A Journal (Extremely Private)

[Aiden Mumble]

This is stupid.

I don't know why I'm doing this.

Yes I do.

I feel like I have to do something with my hands or I'm going to have another panic attack. My fingers hurt from playing the guitar. Not to mention I don't want Mordred to hear and it reminds me...of him. Of him. Can I not even write his stupid name?

The point is I don't want to talk to anyone, but maybe writing stuff down might help at least organize my list of things to freak out about.

My most recent thing to add to the list is that I slept with Mordred. It was amazing, I liked it, I'm never going to do it again. I don't love him. Or...I don't love him like I love...

Why is this still hard? Why Can't I do anything? Unless you want to drink or have sex I basically don't know how to have an interaction with someone. I tried to help a girl buy a phone a while back and reminded her of her dead mother.

Drink and have sex and do drugs. That's my whole deal.

I think if I'm honest about it, which, mind you, is difficult even in writing, I drink and all that because I can't live without it. I physically and mentally could not survive without the release. When I am drunk or having sex I am forced into being honest just for a second. I am forced into vulnerability even just for a moment. And that's the only way I can do it. That's the only way I can figure out how to satisfy the human need to be seen and not be judged for it. To exist without thirteen layer of armor weighing down each word, each movement. It's the only way I know how to function. Because when you're drunk or having sex you can always either deny everything later or blame it on the chosen intoxication: lust or liquor.

Guin help me, even if I wanted to get better I don't know how.

This didn't make me feel any better.

[Aiden Mumble]

The school shipped us off so some random location. I'm not going to lie, because whats even the point, winter is my favorite season. I like having a reason to wear a lot of layers outside. I like being able to sneak rum into hot chocolate. I like fireplaces and bonfires when they're the only source of light and heat. I like the way your skin burns when you go somewhere warm after being outside too long. I like having another excuse to stay inside. I like other people having another excuse to stay inside. I like flannel sheets. I like that this means the Recital will be delayed. I like watching the snow fall.

I wish I could fall like snow does on a calm day. It just drifts lazily to the earth without much care for where it is going, enjoying the fall. I'm more like snow in a blizzard, rushing and twisting in different directions. Each flake is covered in ice, hoping that by the time it hits the ground it won't hurt so bad. Even when it manages to land for a moment, the wind stirs again and a new frightening journey begins.

I wonder if it is snowing where Hinrik is. I wonder if he is ever coming back. I wonder what I would do if he didn't. I wonder what I am going to do if he does. Ever danger that I am confronted with currently I can shape. If I am afraid I can at least push back and participate in the fight to stay above water. With Hinrik it's like punching air. I can't do anything except read the letters and not respond. Not responding feels less like fighting back and more like taking hits and doing nothing. However, if i respond he has more reason to write more letters and I have to bare more injuries. It's stupid to talk about getting hit when he is in literally battles taking literal punches and probably in physical pain.

He could die.

Maybe I'll just write something. Just so he has more reason to keep saying he isn't dead. He is a person after all. Even if I'm not in love with him, I don't want him to die. You can care about a person and not be in love with them. It's just that I don't care about people very often.

Who am I trying to convince? I'm not afraid. I can write a fucking letter whenever I want.