April 4, 2013

Today, I told my uncle I wanted to get a job. It has been a long time since I last got a job, and it has also felt like it had been forever since I last quit one. My uncle didn’t like the idea and told me to stay at home and do some chores for the family. He really is my mom’s brother. I told him I would be fine, and I want to gain some workforce experience to support myself independently. My uncle almost cried when I said that, and he hugged me, and he said he’s proud of me. I’m happy that he is.

I applied for a job today in a convenience store. I didn’t want to find something corporate-sounding, so I want to do something part-time for a while—I’m just staring after all; baby steps! I didn’t graduate high school after getting expelled for throwing an armchair towards a guy who bullied me in high school. That’s why I didn’t have any educational attainment that I can be proud of. I’m lucky that the person who interviewed me was kind. He told me he wants people who would work, not a valedictorian. I liked him. He looks scary, but he’s honest. I like people like that. His name is Mark Angelo Brown. I wanted to call him Mr. Brown, but he insisted that I should call him Mark instead. So he’s Sir Mark, and he said I should start working next week. I’m so happy! I talked about it to my uncle right away, and he jumped out of joy when he heard it and told me he’s thrilled for me. I am a lucky person.

I also came to my psychiatrist today. Dr. Carrion told me I am doing well. I told her about how happy I am now that I’m finally a better version of me; she said I should stop thinking that way because I’m already perfect as I am, just bruised at the moment. She told me that the reason why there are doctors like her was to mend the bruises in our mind, heart, and soul. I liked that. I’m just like every other person in the world; I have a momentary scar. For the first time in a long time, I think I won’t cry today.

My psychiatrist then recommended me to go to what seemed like some kind of religious whatchamacallit. Something that would uplift my spirit, she said. Dr. Carrion vouched for how great this place was, and she said that I should try it out if I wanted to, but she’s not pressuring me to do it if I wouldn’t enjoy exposing myself to such an enormous crowd. She said that there are always many people out there who would ask to have their wounds healed as well, just like me. I like that.

Dr. Carrion then gave me a pamphlet of this religious place. I looked at it and saw the name of that place. “Plural Heights Co. Ltd.” It also said there is apparently a “church for the soul” with thousands of members. I found it quite a troubling fact that I would have to mingle with THOUSANDS of people! But if Dr. Carrion said it’s okay, then maybe I should do it. Yeah! I should try to get out of my comfort zone and do something to better myself so that my mom could be proud of me in heaven!

Things are already starting to look better!

April 5, 2013

Things have spiraled out of control. I just killed a man. My hands are shaking. There’s blood on my chest. I don’t know what to do! I’m panicking! I don’t want to tell my uncle about this; my heart is racing so much that I can’t even think properly anymore! The words aren’t processing in my head properly—I feel like everything is just a mess! All I know for sure is that my mind is in a state of absolute shit that I can only think about the man I had just shot!

Oh, fuck! Oh, fuck! I killed someone! I shot his head! His blood is still on my shirt! What am I gonna do? My uncle will think I’m a failure and he will say that I killed my mother just like how I killed that man and he will call the police! Oh, fuck! Why didn’t I call the cops? 911 is only three numbers, but I ran out of that place instead! I don’t even know where it was! I feel like such a fucking mess right now! I don’t even know what’s real anymore! Everything is moving on their own like they all have lives! All the surrounding objects are all looking down at me and pointing at me and shouting, “MURDERER! MURDERER! MURDERER!”

I need help. I need help so, so much! Please, can someone please help me! I shot a man! I killed him! He’s dead! Oh, my god! I am a murderer! I am a murderer!