Sunday, May 5th, 5:56 PM, Journal Entry 01, “Your sisters aren’t any different.”
A beginning, a beginning I fail to hold time and time again. Before you even start reading the waste I’m writing here, know my stories are different. You gotta go from top to bottom, like witnessing a bad car crash. Maybe then you'll get some kicks outta this.
And for the parrots ready to brush this off with "dnr" or think they’re all clever with the "GraYcel", listen here. I've been lurking these forums way before it got all big, way before it’d all rot in the spotlight, So when I scribble these journals, it ain't for the masses. Nah, it's for the ones who are also twisted by the illusions of this world, corrupted by it – or screw it, it's for me.
Journal Kid, a sheltered soul forced to witness the world’s superficial and shallow doings.
Not even a few hours ago, I’m told to drive my two sisters to the local theater. Of course, I plan to just drop them off, as I have no interest watching anything with other people, not that’d I’d like what people watch these days anyways. Besides, my two younger sisters were going with their friends, so it’d be weird if I tagged along with a couple of high school kids I have no business with, right? Brutal.
I walked out the door, exchanging some grumpy banter, and finally got to the car. Before we even hit the road, I got a message from my mom hounding me for some Starbucks. God, I hate those places. “Fine, alright,” figuring maybe I can breeze through the drive-thru. So off I go, driving towards the damn Starbucks, when my sisters realize I’m not following the GPS to the theater. Annoyed, I tell her to shut it and that I’ll finish up my business at the ordering speaker before going over to her little date. They don’t take that well, because the last thing girls want to do is inconvenience who matters most to them, “JFL”.
After a heated argument with my sisters, who were trying to pin the blame on me for making them late, I got closer to the order window at Starbucks. Ignoring the continued shit they gave me, I endured it in silence. Yet, a growing enraged silence.
The rage in me is only growing as I see the hot chicks and young broads walking in and out of the Starbucks, a major reason why I mentioned the dislike for this place earlier. Like seriously, what is up with coffee shops and being hotspots for these ripe aged 10/10 girls? It burns me, burns me to know they all put on an act of customer service. Despite the façade, they harbor great disgust for me as another subhuman customer, wanting so badly to disengage back to their boyfriends, for which they all have.
Paying for the coffee without tip and taking the drinks in a cup holder from the brewing lady through the window, I turned over to place it beside me in the crowded car. “It won’t fit,” I noticed. So I turn to place it on one of my sister’s laps so she can hold it for the time being. Forgetting the current state of my angered sisters, she decides to completely flip the drink I was lowering on her lap with a sharp flick, shrugging it off so it falls onto the car’s passenger floor, wetting it completely.
That was the last straw… Suddenly I didn’t care if the brewing lady was to the side of me, or that I was in public, or that up to this point I have never uttered a word of vulgarity to my sisters or family, none of it mattered anymore, the next words I spoke were character shattering.
“You fucking whore,” I told her, my voice rising and the young Starbucks college girl at the drive-thru widening her eyes. “You stupid fucking whore,” I spit out, hitting the pedal in rage, the engine roaring. Ironically, my sister starts bawling. Funny how that works, huh? She's the one dishing it out and now she's the one crying? I’m the bad guy now? How’d that happen? I ignored it, speeding faster and faster, pushing the engine without consent. “I’m going to crash this stupid fucking car and watch you die, dumb bitch.”
My sisters grow increasingly agitated, their only retort being “This is why you have no friends,” “This is why you’re alone,” “This is why nobody likes you.” I slur their words back at them, the loudest I've ever had to speak really, with the windows open for the world to hear. “I don’t give a fuck if I’m alone, I don’t give a fuck if I’ll always be alone, and I don’t give a fuck if nobody likes me.” My own voice sounded pretty foreign to me, but I don’t regret it to be honest.
I’ve never cussed out my family, never swore in front of them. Being strict, it wasn't a thing. But at 19, my face keeps changing, and not in a good way. I couldn’t contain it anymore. The world twists me, corrupts me, and I am snapping, losing the mask. The harsh truth of how just another nameless man is treated in this world is a bitter pill to swallow.
But it’s a conclusion I’m coming into, and I’m finally accepting it, seeing beauty in it. My face is always changing, not in a good way. I don’t really care, is what I should say.
A beginning, a beginning I fail to hold time and time again. Before you even start reading the waste I’m writing here, know my stories are different. You gotta go from top to bottom, like witnessing a bad car crash. Maybe then you'll get some kicks outta this.
And for the parrots ready to brush this off with "dnr" or think they’re all clever with the "GraYcel", listen here. I've been lurking these forums way before it got all big, way before it’d all rot in the spotlight, So when I scribble these journals, it ain't for the masses. Nah, it's for the ones who are also twisted by the illusions of this world, corrupted by it – or screw it, it's for me.
Journal Kid, a sheltered soul forced to witness the world’s superficial and shallow doings.
Not even a few hours ago, I’m told to drive my two sisters to the local theater. Of course, I plan to just drop them off, as I have no interest watching anything with other people, not that’d I’d like what people watch these days anyways. Besides, my two younger sisters were going with their friends, so it’d be weird if I tagged along with a couple of high school kids I have no business with, right? Brutal.
I walked out the door, exchanging some grumpy banter, and finally got to the car. Before we even hit the road, I got a message from my mom hounding me for some Starbucks. God, I hate those places. “Fine, alright,” figuring maybe I can breeze through the drive-thru. So off I go, driving towards the damn Starbucks, when my sisters realize I’m not following the GPS to the theater. Annoyed, I tell her to shut it and that I’ll finish up my business at the ordering speaker before going over to her little date. They don’t take that well, because the last thing girls want to do is inconvenience who matters most to them, “JFL”.
After a heated argument with my sisters, who were trying to pin the blame on me for making them late, I got closer to the order window at Starbucks. Ignoring the continued shit they gave me, I endured it in silence. Yet, a growing enraged silence.
The rage in me is only growing as I see the hot chicks and young broads walking in and out of the Starbucks, a major reason why I mentioned the dislike for this place earlier. Like seriously, what is up with coffee shops and being hotspots for these ripe aged 10/10 girls? It burns me, burns me to know they all put on an act of customer service. Despite the façade, they harbor great disgust for me as another subhuman customer, wanting so badly to disengage back to their boyfriends, for which they all have.
Paying for the coffee without tip and taking the drinks in a cup holder from the brewing lady through the window, I turned over to place it beside me in the crowded car. “It won’t fit,” I noticed. So I turn to place it on one of my sister’s laps so she can hold it for the time being. Forgetting the current state of my angered sisters, she decides to completely flip the drink I was lowering on her lap with a sharp flick, shrugging it off so it falls onto the car’s passenger floor, wetting it completely.
That was the last straw… Suddenly I didn’t care if the brewing lady was to the side of me, or that I was in public, or that up to this point I have never uttered a word of vulgarity to my sisters or family, none of it mattered anymore, the next words I spoke were character shattering.
“You fucking whore,” I told her, my voice rising and the young Starbucks college girl at the drive-thru widening her eyes. “You stupid fucking whore,” I spit out, hitting the pedal in rage, the engine roaring. Ironically, my sister starts bawling. Funny how that works, huh? She's the one dishing it out and now she's the one crying? I’m the bad guy now? How’d that happen? I ignored it, speeding faster and faster, pushing the engine without consent. “I’m going to crash this stupid fucking car and watch you die, dumb bitch.”
My sisters grow increasingly agitated, their only retort being “This is why you have no friends,” “This is why you’re alone,” “This is why nobody likes you.” I slur their words back at them, the loudest I've ever had to speak really, with the windows open for the world to hear. “I don’t give a fuck if I’m alone, I don’t give a fuck if I’ll always be alone, and I don’t give a fuck if nobody likes me.” My own voice sounded pretty foreign to me, but I don’t regret it to be honest.
I’ve never cussed out my family, never swore in front of them. Being strict, it wasn't a thing. But at 19, my face keeps changing, and not in a good way. I couldn’t contain it anymore. The world twists me, corrupts me, and I am snapping, losing the mask. The harsh truth of how just another nameless man is treated in this world is a bitter pill to swallow.
But it’s a conclusion I’m coming into, and I’m finally accepting it, seeing beauty in it. My face is always changing, not in a good way. I don’t really care, is what I should say.
