I'm just an animal looking for a home

Journal Entry


Note:  The only changes to this entry are minor corrections to grammar, punctuation, formatting, and spelling.  I’ve also removed any last names which appeared, except in the case of teachers.

Dear Maile,

Well, you didn’t show up last night.  I waited until about 2:20AM…  That is why I am writing you this.  If you will not meet me in person to discuss the end of it all, then I will have to write it down and give it to you.

By now you should have read all the new journal entries.  If you don’t hate me yet, wait, you probably will.  I say that knowing that you hate nobody.

You may have noticed that in one (or maybe more, I forget) of my entries, I referred to a journal entry in my older journal.  That is the first reason you ought to hate me.  Not because I referred to my other journal (oh yes, you should kill me for that!  Sarcasm, dontcha love it?)  but rather for what I wrote in my older journal.  If you have ever thought I was sick, evil, or perverted, you don’t even know half of what was written in my other journal.  I have just been re-reading parts of it, and it makes ME sick.  I don’t want to consider THAT a part of my past.  I am going to tear out all the “evil” pages and burn them.  It’s as close to purging them from my past as I can get.

I have “erased” 3 months of the worst material included in my older journal.  I left a lot of stuff in there, so you could see why you ought to hate me.

That is not the point.  I still have yet to tell you what “the end of it all” means.  Well, you can wait a bit longer.  I still have to say some other things before I tell you.  I’ve been wanting to tell you a lot of things, but I’ve either been scared, or I haven’t had a chance.  If you still are friends with me after you finish reading this and my earlier journal, you’re crazy.  Well, I guess I’d better begin.  You might not care about half the things I write, and you may wonder why I wrote them.  I just want to tell you everything before I lose the chance to; before it’s too late.  This should please you — The fact that before long, you may never see me again.  Think of that and be happy.

First, I don’t believe deep down that you like me.  I would bet my life (I’d bet my life on most anything, yes, but it’s the only phrase I could think of.  You understand) that you will never love me.  I find it hard to believe you care at all about me.  After last night on the phone, and the way I was acting like such a bastard, I’m surprised you don’t hate me.  Maybe you do.  You ought to.  I don’t know how you could prove you like me.  I don’t think you want to or will try anyway, so why should I try to think of ways for you to prove it?  This brings me to my next thing.

You never acknowledge anything in my journal.  You read it, but never talk about it, refer to it, or ask questions about it.  I was surprised you asked me about “the end of it all.”  I thought you would not even ask me that…  I knew you would not ask me to dance.  There was never a doubt in my mind.  I know I may be being unfair, but you only said one thing to me at the party, and it wasn’t even to try to cheer me up.  It seemed only Kelly cared at all about me.  I don’t know why.  It has given me a new respect for her, though.  Don’t think I am saying I do not love you — I will always love you above all others.  I have no way to prove this, but if you ever see me a long time after now, you can ask me then, and it’ll still be true.  There is no point loving others when none can compare to you.  I just wonder why Kelly had sympathy for me and you didn’t seem to.  You know the only time I can remember you having sympathy for me in public was once, on the bus, when you asked me if I was alright.  But Matt S. has asked me that several times.  I would like to think you care for me more than him.  But it causes me to wonder…  Are you ashamed of being my friend in public?  It would seem that way.  I wouldn’t blame you.  I would just like to know, one way or the other.  I can stand rejection and I like acceptance, but NOT KNOWING is a hellish torture.  Just tell me!  Write it down or say it to me.  Either way!  But I doubt you will.  You won’t make reference to things I write.  I wish you would.

As I said in an earlier entry, I am sick of always being compared to Hawaii and California.  I know you never say it out loud, and you might not even realize it, or maybe I’m crazy, but you always say great things about Hawaii and California, and you say you hate Texas.  So you’re basically saying you hate me.  I am sure you would deny this, and maybe you’re right, but I know if you had your choice of living in Hawaii, California, or Texas, Texas wouldn’t be chosen.  So I know I’d never have a chance to win your heart;  you only have eyes for California.  I shouldn’t even try to win your heart.  But I must.  I love you, and there is nothing I can do about it.  Except for suicide.  But I’d still love you.

Oh yes, I forgot another thing about the dance.  As I was walking around the room, you danced with Cameron once.  That is when I put all the candles out with my fingers.  I hardly felt the pain in my anger.  I wasn’t made at you.  I was mad at myself — and Cameron, of course.  It was at that point that I turned totally toward suicide.  People who asked me what I was doing after that, I said “You see that tree?  I wish I was hanging in it.”  I was going to tell you goodbye, but for some reason I didn’t.  Maybe that’s why I didn’t kill myself.  Maybe not.

Oh yes.  Now that you don’t like meeting at night (as I discovered even more so last night), my future is even more bleak, because that was when I got opportunities to talk to you.  But life sucks.

I am never going to kiss you, am I?  That would make all the pain worth it — just that token of friendship;  that symbol of affection would relieve my burdened heart.  But I know you will never kiss me.  But still I ask, have you ever really kissed someone?  I mean, french kissed?  I know you won’t answer that either, but what the hell, it’s worth a shot.  You probably won’t even acknowledge it.  I’m just a hopeless romantic, but nobody will be romantic with me.  Am I eternally destined to live this hell?  If so, I wish you would help me through it.  But you won’t.  I realize that.  It’s become clear to me.  I used to hope you might some day kiss me, or love me.  Now, as pleasing as the thoughts are, I know they are impossible.  This letter to you carries all of my remaining hope.  It is not a great amount, and it is almost certainly doomed to fail.  But I have no better way to put forth my last will to live.  I offer it, and my life, to you.  You can do with me what you want.  I don’t care anymore what I tell you.  It won’t make any difference.  The only thing keeping me going is my hopeless love for you.  You probably don’t believe it, but it’s quite true.

You never call me, or ask me to take walks with you.  I think you called me maybe 2 times.  Do you dislike me?  It would seem so.  If this were one isolated incident, I might understand, but it’s always this way.  Even when I was sick, you didn’t call me to see how I Was feeling.  I had to call you.  Even Matt S called me to see how I was, for God’s sake.  I am not mad at you.  I just WANT to know where I stand with you.  Please tell me.  Maybe I have no self-confidence and I am really insecure, but please tell me where I stand with you.  Please.

(I think I am almost ready to tell you about “the end of it all”)

Maile, I can look at you forever.  I constantly gaze out my window to look for you.  It renews my love for you to gaze at you.  It is one of the few remaining good parts of my life.  You are irrevocably a part of my life.


You undoubtedly have read my numerous entries about running away.  Well, I am going to.  Curtis, Matt S, Natascha (the girl I met on Videotel.  I’ll show you some of her letters and/or pictures if you want), Copper, and I are going to run away.  I originally was going to take you, but I realized you would never do that, especially with me.  I still would like you to go, but I know you won’t.  You’ll say something like “We have to save the lobsters first.”  Hell, we could save them once we were on the run.  I planned to swing by Santa Barbara and pick up Summers, as she wants to run away too.  Then we wanted to head north to Oregon or Washington.  I wanted to sometime revisit you, since you wouldn’t go, but that didn’t seem likely.  So once we run away, I probably will never see you again (unless you come with us, which would be heaven).  We planned to leave school and escape that way.  We might then take a bus to Baytown to get Natascha.  Curtis said some of his friends might want to go too.  The more of us there are, the more money we would have.  I know this isn’t as big as I made it out to be.  The main reason I said I needed more time last night was because I wanted to meet you at night and get to talk to you.  I hated myself for that.  I should have told you last night on the phone.  At least this way you’ll know everything.  I really hope you’ll go with us.  But you have no good reason to.  We might even escape to Canada, so we can’t be arrested.  We originally planned to run away immediately after summer vacation.  Now we are going to try to leave ASAP.  We are all trying to save as much money as possible.  Please come with us.  If you don’t, DON’T tell anyone.  Please acknowledge this part of the letter.  Don’t pretend you never read it.  If you have questions, ask them, dammit (I love that word).  You can either write me back or talk to me about this.  Do one or the other or both.  But do at least one of them.  Please.  If you don’t want to go, don’t tell the others I told you about it.  If you do, let me tell them.  I seem to be the unofficial group leader.  I spawned the idea, and they all like it.  But I need to plan the whole thing out so we can succeed and not have a short escape, like Matt S’s.  It is almost 2PM so I guess I ought to give this to you.  I am sorry if I made you made.  I am sorry about everything.  I love you.

P.S. If you like, you can write your reply in here.  But please, even if you don’t write it in here, reply.  I love you.

P.P.S. Damn, 11 pages!  Harf!  Fluff!


Author: mitcharf

vegan, curmudgeon, animal lover, feminist, agnostic, cat whisperer, bookworm, hermit, Red Sox fan, Cthulhu enthusiast, softball player, man-about-town

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