Below are the 2 most recent journal entries recorded in Gregory's LiveJournal:

Tuesday, April 23rd, 2002
12:26 am	The Eye of Horus I've neglected to return to this journal, and at first it was not intentional. Over the past week, though, I have felt a building sense of ambivalence. Admittedly, this is not novel; merely another regression. I've tried to convince (moreso deceive) myself to assume a splendid edifice, a porcelain demeanor. The glaze is weakened with crazing, and I fear it will crumble before long. I tell myself I have a future, that providence is on my side. I tell myself that these scars are nothing to fret over, that noone will notice. I say I'll get past these obstacles in my path. I believe these things for a time, before some offhand comment or random thought dredges my doubts back to the surface. So I've been lurking, in a sense, crawling through my misgivings. Perhaps I'm waiting for someone to find me; to rescue me. That's derisory, of course, as I know it will never happen. I could quietly drown in a sea of insignificancy. Part of me wishes to do simply that. I want to talk to Andy, have him say again the words I need said. He has told me that I may do so whenever I'd like, yet I can't bring myself to consume his time with these self-indulgent cries and dire ramblings. I would be as a pebble; small and irrelevant, but capable of much tumult if thrown into his tranquil pool. I will always covet the time I've had with him. He has moved on to verily better things, and I'm happy for him. I've only one target to fix my gaze upon: college. Even this grows more distant by the day. If I lose sight of it, or if I'm refused entry, I will have nothing left to fight for. For the present, at least, I will try to endure. I'll get through each day that I remind myself there could be something in this world for me that's worth this pain. Until the day I forget. I'm not sure I still care when that day comes (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, April 6th, 2002
2:07 am	Venturing Forth Thanks to the generosity of Andy, I now have my own journal to scribble in. I'll try my best to order my muddled thoughts into something comprehensible. ~ These last few years have worn heavily on my spirit, and I've honestly no idea how or why I should continue. I'm writing this not long after watching a favourite friday night comedy/satire show with my mother ("Made in Canada," or "The Industry" to Americans). It's always good for half an hour of chuckles, but tonight it ended a little sourly. For myself, at least. The end of the episode gave us the revelation that a guest character is a lesbian, pining for one of the regular cast. As the credits rolled, my mother spoke the following words: "Things were so much better when the gays stayed in the closet. Now you never know who's doing what. It scares me." It was of small comfort that she chose not use some other popular synonym for the term "gay." As I heard her say this, I tried to immediately block it out; pretend I'd just imagined it. That never works, of course. This is just another substantiation of my fears. Another reminder of why I'll never be good enough. While my father thinks me no better than the squirrels fornicating in the crawl spaces, I know my mother loves me as surely as I love her. Yet I am also convinced this would be radically changed if she ever discovered my true self. She was raised Catholic, so these ideals are ingrained. I doubt I'd have much success sanding them out. It would be merely another reason for my father to spew his invections at me. I don't want my mother doing the same. I yearn for acceptance by those I love, though perhaps I shouldn't expect it. Afterall, I don't really have reason to see myself in a flattering light. I hear Shakira singing "Underneath Your Clothes." This causes me to wonder, "who would ever want to see what's underneath mine? Why would anyone wish for a glimpse of a body resembling that of a war victim?" It may seem vain to be concerned with aesthetics. It may well be, but I find it difficult to think of it as somehow insignificant. Though my acne isn't so bad on my face, it has compromised my presentability below the neck. My scars are hidden by my shirt - my shield. It's hard to feel valuable while also feeling grotesque. I know it is an exaggeration to feel like John Merrick. I know that "looks aren't everything." I also know with fair certainty that most take one look at my acne and never bother with a second glance. So, here I fester. A prisoner in this house, cursed by his own body and tormented by his mind. There is little chance of escape in sight. I did get that course application form today. A gleam of salvation, albeit dim. It snowed today, for the third day in a row. Flurries will go on through the night, but it isn't supposed to snow tomorrow. That's something. Looks like a high of 3 degrees. A possible viewing of The Panic Room is all I have to look forward to. Deo Volente. And now that I've made myself sound like a blithering fool, I'll end this for today. I can find solace in a chrysalis of cotton. Current Mood: despondent Current Music: Sarah McLachlan - Elsewhere (1 Comment |Comment on this)