• This is an...Odd...Christmas...For me. First time I buy someone presents. First time I've had other people to think about other than myself. And over everything else...The first time I make a struggle inside my head instead of giving in to...Well. A lot of things that inhabit my head. I guess it hasn't been such a good year anyway. But it's been slightly less painful, and a lot more crowded. I'm so used to pushing everyone away, now they come to me and things become complicated. But it's a good thing. I'm changing and then again, I'm not. It's like trying to punch into a 5-foot-thick wall of rubber, trying to come out through the other side. I'm pushing my limits...What am I going to do when there's nothing else to push? When I find nothing heavier than heavy metal, nothing darker than black metal, nothing more decrepit than death metal, but myself? When I exceed everything around me...I'd rather not think about it. It's like scratching a blackboard, trying to find what is hidden behind it. I wish...And I wish too much. Perhaps that's why I'm so deep in. Deep in a bottle of vodka, if anything else. I wish too much. I have to stop wishing, but the reality is too far down and a lot less pleasant than cement. Not quite as soft, you see. Today I was shown that reality like a slap across the face. In the form of at least 15 prizes of academic achievement. They weren't mine...They were in the room across from me. So every room that contains something of the sort, every website, becomes the glaring face of Number One and Two, taunting me and looking down. But stopping myself for fear of pain. How far can I stop, how wide can my steps bring me backwards...Will I find my past? Will I become a child for the first time, as I should've been in the first place? No. Relentless time will only make me older, make me be further back, behind. But this is a different christmas. Something, tiny as it is, has changed. A slight shift, perhaps, but through it I thought I saw a speck of light. Whether it is a ray of hope or the lights of a train heading towards me, though, I don't know. We'll see, if I manage another year. It is my symbolic year, after all - year Eight. The year of doom or redemption.

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