Notebook of a Damned Soul by Ellen M.
“I Offer You a Few Vile Pages Torn From the Notebook of a Damned Soul”
I had a flick through my old journals today.
I am not in the habit of re-reading them because it can be quite draining, and to my surprise there are still certain pages I can’t bring myself to read over.
But despite the fact that I may never want to open them again, and regardless of all the times I’ve debated throwing them all onto a bon-fire, I am very blessed to hold such an intricate link to my past (even if younger me shits me to tears something chronic).
I’ve kept journals since my first year of uni and currently I’m half way through my sixth one. It’s a habit that’s still with me and I can’t imagine myself without, for three reasons,
1. I love seeing blank pages and holding an unknowable future in my hands
2. As an excessive worrier and over-analyser I need an outlet
3. I have terrible memory so I like to write moments down so they’re not lost
What makes the older ones particularly harder to read though, is that my anxiety disorder went untreated for the first four years of journal writing, and I felt deeply isolated for a very long time.
So, I thought I’d share with you some snippets from past entries just as a small reminder to anyone who may be feeling lonely or low at the moment, that you’re not alone. I also added in some of the weirder ponderings that also feature throughout these very rough looking notebooks.
[The title of this article by the way was the forward by Arthur Rimbaud to his Deserts of Love poems]
What if this is my life forever? Not bad but incredibly lonely with nothing new happening ever.
[talking about one of my high school friends] …maybe I should stop bothering really? Because you can’t be a good friend to someone if you can’t come to peace with all their pain in the ass ways – it’s a package deal
I think I have to come to terms with my demented brain which can only seem to remember pointless bollocks like Simpsons quotes – how the fuck did I get into uni again?
It’s Christmas Eve & the very horrifying and most un-jolly thought has crossed my mind that perhaps every single thing I have ever dreamed or fantasized is doomed to not come true or that it will come true but there’s a terrible catch attached
I’m frightened that I’m that friend people compare themselves to and reassure themselves their lives are worthwhile
[after my roommates ate some of my shit] ….Fuck me, yakult isn’t even nice – this pretty much tells me anything of mine isn’t safe in that fridge, I could put bottles of my own piss clearly labelled as such and they’d still be gone.
I need to stop thinking that deep, entrenched thought I have that I’m just not talented at anything.
Failure doesn’t make me a complete write off for any kind of happiness and success in my life. I’ve never really thought this until today – but maybe there’s something beautiful in knowing that you’ve fucked everything up & surviving to tell the tale.
I’m starting to think that I’m one of those people who everyone thinks is just strange & it’s only people who I’ve eventually worn down who’ve grown to like me
There was a genuine moment of fear last night that I’m basically doomed to be rejected by every single girl I’m attracted to – I do need to drop this self-doubt bollocks though it’s just not ever appealing on anyone
[talking about my extended family] Occasionally I think maybe I could let them know I’m gay but what’s the rush? I have enough stress in my life right now & there’s too many of them, how would I do it? Get a megaphone and pull a Kanye during Kris-Kringle – ‘I’m gunna let you finish but…’ If they ask I’ll tell them, otherwise just leave it for the time being
I can’t decide whether I like the haircut I got yesterday, it is quite short. I suppose it’s not the hair’s fault that my face isn’t great & on reflection I’d prefer a wall of hair acting as a make-shift mask
I literally wrote the last of my essay in my car cause I couldn’t handle looking at the mess of my room anymore, knowing I didn’t have time to clean
…Yeah I’m doing that, fuck it I don’t care my dignity died away a long time ago
I’m sitting in the park wearing a trench coat – I probably look suss as fuck
In years’ time if I want to play the most intense as fuck drinking game I could always re-read this here journal and drink every time I mention [a girl I used to see]
Watched Revenant last night – Tom Hardy’s character, I don’t know, if someone was attacked by a bear and you had murdered their son & you’d once tried to bury them alive surely you wouldn’t try knife fighting them, you’d just let them have that victory. Fuck the olden days were grim
“That’s my beautiful wife Ellen. She’s gorgeous and I’m madly in love with her – even if she is bat shit crazy” – how I dream I’ll be described by my future wife
My box of pills read – MR Ellen M_ so that gives you an impression of the state of my face today
Ok just then I was actually involved in a war with a huntsman. I did finally get a mug over him but at one point I unintentionally sat on a nectarine so in a way we’re both winners’
I’m still such a child at heart, eating vegetables makes me pull these faces in disgust
[it was about 4am and I couldn’t get back to sleep] I’m scared though that if I look too tired and horseshit tomorrow everyone will think it’s a hangover & I made this big speech last night about how I just don’t get hangovers. So I’m really feeling the pressure to go to sleep and avoid looking like dick.
I had this strange dream last night where I’d trained a goldfish to catch Dorito’s in its mouth
I think this job, the universe is trying to teach me to live in the moment, because honestly I’ve never known a month to move so slowly, it feels like I’ve been alive for 200 years.
Just got my eyesight tested and I have some terrible news: he said I had ridiculously good eyesight. So my dream of being a sexy glasses wearer is dead.
Christ I’m bored! I’m starting to think that my life is so dull at this point in time that keeping a journal is probably unfair on you, I mean why should I write it down? So one day I can relive a time where I sat on my ass 90% of the time? At least my last journals I was a hot mess so they’d be somewhat amusing.
This is why being around people who you knew in High School kinda sucks. They assume that you haven’t actually changed in five years.
Do you think I’m going to be ok? Do you think I’ll get there in the end? How do you think I’ll turn out? What do you think it’s all leading to? Is it leading towards anything?
I’m very honoured that she’s sent me another update, I’m glad I actually managed to successfully console someone instead of making it worse. Before I was about to console her Wednesday night there was a real fear that my presence would make her cry more.
I wonder if I’ll ever have truly close friendships and relationships again. I’m very needy and I think TV and pop culture have given me an inherent and hugely unrealistic expectations of how much time friends should spend together and what meaningful relationships looks like.
Just saw a tattoo that said ‘I Bike’. My question is what happens if one day you’re no longer mad into biking – what if you fall in love with tobogganing so much that it makes biking look like a piece of shit? I’m about to get a snake on my ankle though – who am I to judge?