Sunday 17th March 2002- Elvish

Why are things so strange. The world is weird and I don’t understand it at all. Who am I? Where am I? I am here but I am somewhere else, caught between the past and the present, that insane place that relys so much on the thoughts of the other two to make it be. You can’t have a present without the past and the future. I’m scared of the things that I can’t interpret. They come back to haunt me but are never more than ghosts, that’s why they are so hard to catch, that’s why they are so evasive. Memories. I don’t want to write them down because I don’t understand them and I don’t want them to be real. So I cut myself with a craft knife. Well that’s just stupid, I don’t want to make a habit of it so I’ll let it go here. I’ll write it in elvish through fear of people reading it though it pains me to use such beautiful letters to write of such ugly things.

I have a rough idea what I was writing about here but I can’t translate elvish as I’ve entirely forgotten it. I may have to start editing these diary entries as I share it as I do start to talk about this stuff in English and it’s pretty serious, could effect other people and I have still no idea if any of it is true or if it is some kind of false memory. 

There is more but not tonight. What am I supposed to make of that? Is it normal or am I right to feel sick and worried? It runs deep you know, such unpleasantness lurks way back. Can a kid know or feel these things? it’s horrible.