

2:34

Aidan Sisk

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Copyright Aidan Sisk 2016  
Published by Aidan Sisk

Distributed by Smash Words

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

Thank you for downloading this ebook. This book remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be redistributed to others for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy from their favorite authorized retailer. Thank you for your support.

Disclaimer

All events occurring and characters appearing in this work are fictional. Any resemblance to real events that have occurred, or to persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All work found herein is for entertainment purposes only.

Contents

PART 1

March 12th, 1991

March 13th, 1991

March 17th, 1991

April 5th, 1991

May 6th, 1991

June 1st, 1991

July 25th, 1991

October 21st, 1991

December 12th, 1991

March 30th, 1992

April 12th, 1992

May 2nd, 1992

May 11th, 1992

May 17th, 1992

June 3rd, 1992

July 6th, 1992

July 11th, 1992

October 16th, 1992

November 1st, 1992

May 9th, 1993

June 7th, 1993

September 10th, 1993

October 10th, 1993

November 9th, 1993

December 29th, 1993

January 17th, 1994

July 1st, 1994

August 4th, 1994

September 22nd, 1994

May 26th, 1995

July 10th, 1995

October 22nd, 1995

November 28th, 1995

December 2nd, 1995

April 29th, 1996

August 15th, 1996

September 13th, 1996

May 10th, 1997

June 15th, 1997

July 6th, 1997

August 30th, 1997

December 10th, 1997

June 27th, 1999

PART 2

February 3rd, 2011

February 8th, 2011

February 27th, 2011

April 8th, 2011

April 12th, 2011

April 21st, 2011

May 7th, 2011

May 28th, 2011

June 1st, 2011

June 22nd, 2011

June 25th, 2011

July 2nd, 2011

July 5th, 2011

July 9th, 2011

July 15th, 2011

July 17th, 2011

July 21st, 2011

July 25th, 2011

August 3rd, 2011

August 10th, 2011

August 15th, 2011

August 18th, 2011

August 28th, 2011

September 14th, 2011

September 15th, 2011

September 16th, 2011

September 20th, 2011

September 23rd, 2011

September 25th, 2011

September 27th, 2011

September 28th, 2011

September 29th, 2011

September 30th, 2011

October 2, 2011

October 3rd, 2011

October 4th, 2011

October 5th, 2011

October 7th, 2011

October 8th, 2011

October 9th, 2011

October 10th, 2011

February 3rd, 2012

Acknowledgements

About the Author

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Part 1

March 12th, 1991

Today at the store, my mom bought me this notebook that I'm going to use as a journal. I call it a journal and not a diary because diaries are for girls.

I guess I should introduce myself like parents and teachers always get us to. My name is Bradley. I'm 9 years old, but I will be 10 in a few months. I have an older sister named Jill and an older brother named Eric. Jill is 16 and Eric is 13. That makes me the youngest. I like to skateboard and go for bicycle rides, I like to read books, and I play hockey. I don't really know what else to say about myself. I'm kind of boring.

Right now, Eric is playing Nintendo, and Jill is getting ready for work. She works at a fast food restaurant. I'm glad that I don't have a job. Jill always seems tired and grumpy when she comes home after working.

After I'm done writing in this, I'm going to go play Nintendo with Eric.

I think this journal will be fun and a good way to remember things. But I hope nobody reads it, just in case I say something secretive or embarrassing. I should try and find a good hiding spot for it. I'll put it somewhere that I know it's there, but nobody else will.

I'll probably write in this journal every time I have something that I can't tell other people. When I'm grown up, it'll be fun and cool to read what I said when I was a kid. Hopefully I don't lose this journal once I get older. I wonder if I'll write in here a lot...

I'm going to go play Nintendo with Eric now. I'll write again soon and I'll try to write as much as I can every few days.

~~~

It's only been a couple of hours since I last wrote, but I wanted to write again. When I was playing Nintendo, I thought about where I could hide my journal when I don't have it with me. Under the basement stairs, I have a little area that's basically just mine. That is where I'm sitting right now while writing this. It's not a fort or anything, but I have a desk and chair there, and I have these pieces of cardboard that I use as walls. It's really cool because I can go there and be alone.

My desk has a couple of drawers. I keep notebooks and toys in them, so I can easily hide my journal in there. I don't think anyone ever goes through my desk, but just in case, I'll put my journal at the bottom of a drawer at the very back.

That's all I wanted to write for now. Bye for now.

March 13th, 1991

Right now, it is 8:05am. I'm in the car. My mom is taking Jill to a dentist appointment, then she is going to drop me off at school. Not much to say now. I just wanted to write something in my new journal. It's pretty cool to have this journal and to carry it around with me. I haven't written much yet, but I think it will make times like these less boring, where I'm usually just sitting in the car.

~~~

It is now 6:05pm. School was the same as usual. Nothing exciting happened. I'm kind of tired, so I don't know how much I will write tonight, even though I want to write.

I said yesterday that I am 9 years old, but I didn't say that I'm in the 4th grade. My teacher is okay. Her name is Mrs. Marahn. She's nice, but class can be pretty boring. I guess all classes are like that, though, no matter who the teacher is. I'm pretty good in classes like History and English, but I've never been very good at math. Who cares about math anyways?

It's suppertime now, so I have to go. I'll write more on Wednesday.

March 17th, 1991

It is Sunday today. I didn't write on Wednesday like I said that I would. I guess I just didn't have anything to write.

Today I had a soccer game. It's indoor soccer because it's winter, and it snows too much this time of year to play outside. It was the final tournament and last game of the season. My team won 4-2. I got one of the goals. I'm pretty good at soccer, and I got a lot of goals during the season, but it is over now.

At the end of April, I start outdoor soccer. I think I like outdoor soccer better than indoor soccer. It's bigger and I like running outside instead of in a small school gym.

I also play hockey, but I think I mentioned that already. The season ended a little bit before I got this journal, so I'm not playing hockey right now until next winter.

That's all for now. I'll write again soon.

April 5th, 1991

Right now it is 11:17pm. It's late. I'm not usually allowed up this late, but it's Friday night and I'm in my bedroom in bed anyways. I'll go to sleep soon, but I want to write for a little bit first. This weekend is going to be fun, and today at school was scary and exciting, so that is what I will write about.

Tomorrow, I am going to my friend Greg's birthday party. On Sunday, I am going to my other friend James' birthday party. For Greg's party, we are going to a swimming pool. At James' party we are going to indoor rock climbing. I think that they will both be fun, but I've never been rock climbing before, so I think I'm more excited for that one.

Yesterday, near my school, there were gun shots. My school got locked down and we all had to sit on the floor away from windows. Teachers told us that there was one shot taken at an empty school bus at another school that is kind of close to my school, one shot at a car windshield with a man in it but the shot didn't go through, and they took three shots at a house with people in it.

Because we had to be at school later than usual (we didn't go home until around 5pm), we got snacks since everyone was hungry. After that, everyone's parents had to pick them up.

At first, even though it was scary, I liked not having to do our regular schoolwork, but then when we had to stay at school for almost two hours longer than we usually do, it was a lot less fun.

It turned out to be 12-year-old and 14-year-old kids shooting a pellet gun, not a real gun. It was still pretty scary, though. Everyone is saying they are spending the weekend in jail, but the police don't know what they'll do with them after that.

It's getting late, so I'd better sleep now.

May 6th, 1991

It is 8:44pm. I am going to bed soon. I can't believe I didn't write for a whole month. I haven't even had this journal for that long yet and I already stopped writing for such a long time. I'll try and be better about that.

Yesterday I got a new watch and a hat (Mom bought them for me). I don't usually like wearing watches because they feel so tight on my wrist, but I like this one. It looks cool. It's blue and gold, and the numbers glow in the dark.

Today from 4:30pm-6:30pm, I had a soccer clinic where we learned some cool stuff, including tricks to use in games like spins and juggling. I think I'll try some of the tricks at my next soccer game. It might be hard, though, with other people trying to get the ball. I'm pretty good at soccer, but I don't know that I'm that good.

June 1st, 1991

It's my birthday today! I am now 10 years old. There's nothing really special about being 10. I guess now my age has two digits, but that's all. When I turn 13 I'll be a teenager, but until then, there's nothing that special about how old I'll be.

For my birthday, my mom and dad got me some brick building sets, a new soccer ball, a couple of books, and a movie poster. I already put the poster up in my room and I am going to put the brick building sets together after I finish writing in this journal.

I am having my birthday party next weekend. Since it's almost summer, all of my friends are going to bring their water guns and we are going to have a big water fight at the park by my house.

I want to play with my new brick building sets, so I'm going to stop writing now.

July 25th, 1991

Today is Eric's birthday. We are going to go for supper right away to celebrate, so I can only write for a little bit. If I don't finish writing before we go, maybe I'll bring my journal in the car and finish writing.

Right now it is summer holidays, which means I haven't had to do any homework. It's been awesome.

Sorry I haven't been writing much lately. Even though I don't have homework, I've been busy. My family went camping a couple of weeks ago. It only rained once while we were there, but it happened overnight so it didn't ruin any of our plans. We got to go swimming at the lake, which was nice since it was so hot, and we played games like hide and go seek at night. Me and Eric also brought our baseball gloves and played catch a couple of times with my dad.

One night, we were sitting around the campfire and we heard a noise. It turned out to be a raccoon trying to get into one of our coolers. Me and my Eric ended up chasing it away with our fire poker sticks. Mom and Dad weren't too happy about that. The raccoon was fast, so we didn't catch it or anything. After that, we made sure we kept our cooler and other stuff in the car.

We are going for supper now so I'll finish up my writing. I don't need to bring my journal in the car. I hope I write again soon. I'll try to, anyways.

October 21st, 1991

School started again last month. The summer holidays went really fast. I liked starting school again because I got to see all of my friends, but now I wish it was summer holidays again. I hope Christmas comes soon, then we can be on break again.

We just finished eating supper. For dessert we are having apple crisp. It's kind of like pie, but different. I'm just writing in here while I wait for it to be done cooking in the oven.

I will be starting hockey soon, so I'm looking forward to that. I hope my team is good this year. Last year we weren't very good and that's why the season ended so early for us. I'm better at soccer than I am at hockey, but I'm still pretty good at hockey.

That's all for today. Bye for now.

December 12th, 1991

Hockey started about a month and a half ago. The name of my team is the Hurricanes. We are 5-1-0 this season (that's a good thing). We only lost our first game of the season to the Petes. We're also second place in the league. Our next game is on Saturday.

I was going to watch a show on TV tonight, but I just checked to see if it was on, and I don't think it is for some reason. I guess I can just write more in this journal instead.

Christmas is in 13 days, and I still need to buy Christmas presents for my family. I'm not sure what to get everyone yet. I don't have a lot of money, but I should have enough to buy everyone in my family something. I hope so, anyways...

I am looking forward to Christmas. I like counting down the days until Christmas. We have this little chalkboard with a brush and piece of chalk tied to it. On the board it says "Days Until Christmas" and each day, you can write how many days there are until Christmas.

I am going to read my book for a bit before bed. Bye.

March 30th, 1992

Wow, it's been about 3 months since I last wrote. I think that might be the longest I have gone without writing in this journal since I got it last year. Maybe not, but it sure seems like it.

Right now, everyone is downstairs doing who knows what, while I'm upstairs in my bedroom just hanging out.

At my hockey game tonight, my team beat the best team in the league 8-4. It's the playoffs now, so it's extra important to win. I've never been in the playoffs before. Hockey is a lot of fun. Trust me—I know.

I have a crush on a girl in my class, and I think that everyone else knows it. People kind of make fun of me, but I don't care. Her name is Rena. I would ask her out, but we are a little young still to be dating.

I'm getting really warm and tired, so I will sleep right away.

Yesterday was Jill's birthday. She turned 18. She is just getting older and older. She goes to university later this year. I don't think that I ever want to be that old. Old people just seem tired and grumpy all the time. I don't want to be like that.

Note to self: don't ever get old and grumpy.

That's all I have to say for now, so I'm going to sleep. Goodnight.

April 12th, 1992

I don't know what happened. I was playing with my hamster, letting him walk around on the carpet. Then, I don't know if I looked away and wasn't paying attention, or what happened, but all of the sudden he was dead. I don't know if he was climbing up the side of the cage and fell and hit his head or what, but yeah, he's dead. Now I feel weird. I don't think it was my fault, but maybe it was since I wasn't paying attention to him. I thought my parents were going to be mad at me, but they aren't. They said it's not my fault and that I couldn't do anything to help him.

I just want to lie down. I can't write anymore right now.

May 2nd, 1992

I haven't written in a long time. Again. I've been busy with stuff.

Tomorrow is Track and Field Day at our school. It's where all of the students at our school in grade 4 and older participate in races, long jump, and things like that. I hope I win a race. But I'm not a very fast runner, so I probably won't win.

I ended up asking Rena out at school. I wrote on a piece of paper "Will you go with me? From You Know Who," and I put it in her gym shoe under her desk. She found it, then came up to me and told me she would have to ask her parents. The next day, she said that we could go to a movie together if some of our friends went too, so we are going to a movie this weekend. I'm not sure which movie we are going to see.

Even though our friends will be there too, I'm kind of nervous about going to the movie with Rena, since it's kind of like a date with her. I don't know if I have to do anything special, or if I just act normal. They don't teach you this kind of stuff in school. They probably should. It would definitely be more fun than the other lame stuff they teach us.

I'll have to write again soon and tell you how it went.

May 11th, 1992

My parents have been arguing a lot lately. I've heard them argue before, but lately they argue really loud, and even in front of me, Eric, and Jill. Before, they'd always argue in another room. I'm not a grown-up, but it seems like they argue about really dumb stuff sometimes. Like the other day they were arguing about the car keys. But a lot of the time, I don't really know what they're arguing about. I hope they stop arguing soon, because it's kind of scary.

When my parents argue, I try and leave the room so I can be away from it, but it happens a lot in the car when we are driving somewhere, so it's kind of hard to get away from it then.

I'm going to write about something a little happier than that now. The last time I wrote, I said that I would be going to a movie with Rena and some of our friends. It ended up being a lot of fun. I was really scared at first, but then the movie started and I didn't have to talk at all. During the movie, I was going to try and hold Rena's hand, but I chickened out. I didn't know if she would want me to do that or not.

Since the movie, me and Rena hang out at school during recess. We don't do anything exciting, but I like hanging out with her. I hope I can hang out with her outside of school, just the two of us, some day soon.

May 17th, 1992

After supper tonight, my parents were arguing again. This time, they were basically screaming at each other. I don't even know what it was about. I was in the living room watching TV when they started, so I came down to the basement to get away from it. I can still hear them even though I'm down in the basement. Jill isn't home and I don't know where Eric is. He must be in his bedroom.

I wonder if my parents will get divorced. I've heard that when parents argue a lot, it means that they're going to get divorced. That's what happened to one of my friend's parents. I hope they don't, but hearing them argue really sucks and I really wish they would stop.

My birthday is coming up, but I don't know how much fun it will be if my parents keep arguing and being stupid.

June 3rd, 1992

Tonight, my parents wanted to talk to me and Eric and had us sit in the living room. They said a whole bunch of stuff, but basically they said that Dad is moving out and that they aren't going to live together anymore, which means they are getting divorced. They said that they already told Jill. She was at work when they told us. She is older and probably understands better anyways. I think Eric understands better too, but my parents told him at the same time as me anyways. It's not like I don't get what it means and how important it is, but I don't know what it means other than that they won't be living together anymore.

When my parents told us they were getting divorced, I kind of started to cry, but I tried to hide it. Especially from Eric. I'm in my bed now, and thinking about it more makes me want to cry again.

It especially sucks that this happened now right around my birthday. On my birthday, we had supper and cake, and I got presents like usual, but it just felt weird. Now I know why. I don't even want to talk about my birthday. That's how much this sucks. Happy Birthday to me...

I don't want to be awake anymore, so I'm going to try and sleep, even though I don't think that I'll be able to. I just know that my parents getting divorced is all I'll be able to think about and that I'll lay awake for a long time.

July 6th, 1992

Right now, we are in our car waiting in line for the drive-in. It is me, Eric, my mom, and even Jill. Usually she doesn't come to stuff like this since she is older. Maybe she feels bad because our parents are split up now.

We get to see two movies. When my mom said that we were going to the drive-in, I thought she was talking about a fast food restaurant. Then I realized that's a drive-thru, not a drive-in. A drive-in is where you watch movies from inside your car. It's like an outside movie theatre. I didn't even know that it existed until tonight. I've obviously never been to one before.

Rena's family moved away at the end of the school year, so I won't get to see her anymore. I guess that means we aren't dating anymore. What do you call it when two ten year olds date? Is it called dating? And then, can you even call it breaking up when whatever it was that we were doing is over?

It's really hot out. We are going to play cards now until the first movie starts, so I don't think that I'll be writing anymore. Bye!

July 11th, 1992

I forgot to write last time that my dad has a new house. Now, me, Eric, and Jill go back and forth from my mom's house and our other house where my dad lives. It's been cool to have a new house to live in, but it also sucks that my parents aren't together anymore. I think that it's really going to take lot of getting used to before it's normal having two houses and my parents not being together.

Surprisingly, I've already gotten used to going back and forth between my parents' houses. I thought it would be weird and take a long time to adjust to it, but it seems normal enough already.

My friend whose parents got divorced before said it's kind of cool having divorced parents because then you get two Christmases. I never thought of that before. Two Christmases sounds cool, but I think I would rather have my parents together.

October 16th, 1992

My aching body! Tonight I had my first school dance. I'm in the 6th grade now, so I can go to the school dances. Kids in grade 6, 7, and 8 get to go to the dances. I danced with a bunch of girls from my class during slow songs. That means that you get to be close together. Teachers don't like it when students do that, but they can't stop everyone, and they can't stop you if they don't see you. I don't think they really care as long as you aren't too close to each other.

I said I danced with a bunch of girls from my class, but I danced with Allison the most. Since the start of the school year, I've kind of had a crush on her. At the dance, I was in the gym, standing with a couple of my friends. I looked over and saw Allison with some of her friends. A second after I looked at her, she looked at me, so I bet she thinks I was staring at her, even though I had just looked over at her. I hate when that happens!

Anyways, I don't know how I did it, but before I knew it, I was walking towards her. It's like my legs were acting on their own. When I got to Allison, her and her friends all just stared at me. I finally managed to say something and asked Allison if she wanted to dance. Kind of surprisingly, she said yes. From then on, we danced with each other most of the rest of the dance, including to a few slow songs.

I remember having my hands on her waist, and she had her arms up around my neck. She was close enough that I could smell her. I don't know what it was, whether it was shampoo, perfume, or something else, but she smelled good. I don't know if I'm imagining it now, but I feel like I can still smell her. It makes my stomach feel weird, and makes me wish I was still at the dance with her. Now I'm really excited to see her at school on Monday. I never thought I'd want to go back to school on a Monday.

Sorry I haven't written in a while. I'm tired, so I'll continue this tomorrow... hopefully...

November 1st, 1992

Well, I didn't continue writing like I said I would. It's already been two weeks. But what can I say? I'm a busy kid.

Continuing from last time, the next dance is on December 13th. I can't wait. Hopefully I'm still close with Allison by then. Our friends all hang out together at school during recess, so I've been able to spend time with her. It's not quite the same, though. There's something about being close together in the dark gym with slow music playing. Even though you're with all of the other students at the dance, it felt like I was alone with Allison during the slow songs.

Thinking back to the dance last month is a good feeling, but at the same time not a good feeling since I miss it and want it to happen again. Just over one more month until the next one.

It's 9:45pm on a Sunday night. I should be going to bed now, or else I'll be really tired for school tomorrow. I will write as soon as I can. Who knows when that will be? Goodnight!

May 9th, 1993

Holy cow! It's been six months since the last time I wrote in this journal. I don't know why I keep doing this, where I go months and months without writing. It's not like there's nothing happening in my life. I guess I just forget to write about the things that happen. I'll try and be better about writing more often, but I'm not making any promises.

It's Sunday night, and it is also Mother's Day today. I made my mom a card because I don't have much money to buy her one. I think she really liked it.

Even though I didn't give any money for it, me, Eric, and Jill also gave my mom flowers and a gift certificate to get a massage at a spa.

Well, I don't know what else to write. The next time I write in this journal will probably be in a couple of months!

June 7th, 1993

Last night was the last school dance of the year, and it was great! I asked a girl from my class out. Her name is Shannon. She said yes. I danced with her for all five of the slow songs. I can't wait to see her on Monday. (Reading back my old entries, what I just wrote sure sounds familiar.) She isn't like a lot of the girls in my class, because she is really funny and she plays sports.

You might be wondering what happened to Allison. A few months ago, we just kind of stopped talking as much. After a little while, it just didn't feel the same anymore. But that's okay since I've got Shannon now.

My birthday was last week. I'm 12 now, which means it's only one more year until I'm officially a teenager. This is the first year that I didn't have a birthday party. 12 is still pretty young, but my friends don't seem to be having birthday parties anymore, so I decided not to have one either.

Even though I've had this journal for a couple of years, I haven't written very much. I should really try and write more. I need to start filling up these pages. Especially considering when I do write, all I really say is that I haven't written much and that I will be going so sleep soon. Whenever I think of my journal, I write... so I obviously don't think of it very much, haha!

Well, I think I'll take off now. I'll write when I think to or if something important happens. Bye for now.

September 10th, 1993

We got a new computer last month because our old one stopped working. It's way better than our old computer. It's much faster, and now we can play some of the games we couldn't before.

The new school year just started. I'm now in the 7th grade. It seems like the older you get, the faster time goes. It seems like just last month I was talking about starting the 6th grade. I also think that the older I get, the less I write in this journal. I don't know if it's because I'm busier or because I just don't feel like writing in it. Maybe a bit of both. I'm going to keep trying to write in here as I get older, though. Don't blame me if I don't write much!

As seldom as I do write in this journal, I look forward to one day, as a grown up, looking back and reading about the few events of my life that I've written about. I'm also looking forward to seeing what I will write about in the the years to come.

October 10th, 1993

Shannon broke up with me after just a couple of weeks. It was so stupid. She broke up with me because her friend's dumb little brother told her that I didn't really like her, and she believed him. Oh well. I don't care about that anymore.

We've been in school for a month and one week. I hate my teacher, and I think everyone else in my class does too. He is really mean and he gives almost everybody detention for the stupidest things. He is new to our school this year. I heard that at his last school, he got mad at a student and put the kid's hand in a stapler and put a staple in it. I don't know if that's true or not, but if it is true, that would have hurt so much. And if it's true, how is he still allowed to teach?

November 9th, 1993

It's Christmas in about a month and a half, which means that I need to get my Christmas shopping started.

Tonight I have been cleaning my room and moving things around. I decided that I wanted my bed to be on the other side of the room. I don't know why, but I just like moving the furniture in my room around. I get bored of my room if I don't.

Before I sleep I need to study more for my test that is coming up. I guess I shouldn't spend any more time writing in this journal since I have to study. I really don't want to study, though. Just know that I'd rather be writing in this journal.

December 29th, 1993

This will probably be my last time writing in this journal in the year 1993. It's New Year's in just a couple more days, as you can tell by the date.

For Christmas I got guitar lessons. I've been asking for them for a while. It's going to be fun to learn how to play. I already learned how to play the beginning of one song, and that's without lessons. Once I get better and can play more songs, I can play music with my friends. A couple of them also play guitar, so we can start a band. Hopefully I can get good fast.

January 17th, 1994

It's 1:01am, so it's pretty late. I'm pretty tired, so I won't write for long

It's finally the weekend. I don't know what I am going to do all weekend, but I do know that I'm glad I don't have to go to school. The Christmas holidays went by too fast, and now I'm back to counting down the days until summer.

I'm thinking, but I don't know what to write. I guess I should just go to sleep. My eyes are dry and keep closing.

July 1st, 1994

It's been a while!

At school, we got a new girl in our class a few weeks ago. My friend Carl is already going out with her. It's the first new student that we've had in a long time in my class. But now, the school year is over! I'm happy it's summer now.

We are going to the Canada Day fireworks tonight. I haven't been in a while, so I'm excited to go. They are always a really big event downtown.

August 4th, 1994

Tonight I went to a movie with my friends and got into some trouble.

The movie wasn't that good and the ending really sucked. During the movie, though, we got in trouble for being too loud, and some guy went and told the theatre employees. Then, one employee came and told us that we had to be quiet or else we'd have to leave. I've never been kicked out of a movie before. That was the closest I have come.

After the movie, my friends and I went out front of the theatre to wait for my one friend's dad to pick us up. As we were standing out front, two older kids came up to us and I could tell right away that they were just looking to start something. When one of the guys made eye contact with me, he came right up to me and gave me a little shove. I didn't want to fight, since I never have before. Next, I remember him grabbing my hat off of my head. That's the last thing I remember until my friends hands were all over me, like they had picked me up.

Things were blurry, but when they cleared up, I turned to look for the two guys that had come up to us. Nearby, one of the boys was laying on the ground. His face was kind of bloody, and his friend was crouched over him, shaking him. The one on the ground groaned, clearly in pain. I didn't know what I had done, but I noticed that my hands were sore. When I looked down at them, my knuckles were cut and bloody, but I don't think all of the blood was mine; I think most of it was from the other guy.

My friends' reactions were a combination of surprised, impressed, and even a little scared. They said that after the guy grabbed my hat, I went berserk, hitting the older guy in the face over and over. They said I knocked him to the ground, got on top of him and continued to hit him in the face and bang his head on the ground until they all pulled me off of him. I guess the other older guy just watched in shock the whole time.

I don't think I've ever done anything like this before, but I even surprised myself. Carl's dad eventually picked us up and brought us all home. I didn't tell my mom what happened, but I've got a few cuts on my hands, so somebody may notice. I'll have to try and keep my hands hidden for a little while, or have an explanation ready if anyone asks.

September 22nd, 1994

There's no school today or tomorrow, so we get a long weekend. School started on September 1st this year. I'm in a grade 7 and 8 split class like last year, but this time, I'm in grade 8. That means that there are some kids in grade 7, and some in grade 8.

It's cool to finally be in grade 8. Now I'm in the oldest grade in the school. During summer holidays, I remember me and my friends talked about how weird it was that we were already going to be in grade 8 this school year. Before we know it, we are going to be done grade 8 and in high school already, where, once again, we'll be the youngest kids in the school. I'm not really looking forward to that.

I made the touch-football team at my school. This is the first year that our school has had a touch-football team. I tried out for volleyball too, but I didn't make the team. I don't even like the sport. I'm just trying out for all of the teams. I am also playing badminton at school, but you don't need to make a team or anything because we just play people from our own school. We don't play other schools like we do for other sports.

It's looking like it will be a busy school year this year.

May 26th, 1995

It's been such a long time! The school year is almost over, and I haven't written since it started. That's so weird.

School's over in less than a month. I can't wait to be done elementary school, contrary to what I said last time I wrote.

In September I'll start high school. It's exciting, but I'm also scared. I heard that classes are a lot harder, that teachers don't even remember your name, and that a lot of the teachers are mean. The school is a lot bigger than my elementary school, too.

Right after school is out, I'll be going to camp for a couple of weeks. Most of my friends will be going, so it'll be a lot of fun.

That's all I have to say for now. Wish me luck with going to camp! It's been so long since I last wrote, that I don't know when the next time I will write will be!

July 10th, 1995

Going to camp was a lot of fun. We went from June 26th to July 8th, so I just got back a couple of days ago. I should have brought my journal with me so I could write about things as they happened and they were fresh in my mind, but I forgot about it. Besides, if one of my friends saw it or found it and read it, I would have been really embarrassed and mad.

Since I didn't bring my journal with me, I'll just tell you about a couple of things that happened. First off, I had my first kiss at camp. It happened on our last day at the camp.

One girl, Rose, who was also staying at the camp, had been looking at me a lot for a few days. We didn't really talk, we just kind of looked at each other. That sounds weird... Anyways, one night there was a dance in the main hall of the camp for all of the kids staying at the camp. Me and Rose slow danced a couple of times. Then, on the last day of camp, I don't even know how it happened, but she kissed me.

When it happened, I didn't even know what to do. We were just standing there alone and the next thing I knew, she was coming towards me and I could just feel her tongue in my mouth. I think it would have lasted longer, but my friend came into the room to tell me something and interrupted it. It was awkward, but really funny too because he was pretty shocked and he basically ran away.

If that wasn't enough, when I got on the bus to go home, another girl I had sort of talked to during our time at the camp ran up to my window on the bus and gave me a note and said goodbye. The note said that she really liked me and that she wished she had told me earlier. A lot of good that did me...

A lot more happened during my time at the camp, but it would take a while to write it all, and I just can't be bothered to do that. What I wrote is what was most exciting and important. But anyways, it was a really fun time at camp, and I really miss it. I wouldn't mind going back some time.

I'm not sure what I'm going to do the rest of the summer, but I hope it doesn't go fast. I'm not ready for school to start yet. Whatever I do, though, I don't think it will be as fun as camp was.

That's all I've got for now. I'll try to write soon, but if I don't, wish me luck with starting high school!

October 22nd, 1995

It turns out that high school isn't quite exactly what everyone made it out to be and what it appears to be in TV shows and movies. And I mean that in almost every possible way.

For one thing, it's not all big and scary like I constantly heard leading up to it. At first, the school was unfamiliar, but I quickly got used to it, and now it seems small. They were all just trying to scare me.

Second, it isn't cool and exciting—it's just more school. It's a different school, there are kids from all different elementary schools, and the structure of the days is different, but school is still school, and there's nothing fun about that. Not only that, but since there are so many students, you would think it would be easier to blend in to the crowd and just avoid people, but really it's just more people to be annoyed of and have to deal with on a daily basis.

During the nearly two months since I started high school, things haven't been too hectic. The workload is basically what I expected, and the teachers are just teachers. What I will say, though, is that there are definitely a lot more cute girls around. I'm keeping an eye out, but there haven't been any that stand out so far. I'll just have to wait. Other than that, there's not much else to talk about.

It's looking like the next four years will come and go, and then I'll be on the next stage of my life. Let's just hope nothing crazy happens before I get there.

November 28th, 1995

School is continuing to be school. Classes are boring, teachers are drones, and the other students are annoying. High school has been especially blah for me because almost all of my friends ended up going to other high schools for one reason or another. So now, I'm stuck at my high school every day with a bunch of jerks that I can't wait to get away from.

Every day I look around at everyone else and I wonder if everyone is just really good at pretending that they're having a good time, or if they're actually enjoying themselves. They're a bunch of weirdos, if you ask me—or maybe I'm the weird one since I'm the odd one out.

Both of my parents keep telling me to get involved in clubs and activities, but the last thing I want to do is spend more time at school after hours with people I don't like.

December 2nd, 1995

I have nothing to write other than: am I too old to write in this journal?

April 29th, 1996

Grade 9 is quickly coming to an end. Looking back at my second most recent entry, I swear I could have written that just yesterday. That tells you that nothing has changed. I just go to school every day, do what I have to do to get it all done and over with, and get the hell out of there. I kind of keep waiting for things to change and to actually enjoy my time in high school, but I don't know that that's going to happen. It's about as lame as a place can get, so at least there's that. I don't think it could get any worse.

August 15th, 1996

As if life for a teenager couldn't get any worse. I got braces at the beginning of summer. They have got to be the most awkward and uncomfortable thing I have ever experienced. It's just a bunch of pointy metal pieces in my mouth that make me sound funny when I talk. This will be a great way to start the new school year...

Summer has been alright. Nothing too special happened, though. I got to hang out with my friends from other high schools a lot more than when I'm in school. But now summer is coming to an end and it's time for another school year to begin.

September 13th, 1996

I am just utterly and completely sick and tired of all of these assholes I am stuck going to school with. Every single day is full of the same crap. We're less than two weeks into the new school year and I am just done with having to deal with the same jerks every single day.

I don't know what what it is, but something about me draws all the jerks in like moths to a flame. Except instead of moths, it's a bunch of jocks who feel it necessary to assert their dominance and impress their equally obnoxious girlfriends by using me as a punching bag. And instead of a flame—actually, I wouldn't mind being covered in flames right about now. Just get it all over with and end it all now.

May 10th, 1997

I just got my first real job. It's at a coffee shop. Nothing special, but it's a start. Now I'll finally have my own money to spend on whatever I want.

The job seems pretty easy so far, and it might even be fun since my friend Daniel just got hired, too. As long as we don't get in to any trouble together, I think we'll do okay here. All we have to do is take people's orders of coffee and some food, and that's about it. Not too labour intensive, so I think I'll survive.

But if I've learned anything from this job—man, do people ever love their coffee!

June 15th, 1997

Today was an exciting day. It's been a long two years, but I finally got my braces off. It's a weird feeling having them off. One, my tongue has never felt anything as smooth as the front of my teeth now feel, and two, my teeth look gigantic. I'm sure it's just me and they will look normal sized soon, but every time I look in the mirror and show my teeth, I weird myself out.

Not only did I get my braces off today, but I also got my driver's license! I can now drive a car all alone—no parents in the passenger seat or anything. I don't have my own car, but you know... someday... maybe...

July 6th, 1997

Work has been going fine. It's summer break now, so I'm working more hours. It's definitely not fun, but like school, I get it done, and when it's over, I go home and be glad it's over with for the day.

I'm not really sure how people do it... You know, every day of their lives, going to a mindless job that they likely hate, go home for just a few short hours that they have to themselves, sleep, and do it all over again. I don't know that I can do that for my entire life. But what else is there to do? We aren't given a whole lot of options in today's world. I'll cross that road when I get to it, I suppose.

August 30th, 1997

School is starting up again right away. Having worked all summer, it flew by faster than any other summer break that I can remember. A couple of weeks ago, I left my job at the coffee shop. I found a new job at a clothing store. Not only does it pay more, but I'm enjoying it more so far, too.

The start of this school year marks the beginning of the second half of my time in high school. As I figured (and think I said in an earlier entry), my time in high school is flying by. I'm still anxious to be done with it, since I still have two full years to go until I'm done, but it's nice that it's at least going by fast.

December 10th, 1997

It's been awhile since I've written in this journal, and at this point I think I'm over and done with writing in it, but today, I just have to write.

Two days ago, my dad was killed in a car accident. I guess he was on his way to work early that morning, and, with the worst timing and luck in the world, some piece of shit drunk driver flew through the intersection, collided with my dad's car, and...

The last two days, I've been filled with every emotion in the world. My eyes are dried out, my throat is sore, and my chest constantly feels like there are weights pressing down on it. I don't even know what to do with myself anymore at this point.

The only redeeming factor that I'm clinging to right now is that I saw my dad the night before the accident. We were happy together. We talked and laughed together. We said goodnight, I told him I would see him tomorrow, and I went to bed. I just hate knowing that now I'll be waiting for "tomorrow" for the rest of my life.

No matter how hard I try, my mind can't comprehend the fact that I am never going to see him ever again. I've never lost anyone before, so I had no idea until now what it was like. It's horrible. It feels like it's just some kind of dumb thought in my head. But no—it's real. He's gone. I don't know what to do.

June 27th, 1999

I just found this journal on my bookshelf. I guess I just kind of forgot about it. I just read through the whole thing. It's really weird to read what I wrote because it makes me feel like those things just happened. It's like reliving the things that I wrote about. And that wasn't the best last entry I could have written and left off on...

I'm now 18 years old and I just graduated from high school. I'm now thinking about applying to university, but I really haven't decided yet. I know that I need to decide soon since the deadline to apply is coming up in just a few weeks, but I don't know if it's what I want to do or not. If I don't go to university, though, I don't know what else I'll do.

Since I last wrote until now, Eric moved out at some point, so now it's just me living at home, though I'd like to move out sooner than later. Other than that, nothing overly exciting has happened.

I doubt I will ever write in this journal again. I don't know that I'll ever have a reason to. With that said, I guess it's time for life to really get going. Wish me luck.

Part 2

February 3rd, 2011

I was going through some boxes that are filled with my old things. Most of it was crap from when I was younger, but clearly I also found this journal. It's funny, but interesting to read through these old entries from when I was a kid. It's even funnier that after I graduated high school, I said that I would never write in it again. I guess I was wrong, because, 12 years later, here I am.

Time has definitely flown by since I last wrote. I can't believe it's already been well over 10 years. Everything from the last dozen years is just a flash of memories.

Since I've got the journal out, I figured I would write something. I might as well. That way I can look back in another few years and read it again.

I'm now 29 years old, soon to be 30—that infamous dreaded three decade mark. I ended up going to university like I discussed in my last entry in 1999. I got a bachelor's degree in business, which took me until 2003. I didn't enjoy a second of it, but once I finished my degree, I was glad I had done it.

After university, I ended up getting a job with the government. I've moved around a little bit, but I've essentially been in the same job since I began. It's not the most entertaining job, but it pays the bills, anyways. It's kind of what I expected. I sit at a computer, analyze data, send e-mails... real exciting stuff.

During my last year of university, I met a girl in one of my classes. For weeks I would sit near her, trying to get her attention. I eventually did, and we soon started dating. Now, 7 years later, we're married. Her name is Myla and we married in 2006. No kids—not yet anyways.

To be honest, and hopefully Myla doesn't ever read this, I don't know that I ever want kids. I just don't think that I would be a very good dad. I would do okay, but I just don't think I would want to do it. I have a hard enough time staying committed to a TV series, let alone a child that depends on me.

Like I said, I haven't had a lot going on. Just the typical school, then marriage, then a house... maybe kids. We'll see about that last one.

Maybe I'll write in this journal if anything huge ever happens in my life, but I otherwise probably won't. But then again, I've said that before.

February 8th, 2011

I forgot to put this journal away after I took it out of the box the other week when I wrote in it. I had left it on a table in the basement where all of the boxes that I was going though are. I noticed it on the table today and went to put it back in the box I got it from, but changed my mind. I think I just might keep it out and write in it every once in awhile. It'd be a good way of sharing and expressing my thoughts without the consequences that come with telling real people those things. Besides, some things are meant to stay private, or even secret; you just need to get them out of your head sometimes.

With that said, I have to admit something. I'm an alcoholic. Well, I'm not anymore—I'm in "recovery," as they call it. I've been sober for several months now. But that's what they told us at AA, that even if you haven't had a drink in years, you're still an alcoholic. Once an alcoholic, always an alcoholic—how profound. It doesn't really make any sense to me, but whatever.

I started drinking heavily a couple of years out of university, which is ironic, because throughout high school and university, I rarely drank—maybe once a year, if that. But things were just really shitty. Despite not having been there long, my job was repetitive and boring. It was essentially the same crap every single day. Not only that, but Myla and I were arguing a lot soon after we got married.

So, in the beginning, I'd go out with a couple of friends to blow off some steam. We'd hang out, get drunk. Nothing crazy. But then after a while, I started drinking alone. I'd leave work and either go to a pub or to the liquor store and pick up some booze, then drive home and either go inside to drink if Myla wasn't around, or if she was I'd take a walk with the bottle.

What finally made me go to AA was after one pretty hard binge. Supposedly I went home and trashed the place. I didn't lay a hand on Myla, thank God, but I made a mess of the house in some inexplicable, seemingly unprovoked rage. I don't remember any of it. I just remember waking up the next morning on the couch in the basement, going upstairs, and seeing the mess.

I had smashed the coffee table in the living room, broken a couple of lamps, too, along with whatever else was laying around and had got in my way. In the kitchen, the table was flipped over and things that were supposed to be on the counter were all over the floor. Thankfully, in my drunken stupor—rage, I should say—I didn't get into the cupboards that the dishes are kept in. That would have been a bitch to clean up. But anyways, you get the point. I made a mess of the house, and I had messed up pretty bad.

Myla wasn't home when I woke up that day. I wasn't sure what had happened until I called her and asked her. I thought maybe someone had broken into our house and done this, but at the same time I knew it was me who had done it.

Myla told me, her voice shaking, that I had come home and freaked out for what seemed like no reason. I was incoherently screaming on and on. She had got out fast and spent the night at her parents' house. I told her I had sobered up and that she could come home, but she said it would be better if she stayed there at her parents' place for a couple of days. Besides, I needed to clean the house up, so being alone for a couple of days would let me do that... if I could stay sober, that is.

I somehow managed to keep from having any drinks over the next couple of days, and I kept busy with getting the house back in shape the best I could. Obviously some things weren't fixable, but I did what I could to get the house back to how it was before I made a mess of it.

After a couple of days, Myla came home and she told me that I had to go to rehab or AA or something to stop my drinking. If I didn't, she told me we couldn't be together anymore. I guess she had known about some of my drinking, which I thought I had kept secret from her, but she didn't know how bad it was until that day.

So, I started going to AA. And now here we are. I've been able to keep myself from having any drinks for the last few months. There are days—most days—where I want to, but I don't. I don't think Myla trusts me, but I insist to her that I've stayed sober, and I've got my sponsor at AA, Heather, to back me up on that.

Speaking of Heather—damn I lucked out. Before I started attending AA, any time I thought about it, I would just picture a bunch of weird, gross people sitting around in a circle in a dark and dingy room, talking about how shitty things are. There are some weird people at my meetings, but Heather is... there's just something about her. Thin, attractive, dark hair. And she doesn't seem to take shit from anybody.

Heather's been sober for like 4 years or something, so that's why she's my sponsor. She's there to help me stay on track if I ever have to talk to her about anything, though I only really see her at the AA meetings. I think I've only ever seen her outside of the meetings once, and it was when a few of us went for coffee after a meeting one night.

Anyways, every day is really tough, but I seem to be able to manage the temptations and urges that I get. I've just got to keep going to the AA meetings and making sure I stay out of situations where I might end up having a drink or two... or ten.

I said it at the beginning of this entry, but now I'm sure that I want to start writing in this journal again. Writing about my issues has definitely made my head feel a little lighter—for the time being at least. This just might serve as a good outlet after-all.

February 27th, 2011

Things have been quiet lately. Nothing too new has happened over the last 3 weeks. I've still managed to stay sober, despite the cravings I get for a drink every day. I don't really do a lot, honestly. I mostly live a pretty boring life.

Reading back on my first couple years of journal entries, I was such a normal, average kid. Things obviously haven't changed a lot, because I'm still a pretty normal, average guy. At the same time, things haven't really turned out the way I thought they would or would have liked them to. It's not what I expected from my life.

My days basically just consist of waking up, going to work, coming home and watching TV or doing whatever useless activities, and that's it. Repeat the next day, and the next... On weekends I usually just sit around. I think Myla is pretty tired of it, but I also think that as long as I'm not drinking, she's relatively happy. Well, as happy as anyone can be in a relationship like ours. I think that "less upset" might be a better way of putting it.

Speaking of which, I don't know what happened with our relationship. I mean, obviously my drinking messed a lot of things up, but our relationship had gone south long before I started drinking. It's one of the reasons I started drinking so heavily.

Some couples just lose it after a while. I don't think it matters how long we've been together. We'd probably reach this point in our relationship eventually, regardless of the situation. That's what I'd like to think, at least. I guess I'll never know for sure what really screwed our relationship up. It doesn't really help to think about it. No good can really come from doing that.

April 8th, 2011

I said I would write anytime something big happened in my life. Well, something happened. I fucked up.

After my AA meeting, my sponsor, Heather, asked me to go to her place for a celebratory "drink" since I'd been sober for 6 months as of Friday. I thought she was kidding when she said a "drink" and really just meant coffee or something. I knew that Myla had some work get-together thing so I figured I'd go to Heather's, just for a bit, since there wasn't really a rush to get home. But then we got to Heather's place and it turned out that she actually meant a drink. Like a drink drink. Turns out she's been bullshitting all along and isn't actually sober.

Let me start at the beginning...

So, we got to Heather's apartment and went into the kitchen. She's got an island in the kitchen—one that's higher up where you can sit at bar stools, fittingly enough. So I sat at one of those, waiting for her to put a pot of coffee on or whatever. Then I look at her as she's getting something from a cupboard. But what does she pull out? A bottle of rum. I couldn't believe it. I just stared at her as she pulled out two glasses and poured them full—and I mean full, no mix or anything—of just straight rum.

I told her I couldn't drink it—I was sober and she was supposed to be, too. She just laughed and told me that AA is all bullshit and that she didn't think I was actually sober. I don't know what gave her that impression, but I can honestly say that I hadn't had any drinks for several months.

As I said earlier, I've wanted to have a drink each and every day since I've been sober. Long story short, it didn't take much convincing from Heather for me to have the drink. And then another, and another. I didn't black out like the last time I drank months prior, but I was definitely too drunk for my own good.

If having all those drinks wasn't bad enough, Heather and I ended up hooking up. After a few drinks—I lost count at some point—Heather, who I'm pretty sure was far less drunk than I was, took me by the hand and led me out of the kitchen and to her bedroom. Everything was a blur, but I remember what happened. She didn't just kiss me for a second and I pulled away and stopped her, though that did happen at first. Once Heather led me into her bedroom, things went where you might imagine they did.

I'll be honest, I'd always thought Heather was super attractive, but things had always been "professional" between us, so to speak. But when people drink, they tend to be easily persuaded or make poor decisions. Even worse, for an alcoholic who hasn't had a drink in 6 months and then they finally get to have that drink they've been craving for so long, things get a little out of hand. My tolerance isn't what it was before, which I'm not used to, so drinking the amount that I did had quite the effect on me. I don't know that the alcohol can be solely blamed, though. I've never been one to do what others want without already wanting to do it myself, even when drunk.

Now I have no idea what to do. Not only did I get drunk and ruin my sobriety, but I screwed around on my wife. Sure, things haven't been great between us lately, but I never thought I would do something like that in my marriage. But like I said, people make mistakes when they drink.

I think that the worst thing of all is that, honestly, I don't really have any shame or regret in what I did. Well, maybe a little bit about breaking my 6 month sobriety streak, but not so much about the other thing. I've got a conscience, but I actually really enjoyed being with Heather. I don't know if it's because I had that feeling you get when you're with someone new, or if it was something else. We'll see what happens at my next AA meeting in 2 days. Not only that, but we'll see what happens with me and Myla. I don't know if I can tell her what I did. Not one, but two crushing betrayals. I don't know if I could do that to her. Sometimes it's just better to live with a secret than to tell the truth and hurt someone.

April 12th, 2011

I did it again. After my AA meeting on Friday—yes, I still went—me and Heather went for drinks. Real drinks again. And then we went back to her apartment. Again. We had more drinks... more sex... I feel like I should feel bad about it, but I don't. If anything, it makes me feel better than I have in months, or even years. I'd say it might have something to do with how distant Myla has been lately, but I think I would just be making excuses. It's also a pretty great distraction from how I've been feeling lately. It makes me forget about everything shitty in my life—at least for a little while—and enjoy myself for once.

I don't know that this has anything to do with Myla. I can recognize that I'm being completely selfish and not being fair to Myla at all, but Heather is giving me what I really want, and what I really need right now. Drinking again has given me the feeling that my body has missed so much over the last 6 months, and the sex with Heather is something I've never experienced before. She knows her stuff, I'll giver her that.

My only concern now is whether this is all going to take control of my life again, or if I'll somehow manage to balance everything. It's a lot to keep to myself. I guess that's why I've got this journal going. I think that I should be okay, since I'm recognizing the problem before it gets too serious. That's always a good sign. That's what they say in AA, anyways.

April 21st, 2011

Do you ever have one of those days where you can't even look at yourself in the mirror? For me, that's every single day lately. I can't look into my own eyes. I'm afraid that I'll see something that I don't want to see. And everything feels dark. My head hurts a lot, I feel depressed most of the time, and nothing seems to go my way.

May 7th, 2011

Holy shit. I should have figured it would happen sooner or later, even though I never wanted it to happen. Since the last time I wrote, I've been able to keep sober again. Not only that, but I've stayed away from Heather and we haven't been hooking up. I made the decision to stop doing what I was doing because I knew that it was wrong. Something just kind of clicked in my head one day.

However, Myla found my journal. This journal. The journal where I confessed to drinking and hooking up with someone else... more than once. I was an idiot and I left the journal out. Myla didn't even know that I had it until she saw it on the table in the living room. I don't know why I left it out, but she found it while I was at work. After work Tuesday, let's just say it was a long night.

When I got home from work that night, I came through the front door of the house to find Myla just sitting there on the couch in the living room. She wasn't crying anymore, but I could see that she had been. Her eyes were all red and puffy. Right away I got that awful sinking feeling in my stomach, and my cheeks and ears got hot. I just had a feeling from the very beginning that she had found and read my journal. I looked down at the coffee table, and sure enough, I could see my journal sitting there. That's when I knew for sure Myla had read it.

After that, Myla yelled, screamed, and cried some more. I was mostly quiet. What could I say? I couldn't lie. It's not like she had heard it from somebody else, or that someone had seen me with Heather and I could deny it. She read the words that I had written myself. The only thing I could have said to try and lie would have been to say that none of it was true and that I was merely writing fiction, but no one in their right mind would have ever believed that. I just had to face the situation and accept whatever consequences might come.

It ended with Myla saying that she didn't want to be with me anymore, that she hated me, and that she was leaving. She said that she had given me chances before, but that she wouldn't be giving me another one. So, I let her leave.

I'm not sure whether I let her go because I didn't blame her for hating me and wanting to leave, or because I didn't care if she left. I'd like to think that it's because I understood and didn't blame her for leaving, but with the way things have been going, I think it's more so that I didn't care that she left. I think that we should have ended things a long time ago. Now, I feel relieved. It's either that, or some other inexplicable feeling. All I know is that right now, I'm alone, and I don't mind it.

May 28th, 2011

Well, I got served the divorce papers today while I was at work. That was fast. I guess there's no point in going through the whole separation thing if we know we shouldn't be together anymore. Besides, we don't need to be separated for a year before getting divorced if there was "a breakdown of the marriage due to adultery," according to some of the documents. I'm not even going to bother fighting it. I'm just going to sign whatever papers they want me to sign and get the whole thing over with.

Even if I tried to convince her otherwise, I don't think Myla would give me another chance. I think this is just one too many screw ups. It's probably best that we finally end things and finally move on with our lives as individuals. I can at least recognize that I've just made Myla's life much more difficult than it should be.

I've got my weekly AA meeting tomorrow. Is there even a point in attending these meetings anymore? Sure, I've managed to keep from drinking again over the last month, but I really don't even care anymore. The meetings have just become a formality rather than an interaction to help me out. Nonetheless, I'll probably go. I guess I could use a little bit of that interaction, regardless of whether the meeting is beneficial or not.

June 1st, 2011

It's my birthday today. Big deal. There's not a lot worth celebrating these days. At this point in my life, a birthday is just another day, or at the very most, the marking that I'm another year older and therefore another step closer to death. Shit, that's dark, but at the same time, I guess it's true.

I did in fact end up going to the AA meeting the other day. Like I figured, the meeting itself didn't do a whole lot for me, but talking to some people after the meeting was good.

Surprisingly, things weren't awkward with Heather. It's been a few weeks since I last saw her, and one of the last times that I did see her was when we hooked up. She seemed totally fine, though. Something tells me that this isn't her first time hooking up with someone and then having to play things cool later on. Oddly enough, though, that doesn't seem to bother me at all. Usually that kind of stuff would.

After everything wrapped up at the meeting, Heather and I went to the cafe that's just a couple of blocks from the hall that the AA meetings are at. Amazingly, we didn't have any drinks. Well, I had a water and a coffee, but you know what I mean. We just kind of talked. I told her about Myla finding out about Heather and I, and about the divorce papers. I'd made sure I didn't mention this journal, because I didn't want to sound like a goof, or for Heather to know that I've written about her.

Heather told me to go over to her place tomorrow night to hang out, so I guess I'll be doing that. I think I've got a pretty good idea of what we'll get up to...

June 22nd, 2011

Since I told Heather about the divorce papers and about Myla and I not being together anymore, I've been spending a lot of time with her over the last 3 weeks. I think that a lot of people would tell me that Heather is no good for me, and I can see that, considering we pretty much just drink all the time (did I forget to mention that?), but I just can't resist her. When we aren't drinking, we're hooking up, and that's something I can't complain about. Besides, there's no one else really left in my life to tell me she's no good and that I need to get my shit together. I guess I didn't ever explain that...

When Myla and I moved in together years ago, I saw my family a lot less. My siblings were off doing their own thing, so I already rarely saw them. My mom eventually moved on to a new life and remarried. I didn't feel like being a part of that family. When I moved out on my own, I essentially kept away from them. Then I got married, and later I started drinking and essentially cut most people out. And if I didn't cut them out, they cut me out.

My family was tired of my shit, and my friends just couldn't be bothered anymore. I tried to stay close to some people for a while, but after a while I just gave up and didn't care anymore. The last time I saw anyone from my family was years ago, and only a couple of my friends still keep in touch, but we don't ever really see each other anymore.

So, for the longest time, I've just had Myla. Then when things weren't going well between us, I cared even less about our relationship. At the same time, I'm human, and at some point I need some kind of connection, so I guess that's where Heather comes in. She gives me the attention I need right now—attention like I've never had before. It's a little unusual for me. I've never been one to need to feel that connection with other people. I've always been perfectly content on my own, spending time away from everyone and everything. But I've been feeling different lately, as if something is missing.

I know that I'm not necessarily making the best choices right now, but a lot of the time what you want to do isn't going to be what you should do. Right now, I'm obviously choosing to do the things that I want to do. It's funny that I can recognize that, yet not have the willpower to do what I should be doing.

June 25th, 2011

Another great day—not. I went into work today, as usual. I wasn't there more than 10 minutes when my boss asked to speak to me in his office. As you might have guessed, I got fired. He told me that my performance at work recently has been poor, not to mention the fact that I've had multiple absences recently. As a result, they had no choice but to let me go. They referred to me as being "terminated." Seems like such a harsh word to use; seems over-dramatic.

They gave me, like, 20 minutes to pack up my office. Then they had a security guard escort me out the building as if I was going to make a scene. I was so tempted to punch my dumb piece of shit boss in the face when he fired me, but like most things lately, I thought about it and realized that I just didn't really care. Like they said, I hadn't been showing up to work like I was supposed to, so I kind of did this to myself.

July 2nd, 2011

Heather and I took things a little further this time. I was at her apartment and we had a few drinks, as usual. We finished another round, were fooling around on the couch, and then she stopped, got up, and walked out of the room without saying anything. She came back just a minute later. I didn't see until she sat back down, but she was carrying a little plastic bottle containing a number of pills.

Heather still didn't say a word. She didn't explain what the pills were, though I had a pretty good idea, and she didn't say what the plan was. She just placed the pills on a coaster, picked up her drinking glass, and crushed the pills into powder. She then leaned towards the table and inhaled the crushed pills through her nose—just like you'd see in a movie. Then she repeated the process, put the powder from the crushed pills on her hand this time, and held her hand out towards me.

I hesitated at first, but then she gave me this look she gets—this pouty lipped look—and like I said, I can't resist her. Call me easily peer pressured, but I inhaled the crushed pills. Maybe not in such an experienced and eloquent way as Heather, but I did it nonetheless. For a couple of seconds I didn't feel anything except a burning in my nose, like that feeling you get when you cough a carbonated drink out your nose, and then the stuff hit me all at once.

Between the alcohol and now the addition of the pills, I don't remember a whole lot from the rest of the night. Heather and I had a good time, though, I know that much. She's definitely a wild one, but I think that's what I like about her. Unpredictable and spontaneous, both somewhat new concepts to me.

July 5th, 2011

Man, reading through my old entries, I really sound like an idiot sometimes.

Anyways, I got a call from Myla this morning. She told me that her lawyer said I had to be out of the house in a couple of weeks. Part of some legal agreement shit that I don't really understand or care about. I think I signed some document relating to it, but I'm not even sure. It kind of sucks, since now I have to find somewhere else to stay for a while. But at the same time, it was only a matter of time before I got kicked out of my own house. Since I don't have a job anymore, I can't exactly pay for any of the bills. I've got some money in the bank, but I don't know how long it'll last me. I'm honestly surprised that none of the utilities have been cut off yet since they haven't been paid in a while.

I'm going to see if I can crash at Heather's place for a bit. I spend most nights there now anyways, so it shouldn't be too much of an adjustment. If I can't stay there, I'm really not sure where I'll stay. I could always find a place to rent, but like I said, the money that I have in the bank will only last me so long.

July 9th, 2011

I talked to Heather last night about staying at her place, and she's cool with it. She said to me exactly what I wrote the other day, that I'm there most of the time anyways.

It's kind of funny that I'm basically moving in with her, and yet we've never talked about what we are. Like, we hang out and hook up all the time, but I have no idea if we're technically dating or what. Hell, I don't even know if I'm even officially divorced from Myla yet or not. I know I signed some papers, but I don't know if they've been processed yet or how it works. I might want to look into that...

Anyways, whatever Heather and I are, it seems to be working for both of us. We're having a good time, and that's what matters right now. I just need to make sure I don't screw this up too, otherwise I'll be out on my ass and totally screwed.

That makes me wonder. I think I should probably find some kind of job. Nothing like I had before, but just something where I can work every once in awhile so I can have some kind of income coming in. I haven't got much left in my bank account. You might be surprised how fast you burn through cash when you drink as much as Heather and I do.

Fortunately, Heather has got a bartending gig she does every once in awhile at a bar nearby (ironically enough), in addition to being compensated for being a sponsor at AA. Not much, but it's something. I haven't ever put much thought into it before, but those jobs couldn't possibly be any more different. I can't imagine that the people who run the AA clinic would be too happy to hear that along with being an AA sponsor, Heather is also a bartender. Maybe a little less upset than if they found out that she isn't actually several years sober.

Speaking of which, we haven't been to an AA meeting in a couple of weeks. I'm honestly surprised we didn't stop going sooner. Obviously it wasn't doing us any good, not to mention the fact that they were a drag.

I'd better get to packing my things. I've only got so much time left before I have to be out of the house, and I haven't started packing anything yet. I don't even know what's technically mine and what isn't, so I don't know what I can take or not. Whatever. If it's maybe mine, I'll just take it. If Myla's got a problem with something I took, she can fuck off. She's getting the house, so the least she can do is let me keep some of the shit from inside of it.

Hey, that got me to thinking. I could sell some of the crap we've got around this house to get some more cash. That'll help keep me going for a little bit. I'll have to keep an eye out while I pack.

July 15th, 2011

It's my brother Eric's birthday today. I decided that I would try calling him, but when he answered and found out it was me, he immediately hung up. Either Myla told him what happened back in May, or he's still pissed off from a couple of years ago. I may or may not still owe him money... Regardless, he didn't want to talk to me, so not much I can do there.

It's times like this that I don't even know why I bother trying to get in touch with people you'd think would be in my life. I don't really care that much, but it can be a bit of a bummer sometimes when no one really gives a shit about you or when you know that someone hates you. I guess that's why I've got Heather now.

I can't really complain, though, or blame anyone but myself. I'm not feeling bad for myself or anything. I'm just trying to write things down so I can visualize them, in a way, and like I've said before, get the thoughts out of my head somehow.

I suppose that if my siblings and parents were in my life, they'd probably just try to change me—to fix me. That's just what they like to do. I don't need that kind of crap in my life. People judging everything I do, as if they're all perfect and I'm the fuck up of the family. It's almost as if they're just using my shitty life as an excuse to make themselves feel better about themselves when I know that they've all got their own skeletons.

I may be divorced, or soon to be divorced, or whatever the current status is, and I may have lost my job, but I'm somehow happy, despite how I might seem in what I've been writing. Staying sober was just too hard. It requires too much effort. And besides, people are always just waiting for you to fail. Well, they were right. I failed. I'm better off for it, though. I may have fucked up some things in my life, but in an odd turn of events, I'm happier now than I was just a few months ago. How I'll feel in a couple of months, or even weeks, may be a different story. But for now, I'll just do my thing with Heather and hope things continue the way they are. Call me naive, or just plain stupid, but things feel kind of all right as of right now.

July 17th, 2011

I've been keeping busy packing my things. I've got to be out of the house in 2 or 3 days, so I don't have much time left. I'm just about done, fortunately. It's just a matter of getting everything I'm actually keeping over to Heather's place. I've still got my car, which is great. That's one thing I haven't lost yet. I finished paying it off a couple of years ago, so as long as I don't get in an accident with it or it doesn't get stolen, we should be good.

Now I've got to load all of the boxes up into my car and get them over to Heather's. It'll probably take a couple of trips, but it shouldn't be any more than that. I ended up getting rid of a lot of my stuff. I took anything that I thought might be worth something—movies, some clothes, collectibles I've acquired over the years, and even one of the TVs—and brought it to a pawn shop. I managed to get close to $500. I probably could have got more if I took the time to sell things individually online or at a garage sale or something, but I don't have time for that.

One thing that I completely forgot about until now is my wedding ring. I haven't been wearing it for the past while and don't even know where it is right now, so I'll have to find it and bring it to the pawn shop or a jeweller and see what I can get for it. It's gold, after-all. Besides, I definitely don't need it anymore. It'll just be a reminder of something I want to move on from and forget.

I only held on to a few things. For one, my laptop. I spend a lot of time on it, and it would suck not having it. I could probably get a few hundred for it, but it's not worth getting rid of. Not yet, anyways. I also held on to some clothes, obviously, including some nicer pieces—you never know when I might need them.

Asides from that, the rest of the stuff I kept is just random crap that I figured I'd hang on to. Heather already has most of the things I might need. Even if I wanted to take other stuff, Heather doesn't really have a lot of space for it, and I don't have the means to get it from my house—my old house, I should say—to hers (like furniture). Not to mention that I think that if I tried to take some of the bigger things, Myla would try and make a thing out of it, so I won't even bother trying to get them.

That's about all I've got to say for today. I'll write again when something big or shitty happens, which will probably be soon.

July 21st, 2011

I'm all moved out of the house and I'm staying with Heather now. It's been a couple of days so far, and things seem to be going all right. I need to be careful with leaving this journal out, though, in case Heather finds it and reads it. I already made that mistake with Myla. It's not like I've said anything bad about Heather—if anything, I've only said good things about her—but I just don't want her to read what I've said and think I'm an idiot. I mean, I've read what I've written, and I even think I sound dumb a lot of the time. I'll have to keep it in my car.

I just realized as I was flipping through the last few pages of this journal that I've been writing a lot this month. I guess there's just been more going on, and so I've had a lot more to say. It seems to help me get my thoughts out so I don't feel as anxious about things. It's also nice to be able to read back and remember some things, because let's be honest, I forget a lot of the stuff I've done recently after I drink a lot. And I don't just mean I forget the things that happened while I was drunk. Sometimes drinking too much makes me forget things I did while sober before I got drunk. That's more than likely a bad sign...

I suppose I also haven't been going to AA meetings anymore, which used to serve as a primary outlet for what I was thinking. Not only that, but even though she was my sponsor, I can't really talk to Heather about stuff. It's just not that kind of relationship. I've always heard that "communication is key" in a relationship, so it, too, might be a bad sign that I can't tell her things. But I'm not going to complain. Heather's giving me a pretty sweet deal in terms of letting me stay at her place, not to mention our extracurricular activities.

July 25th, 2011

It's been a bit of an interesting first couple of days here staying at Heather's. Yesterday, I went out for the day just to get some things done, since it's been awhile since I've done anything productive. I got my laundry done, picked up some groceries, and just enjoyed being out in the summer air for once. However, when I came back to the apartment in the evening, there was some guy sitting on the couch in the living room, and Heather was nowhere to be seen. Curtains drawn, smoke filled the air of the dark room, caused by, I assume, the pipe that sat on the coffee table in front of the guy.

I looked with trepidation at the guy sitting on the couch. He was a sketchy looking Hispanic guy dressed in torn, faded jeans, which were unbuttoned, and an undershirt tank top.

After a moment, he introduced himself as Ricardo, Heather's dealer. I guess she had to get the pills she gave me from somewhere. But clearly this guy was more than just a dealer for Heather.

After a couple of uncomfortable minutes, Heather emerged from her bedroom in nothing but a t-shirt. She was a little surprised to see me, but otherwise acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. She proceeded to the kitchen and poured herself a drink. Ricardo stood up from the couch, at which point I noticed a gun tucked in the back of his pants. He walked to the kitchen and joined Heather, where he took her drink from her and downed most of it in one gulp. Next, he looked over at me, smirked, then grabbed Heather's ass, pulling her close to him. Heather, now topping off her drink, didn't even react, seemingly unaware, or at least didn't seem to care. Ricardo, still giving me a look made his way back into the living room, where I now was.

Getting away from Ricardo, I moved into the kitchen where I quietly asked Heather about what was going on. Nonchalantly, she explained while taking large gulps from her drink that when she buys from Ricardo, it's become part of the routine that he expects Heather to give him something else as payment rather than just cash.

I figured Heather probably made questionable decisions, but I assumed that with me living here, there wouldn't be anything like this happening. Clearly, I was wrong. Heather and I weren't anything official, but everything over that last few minutes had me burning up. I was keeping it cool, but I wouldn't be able to for very long, I knew that.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, I looked over into the living room where Ricardo, no more than a couple of seconds later, looked at me. The smirk he'd been giving me before changed into a serious look. He'd clearly been waiting to be given a reason to start something, and me looking at him was obviously enough.

Ricardo stood up from the couch and started calling me out, asking me if I had a problem with him. Before I knew it, I was in the living room with him. From what I recall, I wasn't saying much, but rather just listening to Ricardo go on and on about... who knows what. Next, I told Ricardo that he needed to leave. He didn't like that, because he immediately threw a punch at me, hitting me square in the jaw. It was a nice cheap shot. He definitely seemed like that kind of guy. I went to retaliate, but he immediately pulled out the gun that I had seen tucked into the back of his jeans. The barrel pointing at me from a mere couple of feet away is the last thing that I remember seeing.

After that, the next thing that I remember is being on my knees in the kitchen, my head lowered, my hands raised, covering my face. Other than my hands, it felt as though something was on my face. I dragged my hands down my face and looked at them. They were completely red. Looking down at my body I could see that my shirt was spattered red. Blood. No question.

I slowly stood up, using the counter to help get myself off the ground. My eyes were blurry, but I looked around as they slowly cleared and I was able to see further distances. There was no one else in the main apartment area. I went into the living room to see blood on the floor near the couch and coffee table. At this point, I examined myself, but found no trace of injuries other than some soreness in my jaw. No cuts or anything, though.

I went to the bedroom where I found Heather sleeping on the bed. I woke her up and asked her what happened. Though drunk, she explained that right after Ricardo pulled his gun on me, I reacted by lunging at him and beating him unconscious. That explained the blood. But where had Ricardo gone, and how? Turns out that over an hour had passed between me knocking Ricardo unconscious and me waking Heather up.

I went back into the main area of the apartment. At the front door, I found some blood on the doorknob. It looked like Ricardo regained consciousness and left without further incident.

This isn't the first time in my life that I've gone into a rage and blacked out, unable to remember what I did. Instances like this don't seem to happen often, but I wonder if they're a part of something bigger. I should probably look into it, but I doubt that I will.

At this point, I need to remain vigilant and cautious in the event that Ricardo comes back. Let's hope he doesn't.

August 3rd, 2011

There's not really a lot to talk about since last time. That fuck, Ricardo, hasn't been back around. I think there was a car following me the other night, but I may have been imagining things. I'll be sure to remain vigilant in case he does come back around Heather's place.

Since that night, things are as you'd expect them to be. Nothing has really changed all that much, despite the incident with Ricardo. Most of our time is spent drinking, having sex, and sitting around watching TV or whatever else.

When I read that back, I picture a couple of crackheads sitting in a shitty abandoned building, having not showered or bothered to get dressed. But it's not like that at all—honest. We both shower regularly and get dressed each day. Sorry—I just had to say that.

I had to go sign a few more papers the other day. Myla wanted to get the last bit of paperwork done so all of our things can officially be divided and we can officially be done with each other. She didn't say anything to me the whole time that I was at her lawyer's office. Now that I think about it, I don't think she even looked at me. It was silent the whole time, papers merely being placed in front of me.

I don't know what Myla has been up to or how things are going for her now, but I hope they're better and that they're what she thought they'd be now that we're not together anymore.

August 10th, 2011

Who the fuck does Myla think she is? Thinks she's all hot stuff and better than me. Well, guess what, Myla? I got Heather now. And she's way better than you ever were. And she lets me DRINK! And she's not a prude in bed like you. So, yeah, how about that?

Man, Heather is so... Heater is so good. Did I just call her Heater? Like a heater. That's kind of hilarious.

Yes, I may or may not be really drunk right now. But who cares!? I don't. I think it's awesome. I think it's great. If anyone has a problem with that, you can talk to my lawyer.

I'm just having a really good time. Maybe you should try it once in awhile. Maybe you should lighten up!

Have you ever tried swallowing a shot glass? I have. Doesn't work. You can take my word on that one. Who even uses shot glasses, anyways? Just drink straight from the bottle, you pansy asses.

August 15th, 2011

Is it possible to have too much sex? Seriously. Has anyone ever been like, "Oh, sorry, honey, but that's just too much sex." No! I don't think so! It never gets boring and it always feels good. And how about drinking, huh? That's always a good time! I sure as shit can't get enough of that, either. What am I gonna do, die from having too much sex and drinking some booze?

Speaking of dying... do you think Myla is dead yet? I mean, that would be kind of great, wouldn't it? Afterall, she sure fucked me up enough that I might as well be dead. But better her than me.

Hey, that's it! Heather gives head while Myla winds up dead. Now that sounds like a good time.

August 18th, 2011

You know, if I could take one thing back in my life and redo time and all that shit, I would avoid meeting that bitch, Myla. Every time I think of her face I just want to...

But whatever. You can't change the past, as they say.

Quick question—who's they? People always say, "Oh, they say..." But no one ever really explains or knows who "they" are. Think about it.

You ever think about something so hard that it just hurts? Like, you try so hard to understand something that you just get even more confused. Sometimes I think it's easier to just ignore things than to give them too much thought. Like, more instance, Myla.

I can't get over how ridiculous our relationship was, how much time I wasted with her, and why I didn't end things sooner with her. Yeah, sure, she ended things with me, but you know what I mean. If you don't, then that means you're on her side, and you can screw off.

Who am I talking to? What's the point of writing in this stupid thing?

I swear, if anyone ever finds this thing, just know that I was driven to where I'm at now. There was nothing that I could do or can do now about it. It's this wicked world we live in and there's nothing I can do to change it.

Now that I've gone all deep for a minute, it's time for another drink!

August 28th, 2011

I had a feeling something would go wrong sooner than later. All of the drinking finally caught up to me. I just got out of the hospital. It turns out that despite my history of alcohol abuse, it's still very possible for me to drink too much alcohol and nearly die. I guess that's the only way to put it: I almost died.

When I moved in with Heather, that obviously meant that we'd be seeing more of each other. But what I hadn't really put much thought into was that this meant we'd be doing a hell of a lot more drinking. With the exception of a couple of hours here and there, Heather and I essentially spend every waking moment together. This means that every waking moment was spent drinking; there was rarely a sober moment. I've had drinking binges that have gone on for days before, but with Heather and I together, it was harder than I've ever gone. We didn't just drink for a long period of time, either. We also drank more than usual—both in terms of more frequent sessions and harder alcohol.

I remember certain aspects of the few days that were filled with nothing but drinking, but not a lot of it. I don't even know how we got it started. From what I remember, it was a pretty regular night, having regular drinks. Then, somehow, we just randomly started drinking more as it got later in the night. We passed out after a bit, but then woke up, still drunk, and would keep drinking. I also remember feeling like shit, but all reasonable thinking was gone at that point, so I just kept on drinking until I felt better. Then the cycle would repeat.

The rest of what happened, I definitely don't remember, but was told about later on. Based on the last thing I remember and from what I'm told, there are two days that are completely blacked out for me. During these two days, Heather and I presumably drank more and more. Eventually, I passed out, as I had a couple of times before. But it wasn't the normal kind of passing out where you sleep for a bit and then wake up and walk it off. This time, my body, including my organs, just shut down. Heather, being about as drunk as I was, didn't—or couldn't—do anything for me. She then eventually passed out and slept a while.

Now, I've never considered myself to be a lucky person. I've never won anything, and things never really seem to go my way. So I suppose that I am lucky—I just have bad luck. I guess I was finally due for a little bit of good luck.

After Heather passed out, whenever that was, her building's landlord, at some point, came into the apartment to do a routine check on the smoke detectors. Supposedly the landlord had put a notice on Heather's apartment door a couple of days earlier, but since we hadn't left the apartment for days while on our binge, we didn't see it.

Anyways, the landlord came into the apartment and saw us passed out in the living room. I'm told that I was laying on my side on the floor in a pool of my own vomit. That was my body's attempt to eject the alcohol from my body. It didn't work, I guess, and so my body essentially completely shut down. Seeing us passed out and being unable to wake us up, Heather's landlord called for an ambulance.

After I woke up in the hospital, I was told by the hospital staff that if the landlord had not come into the apartment to check on the smoke detectors and hadn't called 9-1-1, it's unlikely that I would have regained consciousness and I would have died from alcohol poisoning.

Before this happened, I knew that what I was doing was wrong. I knew that I shouldn't be drinking again. I knew I should have been attending the AA meetings. I knew that Heather was no good for me and that I shouldn't be with her. But I clearly wasn't thinking straight. I wasn't making the choices that I should have been, and I paid for it.

Things are always easier said than done, but now I know that I'm going to make changes in my life. I know that I have to make these changes. I can't take back what I've done, but I can do things differently from now on. And I'm going to.

September 14th, 2011

I said that I was going to make changes, and I have. The first thing that I did was cut things off with Heather. That meant that I had to find a new place to stay, but it's just something I had to do. I was able to find a surprisingly cheap apartment for rent. It's certainly nothing special, but I at least have somewhere to stay where I'm not relying on someone else.

The next thing that I did was I started attending AA meetings again. I needed to get back on track to the road to sobriety. Staying away from Heather was definitely going to help me stay away from alcohol, but AA has helped me stay sober once before, so I'm sure it could happen again. I think that the meetings help me stay focused on my goal of staying sober. When I don't attend the meetings, I think about my sobriety less and its importance seems to fall to the wayside.

Not only did I start attending AA meetings again, but I had to tell the organizers about Heather. People can call me a snitch, or whatever, but I really don't give a fuck. I can't let Heather continue to be a sponsor and run the chance of her messing with anyone else's sobriety, no matter how good of a fuck she was. I'm not putting the blame for what's happened to me entirely on her. I chose to drink, but I think that without her influence, I'd still be sober, I'd still have a job, and I'd still be married, living at home with my wife. Sure, life was a struggle before things started with Heather and I, but I at least still had those things.

It's been an adjustment being alone. Even though my marriage with Myla was rocky for a long time before we divorced, I was still never alone. Right after Myla, I was with Heather. They overlapped, actually, so it's been a really long time since I've had nobody. I think it might even be the first time ever.

When I was a kid, I had my family. When I got to high school, I had different girlfriends most of the time. In university I met Myla. Then I had Heather. Now I'm here, alone. But I think it might be a good thing. I don't have to worry about being a burden for someone else or worry about letting them down. Not only that, but I can rediscover myself if I'm alone.

It sounds so corny reading that back, but it's the truth. Since I'm alone, I don't have any outside influence other than that of the AA meetings and myself. I may not have been able to trust myself before, but because of what I went through I know that I'll be able to dedicate myself to getting back to how I was before all of this.

Speaking of dedicating myself... Since I got out of the hospital and went right back to AA meetings, I have decided that in order to make things better, I need to commit to completing the twelve-step program. It's a process involving a number of steps to help reach the ultimate goal of sobriety. It'll help me in my process of recovery, but will also potentially help me restore the relationships I've abandoned and ruined over the last several years. I hadn't bothered with the twelve-step program before because, until I actually read through them one day, I hadn't realized that they have a lot to do with God. The same thing with AA meetings in general. I didn't realize how spiritual and into God people became on the road to sobriety.

When I was a kid, my family went to church every single weekend. As I got older and my parents divorced, we didn't really go anymore. As I got older still, I developed my own beliefs, and I just didn't have the beliefs and the faith that I did when I was a kid.

I have no problem with others having certain religious beliefs so long as it doesn't impede on the lives of others, but it just wasn't something that I wanted to put my faith in. I've never been someone who can blindly put my faith and trust into something that doesn't really seem to exist. But like I said, I'm fully dedicating myself to getting sober for good, and if that means that I need to find a new faith in God and religion, then I'm going to do it.

I want to write the twelve steps out here so that I can have them as a reminder for myself... and because I don't know that I'll be able to remember them all off the top of my head.

~~~

The Twelve Steps:

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable.

2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity.

3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

4. Made a searching and fearless moral inventory of ourselves.

5. Admitted to God, to ourselves and to another human being the exact nature of our wrongs.

6. Were entirely ready to have God remove all these defects of character.

7. Humbly asked Him to remove our shortcomings.

8. Made a list of all persons we had harmed, and became willing to make amends to them all.

9. Made direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others.

10. Continued to take personal inventory and when we were wrong promptly admitted it.

11. Sought through prayer and meditation to improve our conscious contact with God as we understood Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for us and the power to carry that out.

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics and to practice these principles in all our affairs.

~~~

Not only will I be going through the twelve steps, but I'll be writing in this journal more frequently in order to track my progress and to make sure that I'm completing all of the steps. I'll be sure to write again tomorrow when I really get going on the twelve-step program.

September 15th, 2011

I was just reading through the twelve steps, and I guess it's safe to say that I've already completed step 1—that my life has become unmanageable as a result of alcohol. During my time with Heather, I was able to recognize that virtually all aspects of my life were being controlled by alcohol, but I didn't do anything about it. After my time in the hospital and now that I'm on the road to recovery again, however, I can clearly see that alcohol controlled and then ruined everything in my life. I'm now looking to make changes to better myself and remove myself from the control of alcohol. On to step 2.

Step 2 might be a little harder than I thought it would be. It has to do with there being a greater power that has helped me realize that something has to change in our lives. I sort of touched on it yesterday, but I have a hard time wrapping my head around the idea of there being a God. I definitely lean towards the theory of evolution rather than creationism, and so accepting the fact that there's a higher power controlling things is a little tough for me. It's not that I completely disregard the possibility of the existence of God, I'm just a little hard to persuade sometimes.

As I think about it more, though, it's hard to attribute the timing of Heather's landlord coming into the apartment to just good timing rather than being looked out for.

This is definitely something that I'm going to have to think about for a little while. I think that what I'll need to do is suspend my logical reasoning and accept this potentially newfound faith in order to open myself up to this and to other challenges that I'm sure are going to come along in the other remaining ten steps. If I can't get through this step and accept that there's a greater power, I technically can't move on to the next step. That means that I'm basically finished with the twelve steps before I even begin.

I'm just going to have to sleep on this, think about it a little more, and hopefully tomorrow I'll have been able to convince myself so that I can move on to the next step.

September 16th, 2011

I've basically been thinking about it non-stop, and I think that I've finally convinced myself that there very well may be a power at work. There's definitely still doubt in my mind, but it's a little hard to one day change what you believe, or at least start leaning the other way. Right now, I think that this is the best that I can do. Besides, I need to move along with the twelve steps. I can't be stuck on step 2 forever, having an internal struggle of logic versus faith and belief.

My goal is to do at least a couple of steps each week. Obviously some steps are going to take longer to complete than others, but I'd like to really get going on these steps, especially steps 8 and 9—making amends.

Since I have "completed" step 2, I can move on to step 3, which seems to be similar to step 2. But, instead of just accepting that there's a greater power, I need to put my trust and belief into this power. Again, I don't know that this is something I can just do. Even just writing about things like a "greater power" sounds so ridiculous.

I've talked to some of the people at AA meetings, and a lot of them have told me that they started going to church when they started making their way through the twelve steps. This is something that I'm going to have to try. I don't think that I'll go every single weekend, but maybe a couple of times a month. I'll have to see what the closest church to me is, and what time service is at. Maybe I'll go this weekend.

Anyways, maybe I should talk about something else for a bit. My alcoholism probably isn't the best thing to constantly think about while trying to stay sober. It obviously needs attention, but I need to get my mind off of it for a bit. I remember the last time I got sober, I went through a similar thing where it was all I thought about. Then after a while, I thought about it less. I would still think about it basically every day, but I at least stopped thinking about it every moment of the day.

I'm going to start looking for a job. I've only got so much money left in the bank, and now that I'm paying rent again, it'll run out even faster. Not only that, but I need to start keeping busy. If I keep sitting around all day, every day, not only will my mind continue to go back to thoughts of alcohol, but it's honestly just super boring after a little while. Besides, part of getting sober is getting life back on track and back to normal. What's more normal than having a regular old job?

I'll need to find my resume and update it. It's somewhere on my laptop. It's been awhile since I've had to do that. That could end up being an entire evening of work. Maybe that's what I'll do tonight.

That's probably enough writing for today. I'll write again soon on my progress with the twelve steps.

September 20th, 2011

Like I talked about in my last entry, I ended up going to church this past weekend. It was pretty weird being back there. The last time I went to church was probably when I was still a teenager.

For the most part, things are pretty well the same. The order of things is the same, I should say, in terms of the prayers they do and what not. They still do that thing where the priest kind of talks but kind of sings at the same time. This priest was just as bad as the priest from when I was a kid.

I decided to stay after church to see if I'd be able to see the priest for reconciliation. I stayed in the pew as I waited for the other churchgoers to clear out. I just sat there, looking around at everyone else.

It was kind of funny. When I went to church as a kid, you got dressed up. My parents would get my brothers and I to put on a collared shirt and nice pants, and it seemed like other families did the same. Now, as I looked around at the other churchgoers, a lot of people were wearing sweatpants or yoga pants as if they were at their house on the couch watching TV. I don't know when this started, but it's a little weird that people feel that they can leave the house and go to church dressed like that. I suppose the saying "dressed in your Sunday best" isn't all that suitable of a saying anymore.

It didn't take too long for most of the churchgoers to clear out. There were a few small groups of people, mostly elderly folks, hanging around and chatting, and a few others that had stayed in their pew, like myself, but were using their time to pray, not people watch.

After a few more minutes, I saw the priest come out of the back room where the little procession comes from before mass and where they go to at the end of mass. He had taken his robe off, but was still wearing his black shirt and clerical collar—that white collar that looks like a piece of construction paper.

I got out of the pew and made my way into the church's lobby where the priest was talking to an older couple. I stood near them so the priest would maybe see that I was waiting to talk to him. If not, I could at least jump in and talk to him before someone else did and be forced to stand around and wait even longer. That's always the worst. It's not like I had somewhere to rush off to, I just wanted to get it over with.

So, when the priest's conversation with the couple wrapped up and they walked away, the priest looked over at me and with a little hesitation, I approached him. Like I said, it's been awhile since I've been to church, and the last time I had been was when I was still basically a kid. I kind of awkwardly asked him about reconciliation, and surprisingly, he was more than happy about it.

I waited for maybe fifteen minutes while he greeted other churchgoers, and then he led me into the main church hall. To the side of the altar was a hallway. At the end of the hallway was a door, which the priest opened, and again, led the way into the room. Inside the small room were two old, but comfortable looking chairs.

I don't know what it is with churches, but they all seem to have old furniture. None of them ever seem to be updated with new furniture or design. Along with the chairs, there was a lamp and a kneeler—a piece of furniture designed specifically for this, where you kneel down on a vinyl wrapped cushion and place your arms on the wooden platform that rises up from the kneeling cushion.

Anyways, reconciliation isn't like they show it to be in movies—not in my experience, anyways. Since I was a kid, it's always been like this, where there's a room with a couple of chairs. None of this booth shit, where the priest talks to you through a metal grate and you don't even have to look at them. Every time I've done reconciliation—as a kid and this specific time—I've been face to face with the priest. Not only that, but they always seem to call it "confession" in movies. I get it, you're confessing your sins, but for me it's always been called reconciliation. It's the name of the sacrament, after all. Maybe it just depends on where you're from.

Regardless of how it's done or what it's called, it was a little awkward for me. I think I would have preferred the booth thing you see in movies. That way, I wouldn't have to look the priest in the eye. I'm not an overly open person, so telling all of my screw ups to a man that I just met, priest or not, was a little weird. At the same time, I think it helped being able to tell somebody these things that I've really only been able to write about. Actually vocalizing them was a little weird, too. It's one thing to write about them because it almost makes things seem fictitious, retelling them as if they're just a story rather than true events. It's another thing to say them out loud, seeing someone's face as you say it. The priest, though, I imagine, has some experience and has probably heard some weird, if not horrific stuff, and so he was pretty stone-faced.

I started from the top and made my way through the last several years. I told him about turning to alcohol years ago and how I managed to sober up a little while later. But then I got into the more recent and worse things that I've done. Turning to alcohol once again, indulging in drugs, being unfaithful—all of which led to my divorce and losing my job.

When I finished telling my story, the priest, who had remained silent the entire time I spoke, finally said something. I was expecting a pretty generic response, like how everyone has their own inner struggles, etcetera, but he told me pretty straight up that I've messed my life up. Not that I didn't already know that, Mr. Priest. But he also told me that the only person that can help me is me. I can look for the support of others and of God, but it is me who ultimately makes decisions regarding my own life, good or bad, determining the direction my life goes and what I do with it.

That made me think. I've taken responsibility for things that I've done, but I don't know that I've ever done it without blaming someone else at the same time, or at least using someone else and their actions as a contributing factor to my actions. From here on, I need to focus on accepting my mistakes as just that—my mistakes. I need to accept full responsibility for my behaviour. I'm not where I am in my life because of Myla, Heather, my family, or anyone else. I'm here as a direct result of the choices that I've made.

September 23rd, 2011

I've got to be honest. I've decided to skip steps 3 through 7. I've been thinking about them a lot over the last couple of days, and they just don't make a lot of sense for me. They've mostly got to do with God, and I can understand their importance in terms of spirituality and all that kind of stuff, but it's just not going to happen naturally for me. I'd be wasting my time and forcing myself if I even tried to complete them. Besides, I'm anxious to get to the next couple of steps. They just seem more important than these earlier steps. Step 8, making a list of people that I need to make amends with, I plan on doing right now.

First and foremost, I feel like I need to get in touch with Myla and have a talk with her. She's by far the person that I've hurt the most, and I owe it to her to apologize. I put her through so much, so even an apology isn't going to be enough to get her forgiveness, but I hope that it will at least be a start.

After Myla, I'd like to make amends with Heather. Even though I have put a lot of blame on her in the past, I still feel like it'll be a big step for me to speak with her and straighten things out. Unlike with Myla, it's not as much about apologizing as it is talking things out, clearing the air, and making sure things are at least okay with us.

Others that I would like to make amends with are my mom, my sister Jill, and my brother Eric. I don't know that any of my family members will want to hear from me, but I need to try.

Step 9, making amends, is arguably the most important step in this twelve-step program, so I need to do what I can with them. I need them all to know that I'm working at improving my life, getting things back on track, and getting back to where I once was. From paying people back, to making up for lost time, I want to do what I can to make things right.

Those are the people I feel I need to get in touch with sooner than later. Others, like my friends, I think have lesser priority and can wait a little bit. I'll have to come back at another time and list them. I need to decide who I even might need to make amends with. For the most part, I didn't really wrong any of them. We just kind of mutually stopped contacting each other and lost touch.

Now that I think that I've got step 8 done, it's on to step 9. This step entails actually contacting the people I've just listed and making amends with them. This is definitely going to be the hardest step, and I'm nervous about it. But, I've got to do it in order to move forward and to make things right. I'll be getting in touch with Myla this weekend. Hopefully it goes well. I'll be sure to write about it once it happens.

September 25th, 2011

Today was a really odd and confusing day. I'd put it off for a couple of days, but I finally decided to stop in and see if Myla was around to see if we could talk. I wanted to begin step 9 and start making amends with people, so I headed over to her place.

When I arrived at the house—the house I had previously owned and lived in—I pulled my car into the driveway out of habit, but realized that I probably shouldn't, so I moved my car onto the street. As I walked from my car up the driveway towards the front door, it was such an odd feeling. It was the first time that I had been back since I moved out two months ago back in July. This was a place that I had lived for several years, and now it was just no longer mine.

The house looked pretty well the same, but there was a kids' bicycle lying on its side on the lawn, along with a couple of other toys. I thought it was odd, but didn't think much of it. Maybe they belonged to a neighbour or something.

I rang the doorbell and waited a minute, but no one was answering the door. I had just started retreating back down the couple of steps to leave when the door finally opened. This is when things got weird.

I turned back to face the house to see Myla standing in the doorway. I didn't expect a warm welcome, but when she saw that it was me, she immediately started freaking out. She was screaming, telling me to leave her alone or she'd call the cops again, said something about another restraining order, told me to get the hell off her property, and slammed the door shut. I have absolutely no idea what the hell she was talking about. I was left standing there with my mouth open, unable to say anything fast enough. I didn't know what to do, so I just walked back to my car, utterly confused.

Did I miss something? Maybe my change of address screwed things up and I didn't get some mail.

How am I supposed to make amends with Myla if she isn't even going to let me say a word to her? I figured that she wouldn't be too happy to see me, but that was an overreaction in my opinion. I don't know if I should give her a call, or what I should do. I thought that enough time would have passed for her to calm down, but clearly not.

It's weird, because she wasn't even mad like this when she first found out about my drinking and about Heather. She was just really upset and sad at that point. This time though, the look on her face was an expression of anger, but she almost looked scared, too. All I know for sure is that I'm really confused, and unsure what to do next.

September 27th, 2011

It's been a couple of days now, and I still haven't been able to get in touch with Myla. I don't want to go by the house again and have a repeat of what happened last time, but I might have to. The phone number that I have for her seems to be disconnected, and I have no other way of contacting her. I'll try some more later on, but for now, I need to keep going with making amends.

Next on the list is Heather. I plan on going to see her tomorrow, so hopefully that goes a little better than things did the other day with Myla. Here's hoping that's the case...

September 28th, 2011

I've fucked up... I don't know what to do. I'm panicking and I don't know how I'm managing to stay calm enough to sit and write this. I just have no idea what else to do.

I went to see Heather a couple of hours ago as a part of step 9 of the twelve-step program. I stopped by her apartment, and right away it was obvious to me that she had been drinking. She wasn't hammered or anything, but she had definitely had a couple.

Anyways, Heather invited me in, I stepped inside, and I got right to it, telling her about my road to recovery and sobriety, and about how I was doing the twelve-step program. I told her that I was on step 9, and that I felt that I needed to make amends with her because I had blamed her for what has happened to me rather than putting all of the responsibility on myself.

The whole time that I was talking to her and telling her these things, I could just see the look on her face. She wasn't even listening to me. She was just staring at me, giving me the look that I have seen so many times before, where she squints her eyes a little, and pouts her lips into a smirk of sorts.

I was mid-sentence when she lunged at me, grabbed my face and started kissing me. At first I was pretty shocked as she shoved her tongue in my mouth for a couple of seconds. Then I finally grabbed her shoulders and pushed her back. She tried to kiss me again, but I held on to her shoulders, holding her back as she kept trying to move towards me.

This went on for a little while. I fell back onto the couch and she jumped on top of me. She was basically begging me to fuck her, but that's not what I was there for. Besides, that's how I got myself into the mess I was in to begin with. Eventually I was able to shove her back so that I was able to stand up off the couch and take a few steps away from her.

Since trying to hook up with me hadn't gone how she wanted, Heather then tried to get me to take a drink from a glass of alcohol that she had poured. This pissed me off, because the last time I had seen her, I had almost died on the floor of the same room we were in, and as a result of the same poison she was trying to give me.

As I continued to explain why I was there and to deny the drink she was trying to give me, Heather stood up from the couch, clearly not paying attention to what I was saying, made her way into the kitchen, and retrieved a glass from a cupboard. She returned to the couch, sat down, and poured a drink. She then picked the glass up and handed it to me, as if having my own drink now would convince me.

I don't remember exactly what I said, but I remember telling her, clearly frustrated, to stop. But she wouldn't. She just kept on trying to get me to have a drink. It was to the point where she was pushing the glass against my face, but I wouldn't give in. And the more I resisted, the more annoyed Heather got. The glass of booze splashed on me, but I wasn't letting it get in my mouth.

After more resisting, I was so close from just screaming in Heather's face. I clearly wasn't going to get my point across to her and she wasn't going to stop trying to get me to drink or to hook up with her. I was wasting my breath and my time, and I realized that it was time to go. I figured I'd either try again with her later, or just move on altogether.

As I turned and made my way for the door, my face hot with anger, Heather stood up from the couch once again and quickly moved towards me. She grabbed my shoulder with her hand, and reacting to the sudden physical contact from her, I spun around, flailing my arms to get her off of me. This caused Heather to tumble backwards towards the couch, but she bumped against the couch's armrest, lost her balance and fell backward.

I watched in what seemed like slow motion as she fell, her face filled with what looked like a number of emotions. It was like her look of determination turned to confusion and uncertainty as she felt her body falling backward. The glass filled with alcohol that she held flew out of her hand, smashing against the wall, bits of glass clattering to the floor.

After another slow motion moment, there was a clatter and a sickening thunk as the back of Heather's head connected with the corner of the coffee table. Her body crumpled to the floor and she lay motionless.

I stood there, frozen in spot, looking down at Heather's now motionless body for a moment, mostly in shock at what had just happened. Had what I just seen really happened? It had, and I didn't know what to do. I just stood there staring at her.

After a few more seconds of uncertainty, I took a step forward and dropped to my knees, grabbing Heather by the shoulders, shaking her to see if she would respond. But there was nothing. Her eyes were open, staring straight up. She wasn't moving, either, and I quickly realized that she wasn't breathing. It was at this moment that I noticed the blood that was oozing out very quickly from the spot on the back of her head that had hit the coffee table. It just kept flowing, gathering in a massive pool under her.

For the next several minutes, I was in panic mode. I was shaking Heather, seeing if she'd wake up, even though it was pretty clear she was dead. Dead. That word. When given too much thought, death is a concept too hard to wrap your head around. And now here I was in the presence of it in a way that I had never experienced before.

After coming to that realization, I was pacing the living room of the apartment, unsure what to do. I was freaking out. I didn't know if I should call the police or not. I was about to, but then I realized that if I did, this situation looked horrible for me. Alcohol—even though I hadn't been drinking any—and a dead, pretty girl alone in an apartment with an ex-lover. I decided that I couldn't call them. I had to do something else. I had to get out of the apartment, and I couldn't be seen leaving. So, taking one last look down at Heather's crumpled, motionless body, I moved towards the apartment door, slowly opened it, peered into the hallway to make sure no one was there, and exited the apartment, closing the door behind me.

I managed to get out of the apartment building and to my car seemingly unseen. It was fairly late at night, so not many people were up and about, fortunately. Then I drove home, in complete silence, having a minor freak out when a police car approached me from behind with its lights on, but then passed me and zoomed off.

And now here I am, writing in my fucking journal like an 11-year old child, unsure what to do. There's nothing I can do. I didn't mean to kill her, but I guess that doesn't change the fact that I did. So much for making amends with her...

September 29th, 2011

I just had one of the most nerve racking days of my life. It's over with now, but it was a lot to deal with.

Last night after my great big fuck up, it took me a while to fall asleep. My heart kept beating so fast that my body wouldn't tire, and there was no way my brain was slowing down. After a couple of hours of tossing around in bed, I finally fell asleep.

After a restless night, I woke up in the morning, sat up in bed, and my stomach immediately sank. I suddenly realized that I didn't clean anything up at Heather's. I guess I was just in too much of a panic to think it through last night. I know I left her just lying there, but there was probably so much evidence in her apartment pointing to me having been there and involved in her death. I don't know how accurate they are, but with the amount of crime shows on TV, I've seen enough of them to know that police could likely easily link me to Heather's death.

I had to get back to her apartment and do what I could to erase the fact that I'd been there. I can't believe I'd been so stupid and careless. If I thought things looked bad for me last night, then now they were ten times worse after leaving the scene.

I blew stop signs and sped way over speed limits to get back to Heather's apartment. When I arrived, I parked out back of the apartment building near a rear stairwell where not many people seemed to park. I rushed upstairs to the apartment and walked quietly through the hallway towards Heather's apartment door. No police, police tape, or any other sign of life in the hallway. That was immediately relieving for me.

I approached the apartment door, slowly opened it, and there it was. There was that smell that police and others that have been around decomposing dead bodies talk about. It truly was as bad as I've always heard it described. I can still smell it now. I can only imagine what it would smell like had she been left in there any longer.

I closed the apartment door behind me and locked the deadbolt and the chain. I don't think Heather had many other friends, but I couldn't take any chances of someone coming in. You never know when someone (like the landlord) could come open the door. And I sure as hell wasn't going to get caught with a dead body.

Anyways, everything was exactly as I had left it—from the spilled alcohol and broken glass, to Heather's crumpled dead body in the living room. It's an odd way of wording it, but that was another good sign—for me, anyways. It meant that I hadn't been caught.

Over the next two to three hours, I cleaned as much as I could. I, of course, in my panicked state, forgot to bring any supplies to clean up with, so I had to make due with what Heather had in her apartment.

With a dry cloth, I cleaned any surface that I might have touched, from the coffee table, to the glass that Heather had shoved in my face, to the doorknobs. I had lived there, after all, so this took a long time. I had touched virtually everything at some point. I tried to concentrate on the things that were related to the incident the night before.

Next, I had to deal with Heather—or rather, her body. I had to decide what to do with it. Like I said, I've seen a lot of crime shows. One show in particular that I've seen features a character that kills people and then cuts up their bodies, puts the parts in garbage bags, and dumps them. At first thought, that just seemed so messy and gruesome, and I didn't think my stomach could handle that. However, after sitting on the couch and thinking about it for probably far longer than I should have, I came to the conclusion that I had no other choice. I couldn't go carrying a body out of an apartment building, day or night. And I couldn't just leave Heather's body in her apartment to be found. Someone would eventually find it, and, despite how well I think I cleaned, her death would probably still end up being tied back to me. I had to get her body out of the apartment, and I had to do it discretely.

I definitely didn't want to have to cut up a dead body, but I didn't have any other choice. I then searched Heather's apartment for something to use, but the sharpest thing I could find was a small steak knife, and there was no way in hell I was going to cut limbs and a head off a body with that.

Frantic, I quickly left the apartment, locking the door behind me with a set of keys I found hanging on a hook near the door. I went as quickly as I could to a nearby department store, picked up a hacksaw, and returned to the apartment, all in under ten minutes.

Stepping back inside, the apartment was once again as I left it, the only thing out of place being the dead body on the living room floor. I made my way over to Heather, stopping next to her. For a couple of minutes, I just stood over her, staring down at the mess I had made. This was not a situation that I ever thought I would be involved in or have to deal with. Once I came back to reality after having zoned out for a while, I got to work. It was sickening, but I did what I had to do.

The hacksaw I had just purchased was sharp, but you don't realize how tough it is to cut through human bones until you have to actually do it. It's something that I can't imagine many people ever have to do, but I'm now on that list of individuals that have.

As I cut through the skin and bone, there wasn't nearly as much blood as I had expected. Perhaps it was because Heather had been dead for a number of hours already, or because so much blood had come out from her head the night before. Whatever the reason, it was a bit of a relief. Cutting up a dead body was horrifying, but it not being so messy was somehow a redeeming value. This isn't to say, though, that it wasn't still messy.

By the time I finished cutting the body up, I was exhausted and on the verge of collapsing. Then I realized that I needed to get all of it out of the apartment to my car. I looked around Heather's apartment for something to put body parts in. I had thought of using the shower curtain, but as I entered the bathroom and reached to take the shower curtain down, I realized that it wouldn't be a good idea. Police, if they ever came here, would probably be able to piece it together. I needed to make it look like Heather was gone, not dead. Hopefully I didn't leave any evidence behind, but I needed to leave as few clues behind as possible.

Since the shower curtain wasn't an option, I settled for a bunch of garbage bags that I found under the sink, along with rubber cleaning gloves, which I probably should have been using from the beginning (both to keep my hands clean since they got covered in blood, and to keep my fingerprints from getting on anything).

I didn't trust that the garbage bags would hold or that they wouldn't leak. I checked the spare bedroom of the apartment for something else to put the garbage bags filled with body parts in. I was able to find some cardboard boxes. They had some books and other stuff in them, so I put them on a bookshelf in the bedroom and arranged it all so that everything looked natural, nothing seemingly out of place.

Next, I brought the boxes out to the living room and placed body parts in garbage bags (doubled up, just in case), tied them shut, and placed a couple of bags in each box. In the end, I had three medium sized cardboard boxes jammed full with body parts.

I know that writing all of this makes what's happened seem so casual and nonchalant, but believe me, my hands were shaking the whole time. Even now, my heart is beating a mile a minute. But, if I didn't write about everything, I'd be bursting from the inside, dying (maybe not the best word to use) to say something to someone. And this isn't exactly something I can go telling anyone about.

Now that I had the boxes packed, I did a sweep of the apartment, making sure that I hadn't left anything behind that might indicate to anyone else that something had happened or that I had been there. In my sweep, I found a bit of blood just under the couch on the living room floor that I had missed before, so it's a good thing I did a thorough double-check.

While continuing to look the apartment over, I ended up in Heather's bedroom. It was a room I had only been in while extremely drunk, and to do only one thing, so I'd never had a good look at it. Even while living there, I'd spent little time in that room. I hadn't been in there since long before the accident, but I wanted to check it out in case there was anything that indicated that I had been there at all—clothes, a drinking glass that I had used, or whatever else.

At the same time, while a little eerie, I was curious to explore the bedroom of the woman I had killed just the night before, albeit an accident. I don't want to say something lame like I was drawn to it, but I kind of was. A person's bedroom can really tell you who they are, so my curiosity got the best of me.

Despite having been in the bedroom before, when I entered it this time, it was entirely unfamiliar, for reasons previously stated. The room itself wasn't anything out of the ordinary. A bed, a bookshelf, a dresser and a mirror. The eeriness of the room, though, was elevated by the fact that the drapes were drawn and not much light was getting through.

I walked over to the dresser and mirror. I don't know for how long, but for a while I just stared at myself in the mirror. This was the first time I had seen myself since the night before. I looked like a mess. The front of my shirt had blood all over it, my eyes were dark, and my face displayed nothing but exhaustion and stress. I didn't look like myself. I looked like a murderer. That's what I am now... a murderer...

Atop Heather's dresser were numerous empty drinking glasses, along with a surprising number of empty bottles of booze, many of which I can remember seeing Heather drink from.

Next to the numerous empty drinking glasses was a bottle of perfume. There wasn't much left in it, but it still had several uses left at least. I picked it up and looked at the bottle for a few seconds. This was the perfume that Heather wore almost every single day for as long as I knew her.

I removed the cap from the perfume bottle and brought the bottle to my nose. I breathed in deeply. My eyes rolled shut as a slew of memories rushed through my body. For just a moment—a brief moment where I felt suspended in time—I was transported back to a different time where I was Heather. In a matter of seconds I experienced months of my life over again. Then I opened my eyes and I was back. I was back in Heather's bedroom, looking straight into my own tired eyes.

I set the perfume bottle back on the dresser where I had initially picked it up from and reverted my attention to the rest of the room.

I opened the first drawer of the dresser to find it filled with nothing but underwear and bras, many of which, like the drinking glasses, I remembered.

I opened the next drawer. In it were bottles of pills—some just run of the mill painkillers, others in unlabelled pharmaceutical bottles, like the ones I had taken with Heather—a couple of bottles of booze, and a small wooden box. I opened the box, and in it, ironically, I found a number of sobriety chips Heather presumably got attending AA. It's too bad she hadn't earned them legitimately. Alcohol is arguably what killed her. If I hadn't been involved, I'm sure the booze alone would have done it sooner or later.

I went to close the box, the drawer, and leave the room, but I paused. I decided to take Heather's most recent sobriety chip. Sober four years. I want to keep it to serve as a reminder, whether good or bad, for not only what happened last night, but as a reminder of the effect alcohol can have and what it can do.

I took the chip, place it in my pocket, closed the dresser up, and returned to the living room where the boxes sat waiting for me. Once again, I just stood and stared. I couldn't believe that there was a person inside those three cardboard boxes. I eventually took one more look around the apartment's living room—the scene of the crime—and then headed out.

Similar to last night, I cautiously made my way into the hallway. I set the first box that I was carrying to my car down on the carpeted hallway floor outside Heather's apartment door, closed the door, and locked it. I couldn't be too cautious. Then I brought the box down to my car and placed it on a blanket that I had laid out in the trunk. I did this two more times, then returned to the apartment one last time.

For a minute, I just stood in the entranceway, looking at the apartment. You would never be able to tell that someone had been murdered there no more than twelve hours earlier. And hopefully, no one would ever know.

Taking a final look at the apartment, I flicked the light off, shut the door (wiping the doorknobs of my fingerprints, again), and locked the door. I got back to my car, I believe, unseen. If anyone had seen me with the boxes, hopefully they just assumed someone was moving or something.

Once I got in the car, I realized that I had to go somewhere to get rid of Heather's body. I wasn't really sure where I should go, so I just kind of drove. I got out of the city and drove for about forty-five minutes. I ended up on a quiet back road, where I eventually pulled over. I don't know what it was, but the place just felt like the right spot. The trees on either side of the road were thick and seemed to cover a fair amount of land.

I ended up carrying each box into the wooded area on the side of the road that I had pulled over on. By the time I got all three boxes into where I decided to bury them, it had to have been at least another half an hour to forty minutes. I was able to find a spot in a small clearing in the trees where the dirt was particularly soft, so digging was easy—well, easier than it otherwise likely would have been. Fortunately, I keep a half size spade shovel in the trunk of my car for winter, in case I ever get stuck in the snow, so that certainly helped.

The spot that I had chosen to bury Heather seemed familiar in a way, as if I'd been there before. I doubt I ever have been, but the smell of the trees and the softness of the dirt that I dug in just gave me this feeling of remembrance, almost as if this place served as somewhere of importance. But, it might also all be in my head.

Over the course of probably two hours or so, I dug a few feet into the dirt, placed the boxes containing the body parts of Heather in the hole that I had dug, and filled the hole back in. Each shovel full of dirt that I poured into the hole felt heavy. And I don't mean physically. I mean every time I poured the dirt into the hole, I felt like what I had done was weighing more and more heavy on me.

Once I finished filling in the hole, I made sure to play around with the surface of dirt so that it didn't look freshly disturbed. I even threw some leaves and branches around so that the spot I had dug the hole didn't stand out.

I got back to my car and just sat in the driver seat. I don't know for how long, but it was a while. I just sat, the thoughts in my head flashing by as they had been since the night before. I eventually made my way back to the city. I was clearly dissociated, because before I knew it, I was back at home. And now, just a little while later, here I am.

I can't believe the past 24 hours (less than that, even) actually happened. But they did. The thunk of Heather's head against the coffee table, the lifelessness in her eyes, the smell of her body, all of the blood. All too real and unforgettable. All stuck in my mind, each replaying over and over again.

I think that experiencing this and reliving it by writing about it is enough for me for a while. I need to clear my head. I'll definitely be writing again soon with any updates, but the fewer the updates, the better.

September 30th, 2011

I've been lying low the last day, just staying in my apartment. I don't feel like going anywhere or seeing anyone—not that I have anyplace to go.

I tried washing the clothes that I was wearing yesterday and the night before, but they're stained. Only some of the blood came out. I'm going to have to dispose of them. If I hang on to them, that's just evidence tying me to Heather's death, and I can't have that.

After running the clothes through the washer, I found the sobriety chip I had taken from Heather's apartment at the bottom of the washing machine. I must have left it in the pocket of the pants I was wearing yesterday.

For safe keeping, I put the chip in a drawer of the dresser in my bedroom. The drawer is full of things of Myla, and even Heather, that I've held onto. I think so, anyways... There are pieces of jewelry, some articles of clothes, hair bands... One of these days I'll have to clean up and get rid of more stuff, something you'd think I would have done more of when I moved out of the house and in with Heather, and again when I moved out of Heather's.

Heather...

She's been on my mind most of today, but surprisingly, I've gone short periods of time where my mind moves somewhere else and I think about other things for a change. Today has otherwise been quiet and uneventful. I'm hoping it stays that way.

October 2nd, 2011

It's now been 4 days since I killed Heather. And now that the initial scare is gone and I've had time to think and settle down, things feel different. I don't feel like I did in the first moments after, during the clean up and the disposal. I don't feel like I think that I'm supposed to.

At first, I was worried and afraid. But as I've thought more about it since, I believe that this feeling came from being caught for doing what I did, rather than worry and fear that might have come from remorse and regret. I know I should feel these things, but the funny thing is, I don't.

What I did to Heather was an accident, but I don't seem to feel bad about it, like if I had done it on purpose I'd feel good about it. I may actually like the feeling. My head feels empty, which sounds weird, but my thoughts seem clearer than they've ever been. Not only that, but everything feels like a dream—as if I'm in my own world and the people that surround me have no real effect on my life and can't impact me in any way. It's almost like the feeling of looking down from the top of a high building, looking down at the ground far below, my skin constantly feeling a slight tingle. Anymore and it might almost be a kind of numbness. It's a feeling of adrenaline and excitement that feels so foreign and new that it's nearly indescribable. All of the depressing thoughts and feelings that I've had for months are just gone. It's like I don't even feel anymore. It's relieving—satisfying, even.

Thinking back to Heather's dead stare after her head hit the table and blood flowed from her, I get chills. And not bad chills, either. The kind of chills that get me excited. The kind of chills that make me want to always feel this way. I feel better than alcohol ever made me feel. Even as I write about it and think more about what I did, I almost feel better about it. I don't think I ever want this feeling to end...

October 3rd, 2011

With all that's been happening—with what I've done—I think that I might have found myself. I think that this is who I've always been—who I've always meant to be. Or maybe this part of me was always here and I just couldn't see it. This me just feels natural. It feels right.

October 4th, 2011

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

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I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

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I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.  
I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb. I vow to always feel this numb.

If I lose it, I lose it all. If I lose it all, I'll be lost. If I'm lost, I'll have to do what I need to do in order to survive. And to survive, I must do what some see as sin, but I see as living.

Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. Stay numb. Make me numb. End it.

October 5th, 2011

Earlier this evening, guess who came knocking at my door. Two cops. The moment I opened the door and saw two police officers standing there, I thought that I was done for; that they knew that I was involved with Heather's death, and that they were here to arrest me. However, after another moment, it was clear that they were here regarding a different matter.

The cops told me that they'd received a complaint from Myla. They stated that I was in violation of a no contact order set by the courts, and that this wasn't the first time time they've received this complaint. I was basically threatened that if I violated this supposed no contact order one more time, I'd end up in jail.

With everything that's happened with Heather, I had completely forgotten about my encounter with Myla. I had forgotten about how she'd screamed and demanded I leave her alone.

I had questions for the police officers, but they weren't able to answer any of them for me. I understand that they are doing their job, but I was left with far more questions after the officers left than before they arrived. Is everyone in this world going crazy, or am I just losing my mind?

Now that I've been reminded of the issue with Myla, I think it's time to revert my attention back to her. I need to get in touch with her and figure all of this out.

October 7th, 2011

I left the house early this morning. I couldn't sleep most of last night, so I finally dragged myself out of bed, got ready for the day, and headed out.

The first thing that I did was drive over to my old house—the house that Myla took from me and now lives in. It hasn't been long since I moved out of there, but it's such a distant memory at this point that I can't even remember what it looks like—on the inside, anyways.

When I arrived at the house, I parked my car across the street and down a couple of houses. I wasn't supposed to be there, but I needed to see Myla and to speak with her. I waited for a while, until eventually, the front door of the house opening caught my attention.

As I watched, a guy in a business suit emerged from the house. He walked down the pathway towards a car that sat in the driveway. A moment later, a little girl, no older than 5 or 6 years old came running out after him, a colourful backpack on her back. Finally, after her, came Myla. She looked completely different from the last time I saw her, where she was screaming at me. Instead of looking angry and scared, she looked happy.

The guy in the suit opened the rear car door for the girl that was with him, and she jumped inside. He closed the door behind her, and then turned to Myla, who had, at this point, walked down to the car. That's when the guy kissed her, and I immediately felt my face grow hot and anger tingled across my skin. I don't understand why I felt this way. I thought that I had moved on from Myla a long time ago, but clearly there was still something there.

The asshole in the generic suit got into the car and pulled away as Myla stood at the top of the driveway, smiling and waving like it was a fucking '50s TV show, the housewife bidding farewell to her breadwinning husband as he went off to work and to fool around with other women in the city. All Myla needed was a flowery apron and a beehive haircut.

As the car turned off the street, Myla went back inside and out of sight. I just sat in my car, trying to understand who that guy was and why he looked so comfortable at my house, with my wife.

I suddenly realized something at that moment. There was something that I wanted to do—something that I needed to do. I was no longer just going to speak with anyone. I was going to do much, much more.

October 8th, 2011

I love the way that I feel. I never would have believed that what I initially thought to be the biggest mistake of my life is now, honestly, one of the things I am most happy about having done. The greatest discoveries are accidents though, right?

I don't know that it's that action that I'm really "happy" about, but regardless, I do love the feeling that I get from it. If that's the cost of feeling this incredible, then so be it. I just might have to do it again and again. It's a feeling that I could hang on to forever. And I'm going to try. I don't think that I want to live without this feeling.

Why is this not okay to do? I, quite frankly, don't care if it affects someone else. If doing this makes me feel this much better, why shouldn't I be allowed to do it? But I suppose I can do whatever I want so long as I don't get caught, right?

October 9th, 2011

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take control of my life.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.  
Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

Tomorrow is the day that I take back what's mine.

October 10th, 2011

I did it again. But this time was different. This time, there was no panic, no shock. This time, there was no sinking feeling. All I felt was sheer exhilaration. That high I've been longing for since the first time. It's even better than I remember. This time, I feel the numbness that takes away all feeling, crawling all over my skin. Yes, I did it again. And this time, it wasn't an accident.

Just like on Friday last week, I got an early start to the day. I woke up, showered, and prepared breakfast. Bacon and eggs, with a side of buttered whole wheat toast, washed down with a glass of OJ. Classic. Then I headed out.

I arrived at Myla's just after 8:00am and parked a couple of houses down, again. I wasn't there more than ten minutes when, like Friday the week before, the guy in the suit came walking out the front door along with the same little girl. Just like Friday, Myla joined them outside, kissed the guy goodbye, and the guy and little girl drove off. He was taking the girl to school and heading off to work, presumably, so I had plenty of time now.

I got out of my car, grabbing a backpack that I had brought with me, crossed the street, walked down the sidewalk, and slowly made my way up the front lawn of my—sorry—Myla's house. I moved along the side of the house, walking towards the backyard. When I got there, I peered through a window that looked into the living room. At first I didn't see anything, but after a moment, Myla entered the room. I quickly ducked down to avoid being seen.

After another moment, I peeked back into the window to see Myla exiting the room and going up a staircase on the far side of the house. As she went upstairs, I took the opportunity to see if I could sneak into the house.

The back door was unlocked, so I was able to slide right inside, quietly closing the door behind me and turning the deadbolt so that the door was locked. People really do need to be more careful these days. You never know who or what is going to come creeping in.

I looked around the room that I was now in. The living room. I noticed a couple of pictures that sat on a nearby shelf. They were of Myla with the guy in the suit and the little girl. I thought I'd moved on fast... The sight of the pictures reminded me why I was there, so I returned my attention to following Myla upstairs.

I arrived at the stairs, which were located near the front door. It was also unlocked, so I turned the deadbolt on this door as well.

I crept up the stairs, stepping slowly to avoid making any noise. But as I neared the top of the stairs, I heard the trickling sound of a running shower.

I moved up the last steps and approached the door to a bedroom that I could hear the sound of the shower coming from. I peeked around the doorway, through the room, past the bed, and into the on-suite bathroom. There I could see Myla dropping the last bit of clothing she had on and stepping into the shower, closing the shower door behind her. Such a sight. One that I hadn't seen in so long. It stirred up a feeling inside of me—but it wasn't more powerful than the one that was already there. It made me hesitate, but it didn't change what I was there to do.

I waited a minute for the glass on the shower to fog up, and then I moved into the bedroom. I walked towards the bathroom, stopping at the doorway.

Looking around the bedroom I saw more pictures of Myla with the guy in the suit and the little girl. I had no idea who these people were, but Myla definitely seemed to establish something pretty quickly after just a few short months without me.

I peeked into the bathroom and I was able to see Myla's blurred shape through the fogged shower glass. Myla had always been one for long showers, so I decided to prepare while I waited for her to finish in the bathroom.

I returned downstairs and went into the kitchen. On the counter I found a block of knives. I decided I would use the largest knife, so I pulled it from the block and brought it with me.

I took the next several minutes to explore. The inside of the house just didn't feel right. Nothing seemed the same as I remembered it.

In the living room I found a man's sweatshirt along with a baseball hat, presumably belonging to the guy in the suit. I put them on myself and stood in front of a body-length mirror that hung on the wall at the bottom of the stairs near the front door.

I looked at myself. For a moment, as I looked into my own eyes in the mirror, I thought, What if I killed this new guy who was staying with Myla instead of Myla herself? Maybe she'd return to me. Maybe she'd be mine again. No, I decided. That couldn't happen. I was there for Myla. I was going to make her mine—in a much different kind of way.

I made my way back upstairs and walked past one of the other bedrooms. It had been decorated to be a little girl's room, which confirmed to me that this new guy and the little girl lived here with Myla.

So odd. I've never known anyone to move so fast in a relationship—especially Myla. When we started dating years ago, it took me nearly two years to get her into bed, for crying out loud.

On the far side of the bedroom, I spotted a plastic storage bin with a number of toys in it. I walked over to it, dumped all of the toys out, and took it with me. I would need it for later.

I returned to the bedroom and could hear that the shower was still running. As I waited, I laid down on the large bed that was centred below the bedroom window. It was comfortable, and I wasn't sure if it was the same one that I had spent so many years in. After months of poor living conditions, maybe a decent bed was just more comfortable after all of that.

Looking at the alarm clock that sat on the bedside table, I saw that it was just 8:33am. Still early. Still lots of time to do what I wanted to do.

I was twirling the baseball hat that I found on the couch downstairs on my finger, spinning it in circles when I finally heard the shower shut off. I placed the hat on my head and picked up the knife, which I had set on the bed next to me.

At this point, I had to give my head and eyes a rub. They'd begun to throb a little earlier, and it was a little bit of a distraction. I then gave my head a shake and focused my gaze on the bathroom door, where Myla would walk from any minute.

As I laid on the bed in wait, Myla finally came walking out of the bathroom, completely naked, drying her hair with a towel. As she removed the towel from her head and looked up, she saw me, and the look on her face immediately got me excited. That look... complete fear.

Myla looking at me the way that she did is the last thing I remember. The next thing I knew, I was straddling Myla on the bathroom floor. We were both completely drenched in blood and I was clutching the large knife that I had retrieved from the kitchen in my hand, my arm still extended above her. I looked down at her for a moment, and then raised my head and closed my eyes.

I took a large breath in, held it, and then breathed out, dropping the knife to the ground. At this moment, as I exhaled, my skin tingled all over... and then everything went numb. The feeling was pure ecstasy. I slapped my face with my hand a couple of times, but felt nothing. I could actually feel all of the pressure, stress, and unwanted feelings empty from my head. My chest was light, my mind was clear of thoughts, and it felt like the room was vibrating.

After another moment, I opened my eyes and looked down at Myla. Her eyes were wide, and I could see the fear in them, not unlike the way Heather's eyes looked. She was dead, but the look of terror in her eyes stayed with her as she died.

I looked at Myla's body. Though naked, virtually her entire body from neck to waist was covered as a result of a thick layer of crimson red blood, still oozing from the wounds, which there were so many of that I couldn't keep track past a few when I tried counting.

I lowered myself down towards her and slowly grabbed her face with my hands. I leaned in and kissed her forehead. We'd spent years together. I'd tried my best to always be there for her. But now, if we weren't going to be together and she wasn't going to allow me to even come near her, there was no way that I was going to allow her to live a happy life with others. I had to say goodbye in order to feel that there was closure between the two of us, and this was the best way that I knew how. Now, after all of this, she was mine in the best kind of way.

I don't know for how long, but for a long time I just stared at Myla, continuing to straddle her. I ran my finger along her body, I brushed her hair back, and just spent time looking at her. After a while, I noticed that the blood had stopped flowing from her wounds, and much of the blood had started to dry.

This is when I saw the wedding ring on her finger. It wasn't the one I had given her. Lifting her hand, I pulled the ring from her finger and placed it in my pocket, taking it with me. She no longer needed it.

It was then that I decided to clean up. I went through a similar process as I did when cleaning up after I killed Heather. I retrieved the bag that I had brought with me from near the back door where I entered the house. In it were garbage bags, along with the very same hacksaw that I had used on Heather. I then returned to Myla upstairs and proceeded to use the hacksaw to cut her up. This part of the process was different than last time. This time, there was nothing sickening about it. It was just what needed to be done in order to proceed with what I was doing. It was just part of the routine.

Once cut up, I placed the body parts into the garbage bags and then placed the bags in the plastic storage bin I had taken from the little girl's room. I then cleaned the bathroom floor, ensuring that I didn't leave any blood behind. I threw the bloody towels that I used into an extra garbage bag and left the bathroom with the bin that contained Myla. She was a small woman, so fortunately the bin wasn't too heavy.

I stood in the doorway of the bedroom and scanned the room, looking for visible signs of anything having happened or me having been there. Nothing. I saw the clock on the bedside table again. 11:59am. I'd been there much longer than I thought I had. I hurried up in case the guy in the suit came home for lunch or something.

With the garbage bag of bloody towels, my backpack, and most importantly, the bin containing Myla, I left the house through the front door.

The street was quiet (one thing I'd always liked about that street), so I got to my car no problem. I loaded the car, got in, and with a final look of the house, I drove away.

I drove to the same spot that I had buried Heather. I stopped my car at the same spot on the back road, carried the bin to the same spot I had carried the boxes containing Heather, and dug a new hole next to where I'd buried Heather. I was able to dig and make the hole faster this time; I was prepared with a full sized shovel.

I finished digging and I placed the bin that contained Myla into the hole. I popped the lid off the bin and opened one of the bags. I peered inside for one last look at Myla, and then I closed the bin back up and filled the hole with dirt. It was time to say goodbye to her.

Once I had finished filling the hole, I was ready to leave. Getting back in my car and closing the driver door shut, the silence that quickly surrounded me was so powerful. Another set of tingles shot through my body as I closed my eyes and took a heavy breath in. There it was. This is what I was wanting to feel. I was entirely numb. What I had wanted to do was now entirely done.

I eventually opened my eyes and looked down at the time on the radio. 2:34pm. I'll forever remember that time now. Not because of its chronological order of numbers, but because it now means something. It's significant. 2:34. That's the time that I left Myla behind. That's the time that I felt different. I felt lighter somehow. I had done what I had wanted and needed to do, and at that point, I felt the closure that I had desired. 2:34. I'll never see those numbers the same again.

I returned to my apartment afterwards, and until writing this now, I just laid on the floor in the centre of the living room for what must have ended up being hours. The numb feeling was so strong that I just laid on the floor, not moving any part of my body. There was only the blinking of my eyes, which itself was seldom.

I'd never heard anything so silent. I don't know if my apartment was actually that quiet, or if my mind and ears just tuned everything out, but whatever it was, it felt right. The calmness that came over me is just what I needed, and even better than I expected. It's just too bad it'll be over soon.

I never thought that I would find something that made me feel better than alcohol has several times in my life. But I have, and I love it. It very well may be my new addiction.

That's two now. The two women that I've been closest to in my life. And now they're both gone. But I had no choice. They were no good for me. They robbed me of anything I thought I could feel for someone else, and they completely fucked it, flipping it all upside down. I had no choice. I did what needed to be done, and now I feel the fantastic numbness that goes along with it. As long as I can remain this numb, I can continue living happily.

February 3rd, 2012

I was tidying up, going through some old things that I had in a couple of boxes and came across this journal. It's interesting reading what I wrote in here as a kid. Oddly enough, a number of pages seem to be torn out. If memory serves me right, the last time I wrote in this journal was in 1999 when I finished high school, and that's the date on the last page with writing on it, so I can't imagine what would have been on the pages that were torn out. Nonetheless, it's interesting reading what I've written in the past. I might as well add another entry while I've got this journal out.

The last fourteen years have gone by so fast, while at the same time, so much has happened. After high school, I attended university where I obtained a degree in business in 2003. Soon after university, I met the girl of my dreams, Kate. I bumped into her in the lobby of my then office building one day when I wasn't paying attention. Turns out to be the best mistake of my life.

Kate and I went on a date that weekend, we dated for a couple of years, and then we got married in 2008. We've been married since. Soon after we married, we bought our first home, which we still live in, and I expect we will for the next while.

When we're not at work, Kate and I spend all of our time together. Though we've been married for over a year, we're still in our "honeymoon phase" with no end in sight. We've been talking about having kids someday soon, which we're both very excited for. Until then, we'll continue to enjoy our life together before our family grows.

Anyways, I just wanted to write a little bit of an update on my life. Things are pretty great right now. I've got a decent paying job, I've got a wife whom I love, and we're happier than we've ever been. Life is good.

###

Acknowledgements

Thank you to my fiancé, Thi Van, for yet again humouring me by reading my book before anyone else. Thank you for being there to bounce ideas off of and for helping me feel normal again after writing the dark subject matter contained in this book.

Thank you to my mother, Marlene Lafortune. Despite her aversion to violence, she managed to make it through this story—well, most of it—and provided feedback on it.

Thank you to Alejandro Morais for helping support independent writing. His support is very much appreciated.
About the Author

Aidan Sisk is an independent Canadian author. He graduated from the University of Regina with a Bachelor of Human Justice degree. He published his first e-book, the non-fiction Surviving University: An Introduction to Post-Secondary Education, in 2015. 2:34 is Aidan's first fiction publication.

Other Works by the Author

Surviving University: An Introduction to Post-Secondary Education

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