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A Very Dramatic Journal

So here I am. My eyes are blotched a raw pink and my head is pounding, as it tends to do after a good, long, self-pitying sob session.

This is so fucking stupid. The specific reason I've been bawling for the past twenty minutes is so fucking stupid, but its underlying cause runs a lot deeper. This moment of pathetic, woe-is-me whining has also been a moment of sheer epiphany.

My epiphany is this:

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Why is a title field required. Why.

My Christmas was dull. I spent half of it at my dad's, where I mostly listened to my dad's girlfriend's dad tell stories to my grandma about how everyone in his family beat the shit out of him when he was growing up. Then I went to my aunt's (mom's side of the family now) which was a bore. It wasn't bad, until my cousin mentioned that somehow a borrowed video game had gotten stuck in his busted-up Wii, and my other cousin added, "Didn't that game belong to Justin? That gay guy?" To which my grandma replied, "Ew get that game outta there!"

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Today was a good day.

Since the college students are back in town for the holidays, our old newspaper staff decided to have a little ten o'clock in the morning, which was irksome for me since I had to be at work by eleven forty-five. We scheduled the get-together so early to accommodate my former best friend, Judd, who had somewhere to be late afternoon. And the asshole didn't even bother to show up, or even RSVP at the very least. We picked a ridiculously early time just for him, and he doesn't even come because he was so hungover from drinking and getting high all weekend.

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I found this really awesome website,, that sells tees with classic book covers on them. All of my want. When I get my Christmas money, I am definitely buying the 1984 pullover and the Fahrenheit 451 tee, just for starters. They also have a Lolita tee, but I haven't read that one yet. I'm dying to read it though. It's at the top of my list. It's about this middle-aged English professor who gets romantically involved with his twelve-year-old stepdaughter.

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Well, I suppose I'm not depressed anymore, if that's what I even was in the first place. At least I don't feel any sudden urges to cry anymore, so that's a step in the right direction, I think. I'm driven by...something. Scorn? Loathing? Hope for the future? Whatever is driving me through every day, it doesn't feel like anything too positive. Still fill pretty empty. I just don't really care about anything right now. The only two things I can safely say that I genuinely care about are knowledge (obtaining it, using it, getting lost in books and schoolwork) and Brittany.

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Nothing Much

Welp, my Thanksgiving was nothing worth mentioning. I had to make a list of things I'm thankful for in my Genre Studies class, which is a rather basic, childish assignment, but it did me some good to think about what I normally take for granted. I'm thankful that I've never experienced true hunger in my life, more than anything else. I always try really hard not to be materialistic. I succeed most of the time.

Not much to report here. My first appointment with my therapist since June is four days away and I couldn't be more excited. Can't wait to ramble incessantly.

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Cautiously Optimistic

My dad says that he had a talk with my mom on Thursday. He says that he told her that they need to support me and be there for me and that there's nothing wrong with my sexuality, and she didn't respond. She just moved on to the next subject. I should've known that what she told me about supporting me no matter what was utter bullshit. She's apparently secretly plotting to bring me back to the light of her god, refusing to give up on curing my atheism. I have a feeling my mom's family is gonna get involved in this before I can escape to college.

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I've been taking a lot of naps lately, like almost every day. They last for hours. I sleep an unhealthy amount because it's really the only way I can shut my mind off effectively. I should really stop doing that.

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This journal entry is entirely irrelevant, since none of us live under a rock, but Obama has been re-elected and I am sooooo relieved. I kept up with the electoral religiously last night. Romney was ahead several times and I thought about all of the awful things that would happen if he would win. That man would've single-handedly destroyed this country. That's not hyperbole, either. BUT OBAMA WON and my friends and I are all celebrating.

I didn't get a chance to watch his victory speech, but I'm sure I can find it on YouTube today.

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Free Write #5

-They say that you become what you pretend to be. Does that mean if I pretend to be fine, I'll be fine?

-If you rely on everyone around you for genuine happiness, prepare yourself for some disappointment. If you rely on one person for genuine happiness, you're totally fucked.

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I've decided to go back to therapy. I know I'm not exactly in dire need of serious psychological help, but I'm alone. My relationship with my therapist, as I've said before, isn't exactly client/therapist, but almost leans towards a friendship. I just want to ramble incessantly about things and just have someone help me sort it all out, or maybe reword what I say in a way that makes more sense. I'm sure I won't be going too frequently. I just barely managed to convince my mom to let us reopen the case. She didn't see a need for me to go back. Maybe there isn't a need. I don't know.

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I'm really in a pickle. And I don't even like pickles.

Just a continuation of my last journal. Today I tried to pry out of Brittany whether or not she reciprocated my feelings and she kept being vague and kept dodging, so I decided to ask her bluntly: "I want a yes or no answer to this: Do you feel anything towards me at all?"

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In Which I Reveal My Feelings (That's at the very end, if you wanna skip to that)

Brittany pulled into my driveway a little after eleven Saturday morning. After two months of separation, that old, familiar adrenaline rush flooded through me, the tenser kind that I felt the first semester of junior year, when she was still a mystery and every word spoken to her was a struggle. She hasn't gotten any less beautiful. In these two months she's become a myth of sorts, a mere mental photograph grainy and faded, a distant idea of a person. Every second spent that day I cherished her tangibility, her thereness.

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In Which I Am a Raging Jerkface

So. I feel like a complete asshole right now, and here's why. This past weekend was a three-day weekend. I didn't do much, except have a two-hour conversation with my dad about my sexuality and my mom's twisted brainwashing capabilities and go to my top college's open house, but we'll get to all of that later. Brittany promised we'd hang out this weekend. Well, okay. The words "I promise" were never said, but she made it seem like we would without any shadow of a doubt get together finally, after two months of not seeing each other.

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Still Searching.

I am not in a good place right now.

It's really hard for me to explain this, but it's evolved from that emptiness I described in my previous journal. It's become straight-up depression. I'm tired all the time. Not just that typical teenager brand of tired. It's an exhaustion that I can feel deep in my bones, in my mind, in my eyeballs. I have almost no will to get out of bed every morning. My eyes look awful when I look in the mirror, baggy and hollow, and they burn and all I want to do is sleep again.

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