I have reached my bedroom and found my diary. Diaries are not meant for boys. I know this. (Well why not?) But really, I don't know how I could keep living if it weren't for my diary. Just for someone to talk to. Someone to tell. Even if it's just a piece of paper.

Actually it's been easier this past month. A diary doesn't make up for a human being, a friend, of which I have none. But I have spoken just a couple of times, for just a couple of seconds, with a human being. Deanna Macpherson. In a funny way, she seems to understand, which, of course, she doesn't. Not at all.

I have difficulty writing this word, understand, because I am sure it is my imagination that anyone could understand, and yet it seems real... I know it's my imagination playing tricks. Just because she looks a bit like my sister...

Am I becoming dissillusioned like my mum? Have I buried my head too deep into the unknown like Dad? Thought is really quite an evil invention. For, really, I know nothing. I don't know my own thoughts at all. They're all churned up inside me, differing furiously but with no explosions, little effervescence, and I have bottled them up so long... Oh, I find it so hard to put anything into words that make sense, even to myself - or to a piece of paper.

Turning to another topic, I am not entirely pleased with the new Christmas holiday arrangements. I hate going to Aunt Margia's. That is true. I love painting. That is also true. But something about the way Dad bribes me into entering a competition he hasn't time to work for makes me feel cold inside. Okay, I've given up expecting my parents to notice me, and yet it's so impossible to explain. Just impossible.

Wouldn't it be a wonderful idea if I just stopped trying to explain it? But no. If I did that, I would be truly dead.

Isn't that what I want? To be dead? Dead like Vere? Then why don't I just kill myself, commit suicide, break the law? Then I'd be dead.

Ha, it'd be too late for the law if I did.

But I can't do that. I can't kill myself. Why? Because I don't want to be dead.

Conclusion: I want to be alive.

The End

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