not to prove myself to any but my own self. No, I will succeed only because it's what I want to do; what I want to happen.

What I want to be.

After all, I'll only live this life once.

Why not make the best of it?

I'll make it wonderful, because I want and need it to be. No bad ifs, ands, or buts about it. Only the good ones.

I will make it be so. And, so, it will be done.

So Mote It Be.

Blessed be, Nikki-chan.

- Vale

Dec. 23, 1998.

It's raining outside, and it's loud, and windy, and beautiful. I need to write soon. So that I won't let my co-author down. I'll do that soon. I'll try.

I haven't seen Skylark again, yet. I get a bit restless when I wish that I could see her, and she doesn't come on.

Maybe I should try calling to her, with my mind and heart, as I've done before. It worked, at least one time that I did it, if not several. What I would give to have her be as attracted to me as I am to her...

I do more than just lust after her, now. I would give so much to get to know her personally, and more for us to fall in love with each other... Though, nothing would I give which would effect my life too far in the future, and nothing I hold truly important. In the cosmic sense, ours would be a passing romance, but I would still give much for it to happen.

Skylark, if only you knew how I feel... and could find it within yourself to return my feelings with equal strength... And, if only our love could grow into something huge, and beautiful, and wonderful...

I... would like to love you, Skylark. If you'd give me the chance.

*sighs, smiles a little*

Oyasumi nasai, Skylark-chan. Nikki-chan.

Sleep well, both of you.

Love eternal

- Vale

Notes from 2010: December 23, 1998.

I was attempting to co-author a Sailor Moon fanfic with someone I'd met online, which is the writing I talk about at the beginning of this entry. Sadly, I procrastinated too much to uphold my half of the story.

I also talk a little about magick here--"call to her with my mind and heart" and all that.

Even then, though I thought of myself as a "hopeless romantic" (which is far from the case these days), there was a limit on how much I was willing to consider sacrificing for love. I have usually drawn very strong lines between crush feelings and actual love, and unrequited and romantic love (though you'll see them blur in my mind with my crush on Mark in future entries), and there have always been things in my life that are more important to me than finding "true love". The potential for success, for instance. The ability to write. There are things I would never give up for the love of anyone, and that's always been the case. Some things are just worth more than that.

"Oyasumi nasai" means "good night" in Japanese. "-chan" is a Japanese diminutive used for young girls and close female peers.

Aug. 25, 1998.

I drink too much pop.

I don't know, it just seemed like a good way to start off an entry. I do, anyway. I drink at least two, often three cans a day.

You know, I'm thinking of getting another diary. I don't know why too well... I just... A lot of things have been recorded in here, which some would call bizarre; things which would have people deem me insane. I'm not.

I still believe in the things I wrote about in here, still believe in Magick. I guess I always have.

I'm naïve. I trust and believe in what people say too easily. In some cases, at any rate.

I don't trust and believe in people easily, though. Every person I've ever really, truely believed in (and, there have been precious few) has hurt me. Mom, Dad, Izzy, Hannah... all of them. It's still a struggle, at times, not to believe... in both them and others.

Why do they always hurt me? Why can't I trust, love, believe in those I ought to be able to believe in without the constant, overlying fear that they will suddenly change?

My parents shouldn't hurt me, should they?

Not physically, of course, but the wounds are still there. Some are slowly healing, most are raw and open.

It hurts so bad.

Pain.

Pain.

I know it so well.

Apparently, I "owe" Mom two hours' worth of work on my room. I always have a drawing to finish.

I feel like I have to scream and cry, but even if I do, no one will ever listen. Even when they do, they never, ever, ever hear.

"Please let me start screaming.
Please let me start screaming.
Please let me start screaming.
Please let me start screaming."

Those lines from Invisible Man by Lush, I believe?

Dad was in another of his moods today. I can't believe I got my hopes up when he joked with me like he used to, when he came to pick me up.

Is it normal to feel like crying every time you spend time with your father? Is it okay if he acts as though he doesn't like you, and ignores you when you try to start a conversation?

No. No, I really don't think it is.

It's good that he talks to Colin, at least, like he used to talk to me. Colin, I think, needs love and compassion more than I do, right now.

I guess that it was a choice of one of us or the other, huh?

Dad does what Mom does, now. Only, in some ways, he's worse. He makes me feel guilty, like I should apologize, then he gets upset with me when I do.

What the hell does he want of me? What does he expect?!

Bitter irony. He's quite a hypocrite. He condemns Mom for doing things he now does himself.

If all his talks about looking out for you and never helping others out of pure kindness lead to such emotionlessness, heartlessness, well, then, so be it. Let me be screwed, over and over, by those whom I help out of love and kindness. I will never be so cold. Never.

I will be me, not whomever he expects me to be, expects me to become.

I am me. If you don't love me for who I am--and this goes for all of you, present and future--stay the hell out of my life.

These pages are so small, it's hard to write. But bigger books don't come with locks. As flimsy as the locks on diaries are, I will not use one which is without.

As little protection as they may provide, it's better than nothing.

I haven't felt so bleak, so desolate, in a long, long time. I don't even have anyone to confide in, to whom I could speak freely of my pain. I hate my life.

I don't hate me, but I hate my life.

I need to get out of here, to start over somewhere new. Unfortunately, it'll be three or so more years until I can. Doesn't that suck?

This is one of those rare, lowest of low moments when even death seems preferable than this continued existence.

But I don't truely want to die. I want to escape. And I want people to be friends with, and people to love.

How many, I wonder, people will I be able to find who are not scared of my being Wiccan, and who like anime?

Few, I'm sure.

When I got home, I hoped to find solace from pain. But Mom was tired, and so I went to hide in her room and watch T.V. I sat there and cried almost silently, for a few minutes. Living like this is more than I can bear.

When she took me to get my supper, later, I was so tense. I didn't know if I would say the wrong thing, or too little, or too much, or what I would do to set her off at me.

Thank the God and Goddess, I managed not to set her off. She asked me if I was alright, and I said yes. She believed me. Good. I don't want to have to explain. Not now, maybe not ever.

She didn't listen. The one time I tried to, she refused to listen, and she yelled at me. She won't even try to stop hurting me.

Won't hardly even consider it.

I wish I had someone to look out for me.

I mean, and older brother or sister, or one of my parents, or a grandparent, or someone. Anyone.

But, I don't have anyone.

I have no one. I have no friends, and I have no family I can trust in.

I'm all alone.

And I'm so, so lonely...

- Vale

Notes from 2010: August 25, 1998.

I mention Wicca, magick and praying to a God and Goddess for the first time in this post. Izzy, Alyssa, me, and a couple other friends from school got interested in Wicca in eighth grade. As I recall it we were primarily inspired by The Craft, though we had heard about Wicca before that. But after we saw the movie, we read more about the religious and magickal aspects, started identifying as Wiccan, decided that four or five of us were a coven, and tried to perform some spells. I recorded a lot of that in my diary at that time, which is what I'm referring to when I talk about how people would think I was crazy if they read old entries. (For the record, I no longer identify as specifically Wiccan, though I do still like a lot of the beliefs. I also don't worry about people thinking I was crazy for believing what I did anymore, since in retrospect being severely depressed and suicidal was a lot closer to crazy than a belief in magick.)

I mention my brother Colin for the first time in this entry. I have another brother, Brock, who I'll likely mention at some point as well. I think Colin had broken up with a girlfriend recently, hence needing extra love and support.

I also reference an old fight with my mother that was still bothering me. I can't remember what that was about anymore, but it sounds like I tried to open up to her about something and wasn't thrilled with her reaction.

My issues with my father are expanded on somewhat here. A little extra background: My parents got divorced when I was in late elementary school. By the middle of junior high, my father had started a relationship with a divorced woman who had a family of her own. He got very involved with them, and his relationship with his own kids suffered as a result. I had set days of the week when I saw him, and since Brock and Colin were both too old for that, realistically I think they saw him much less often than I did. Unfortunately, by the time I was 14 or so, our visits weren't very enjoyable anymore.

Dad spent most of our time together with his girlfriends' kids, and I was just expected to tag along, hoping he'd notice me now and then. I still don't think it's exaggerating to say that he acted very uninterested in my life, and my brothers' lives, and didn't bother to get to know the people we were growing up to be. I'm sorry to say he still doesn't make much effort, but I'm more or less reconciled to that now. Sometimes it still hurts my feelings, but... he's an imperfect man. He did the best he could.

He's often gone off on ideological kicks, incorporating ideas and beliefs into his worldview that may or may not be a part of it six months or a year later. At the time of this entry, he was on a "never apologize, and never do anything for someone without expecting something in return" kick. I can't remember how long it lasted, but it was a bit disturbing to witness. I'm glad I was skeptical enough not to buy into it. It never seemed to make him particularly happy.

This is also the first entry where I talk about feeling like I might rather die than live. I backtrack immediately-but the thoughts were already building.