the thoughts you dare not share.

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the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:23:12 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:23:12 GMT -5

UNTOLD SECRETS LIE WITHIN,
DARE YOU OPEN―?

Inside a drawer or perhaps on top of a desk or maybe on the ground, fallen out of a bag lies a notebook. No, not a notebook. A journal. You pick it up, curious. The book looks vintage, though from what you can see it's hardly been used. None of the pages look torn or even worn down. There's a leather string wrapped around it. You open the cover, curious. Inside the first page is blank, except for a few simple words. In black ink and elegant handwriting the page states:

"Property of Adrian Navarre"

A simple message. Maybe Adrian Navarre is a friend of yours, a lover, an enemy, or a stranger. Whatever you decide to do now is up to you. Do you open it up? Do you let your curiosity get the better of you? And what do you do with this newfound knowledge? How does it feel knowing that whatever you find out, or choose not to find out, not a single other person in the world knows. And no one will ever know if you choose to read beyond that point.

I can't decide for you, it's up to you what to do next. So, do you turn the page to see what secrets lie within the leather bound pages? Or do you set down the journal and pretend that you never saw it in the first place? You might want to hurry with whatever decision you choose to make. Before the owner notices the books absence or comes back. Now it is your time to decide.

ADRIAN NAVARRE'S JOURNAL

by sixsmith
[OOC NOTE: The first five entries are his character bio]
[Any entries thereafter are based off of actual site events]

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the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:24:04 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:24:04 GMT -5

GENERIC WHITE BOY #2587
JOURNAL ENTRY ONE―

~~Dear diary,~~
No, no scratch that. That's generic and cheesy bullshit. If I'm going to write in this stupid thing it's going to be a journal, NOT a diary. A journal is something simple, lots of people journal (at least that's what I've heard). You know who writes in diaries? 12 year old girls who write about the boy that they like. They write in a glittery diary with stickers on it and they write about embarrassing shit. That's not what this is - that's not who I am. Now, let's try this again, from the top.

Hello journal thing,
Man, I need to find a better way to start these things. How do people normally start journal entries? Do they just go right in? Anyway, I thought it might be a good idea to start journaling. Apparently, it's a good way to deal with stuff without having to really involve anyone else. Not that I have a lot of shit to deal with - at least not a lot of shit I care about enough to write down. We'll see if I make it past this first entry. Or if I just rip out these pages, throw them in the trash, and shove this book in a drawer for who knows how long - again.

I guess I should start by introducing myself. I know who I am and no one will ever read this so I don't see why people seem to do this, but I am nothing if not a follower (sarcasm is great, isn't it?). My names Adrian. Adrian Navarre. If you need to ask how to pronounce the last name don't bother trying, you'll do it wrong anyway. I'm seventeen and I'm what they call a "career", I'm training to one day be in the Hunger Games and take home the win for district 4 or whatever bullshit. It's just me and my dad, has been for a few years now. Life is ~~good~~ life.

I read a book about journaling techniques, they really have books teaching people how to do anything now days. One way to start out is to just describe your appearance so you can get comfortable doing that before describing your life or problems. So, I'll try doing that. I'm average. Picture an average dude with pale ass skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, and about who's 6 foot 2. Boom, you know what I look like. Now I know, I know that's not what it means. I guess if I'm going to waste my time doing this I might as well take it seriously.

Like I said I'm average. I'm about 6 foot 2. I don't know my exact weight, for training we focus less on weight or BMI and more on muscle to body fat ratios, but I'm around 160 pounds, maybe a little more. And most of that is muscle, though I'm no body builder. I have an athletic body type for sure and you can tell I have muscle mass, but a lot of guys are way buffer and way stronger than me. When it comes to training I do a bit of everything, of course, but my biggest strength is definitely in my speed and agility. Helps when you have long ass legs.

As for my face... it's my face. I don't know how to describe it. When I see it in the mirror all I can think is "well yup, that sure is my face." If I had to think of one word to describe it, it would be pale. Sometimes I'll try to tan, but I go from "porcelain" to "light ivory". I just cannot hold a tan for the life of me. Thinking of things I can't do, I hate how smooth my face is. I don't mean acne wise, what teenager doesn't get acne? I mean the fact I can't even grow the slightest of stubble. My dad has to shave daily but no, here I am, smooth as a baby.

That means I have nothing to cover the mole or beauty mark or freckle or whatever you want to call it on my chin. I hate it, I always have. I've honestly thought of covering it with makeup or something but my dad would get bad. His son, the disappointment, wearing makeup. Honestly I can't think of anything that would anger my dad more. Even if it would help me feel better about my face. Even if I had more confidence because of it. I would never be allowed to do it. Never.

I have more freckles and marks on my face, but they're a hell of a lot smaller and a lot less noticeable than the one on my chin so they don't bug me near as much. Let's just stop talking about this, it's just a stupid mole and it's not that important.

As I mentioned before, blonde hair and blue eyes. My hair is in fact natural, yes the carpet matches the drapes, and no blondes don't have more fun. I've heard all of the jokes, and I'm still ~~smrater~~ smarter than you. While there are things I dislike about my face, the one thing I do really like are my eyes. Having ocean blue eyes in district 4, ironic isn't it? But I like them. Blue has always been my favourite colour for as long as I could remember. My dad has blue eyes too, but his are different. His are a colder blue, a shade that freezes you to your very core. No, I have my mothers eyes. They're a soft blue. My fathers are a violent sea, sinking ships. Mine are like hers, a softly flowing stream. And, if I could wear makeup, not that I want to, I feel like I have the eyelashes to not use that thing that makes your eyelashes pop. Eyeliner or eyeshadow or whatever it's called - the wand thing.

Now that's about it for the things I like, back to the things I dislike - which is pretty much everything else. You know how some people don't have any lips or don't have eyebrows? I don't have either one. Lucky me. Of course I actually have eyebrows and lips. But my eyebrows? Blonde, thin, and hard to see. If I do manage to tan boom my skin is the same colour as my hair and therefore the same colour as my eyebrows. This creates an effect where my already thin and hard to see eyebrows (due to the lightness) are even harder to be seen. Though, I've figured out a trick. If I take pictures with the flash on it lights up my face and eyebrows enough that it makes my eyebrows look less invisible.

As for my lips? Again, thin. My lips are a light pink, I mean what else would they be? But holy hell are they thin. Especially my top lip. I hate it, I smile weird in pictures if I don't show my teeth. But if I do show my teeth then my lips look even thinner. It's really a no-win situation when it comes to those sons of bitches. I really am running out of things to describe here. I guess I can add more on in a later entry if I think of more but this is me for now. And I think this is enough reflection for now too. This shit is harder than I thought it would be and we haven't even gotten into it yet.

ADRIAN NAVARRE

by sixsmith.

Last Edit: Jun 7, 2021 22:30:14 GMT -5 by Deleted

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the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:27:50 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:27:50 GMT -5

NOTHING BUT A COWARD
JOURNAL ENTRY TWO―

Hey journal,
That introduction went better... I think. I might be getting the hang of this journaling thing, at least the writing part. The part about opening up still kind of terrifies me. Yes, it terrifies me. That's not surprising though, after all I'm just a big coward. I feel like a big coward. Other people don't know that about me, they aren't aware of how scared I truly am. I'm not some pussy who's scared of every little thing, including their own shadow. If I was, maybe that would be better. I wouldn't be able to hide my true cowardly nature if that was the case. See, the thing is. Not only am I a coward, but I'm a fucking liar. I'm just a fucking liar.

I know I could fix this by opening up about my fears. I could go to my dad or my friends and mention the things I'm scared of. Drowning, humiliation, being a disappointment, losing my dad... But doing that would only make my fears become real. If I admitted I had these fears I'd be humiliated, I'd disappoint my dad, and I'd lose him in the process. It wouldn't be the same way I lost my mom, but he probably wouldn't want anything to do with me anymore. I know he loves me, he's always loved me. But he can also only take so much disappointment. Why should he have to deal with a cowardly son?

You know what? Screw this. Screw this big pity party. This journal is supposed to help me feel better, not remind me of everything I hate about myself. Yes I have bad qualities that I dislike and others dislike. I'm a coward, I'm a liar, I hide shit, I'm overly sarcastic, and I just go along with the crowd instead of doing what I want. But, that's okay. Because that's what makes me me, and there are way worse people to be. There are just things I need to work on. And maybe if I write those things out and try to analyse them it'll help. I just need to try not to let my writings get consumed with pessimistic thoughts - though that's hard. I tend to be a natural pessimist. Wait, is that another bad trait? Or is it good? You know what? I'll just describe myself here. It's not like anyone else ever has to see it and it can help me get to know myself better. Maybe I can develop myself better and work on letting my positive traits shine through more and try to fix my negative traits. But probably won't happen and I'll keep being myself. It's worth a shot.

Negative:
- Coward
- Liar
- Secretive
- Follower
- Cynical
- Indecisive
- Panic attacks (not a trait but fuck off it's my journal I can write what I want)
-
-

There are the negative traits I could think of. I left a couple of lines empty so if I ever want to go back and revisit this list and add some I can. Maybe one day I'll be able to cross off some of these traits too. Before I start with the next category I should probably look at these closer. I was going to go through all of my self-assigned traits at the end, but this makes it easier for me to look back on. I might as well put this journal to good use after all. I'll just have to take this one trait at a time. For each trait I want to look at what the trait really means, how it effects me currently, and how it could effect me. I'm not going to come up with possible fixes for the traits because if I knew how to fix them then I wouldn't have these traits in the first place, dumbass.

First up, I'm a coward. If these journal entries have themes this entry would probably theme around my cowardice. As I said, I'm a coward but not a little bitch. I have a lot of fears, but I'm not absolutely terrified of everything. The things I'm scared of though are bullshit fears. Like I've mentioned I'm from district four. Here are economy runs based off of fishing. We're known to be pretty strong swimmers and usually perform better in Hunger Games arenas focused on watery areas. But I'm terrified of the water. Well, specifically drowning, but it's hard to drown if there isn't any water. I don't have any real reason to be scared of water is the worst part. No deep trauma related to it or even just getting water up my nose as a child in the bath. I just- when I look at a deep source of water I get lost in my thoughts. The dark and deep void that seems never ending. It draws me in. My brain can feel and see myself sinking. I can't help but picture an invisible force pulling me in. Hell, when I swim for training purposes I feel as though some unseen monster is going to drag me under at any second.

It's ridiculous, isn't it? My body feels with dread and panic. Then the panic attacks set in. But we aren't there yet, I need to focus on one thing at a time. I have lots of fears, more than the ones I mentioned, but those are the ones that effect me the most. I don't think anyone is truly fearless, it would be ridiculous to expect myself to become fearless. Growing up I thought my dad was fearless, but as I got older I began to see the humanity in him. That was the most terrifying moment of my life.

Fuck. I'm going off on a tangent. Again. I mean, at least I opened up. Sorta. I really don't get this journaling thing, though it does feel kind of nice to be able to write out these thoughts I dare not share with anyone else. Anyway, back to my cowardice. Drowning. This could definitely effect me negatively. I'm a career, I might eventually go into the games. If that happens and if I end up having to swim, I don't know if I'll be able to. If I know I'm going to have to swim ahead of time I can psych myself up. In a life or death situation, what if I in that moment decide to choose death by murder instead of by drowning? What if I can't stop the panic attack while swimming and drown? I need to get this fear handled.

That leads me to my next fear, humiliation. I feel like this is a common fear, but I don't care. I don't like having it. I feel like it goes hand-in-hand with my anxiety, and maybe even my panic attacks. Maybe I would know for sure if I saw a therapist. But for that to happen I'd have to tell my dad I have panic attacks and I have anxiety and I have these fears. And I'm just not ready for that conversation yet. Maybe one day...

Moving on, I need to look at my fear of humiliation so you really understand it. Whenever I get in crowds or I have the spotlight, I feel like a million of eyes are on me. This can cause me to freeze up and begin to fill with anxiety. One year I felt ready to volunteer as tribute. This was before my mother died. I dressed nicer than I had for any other reaping. I practiced in the mirror the entire previous night how I was going to volunteer and perfected the best smile I could for when I got on that stage. I wrote letters to give to those closest to me. I was ready.

But, then the moment came. And I froze. I stood there silently. Then before I knew it, my opportunity had vanished in an instant. Despite how ready I felt, that feeling was lesser than fear. My fear of humiliating myself. What if my fear of water came true and everyone saw? What if everyone just stared at my mole and not at me when I got on that stage? What if I said the wrong thing? What if I volunteered for the female tribute instead of the male? What if I tripped when walking? So many humiliating things could have happened. So that stopped me from doing anything. And that will probably happen in the future. My fear of humiliation will just get in the way of the things I want to do. Hell, I could barely ask out any of my ex's. Yeah some of them were bitches, but some of the relationships were pretty worthwhile. It just felt... even though they were nice and pretty... it felt like something was fake. Like I was lying by dating those girls. I still don't know why I felt that way.

I'm going to skip over my fear of disappointing others. Why? Well two reasons. (1) this is my journal and I can do what I want. (2) it's basically the same as my fear of humiliation, except stronger and limited to those that I actually care about. So finally the fear of losing my dad. This one is different. My other fears were something it seems like I've always had. This one started after my mom died. As a kid, you never think your parents are going to die. Hell, I was a teenager when this happened but I still never thought of my parents dying. Especially my mom. She was the kindest woman in the world. She didn't deserve to die, no one ever wanted her to die. My mom dying... filled me with dread. It made me realise not even the sweetest woman on the planet was safe from death. And it scared me. I barely survived losing her. If I lost my dad, I don't know what I would do. Honestly I'd be ready for the ocean to take me at that point.

One negative trait out of the way, way too many to go.

I'm a coward, we've established that. But it's more than me just being a coward, I'm a lying coward. There are two ways that I'm a liar. I verbally lie about shit, and I lie by omission by being so damn secretive. Guess we're killing two birds with one stone again. This journal, these two little entries, are the most honest I've been in years - maybe the most honest I've been in my entire life. I'm a bad person. I am. I lie to those I care about because I'm selfish and weak and can't admit when I need help. Well I need help. I do.

Not even my closest friends know I have a heart condition I inherited from my mother. Of course they know that she died due to sudden cardiac death, but they don't know the cause was genetic. I want them to know. I want to be able to get the support I need. But I don't need pity. They don't know about how bad my dad is getting either. Sure at training they can see he's gotten stricter over the years. But I refuse to tell them how bad he is outside of the public eye. I refuse to tell them he's starting to love alcohol more than he loves his own son. And I lie by telling them everything is okay when it's not.

This could definitely cause issues in the future. The type of heart condition I have, which I'm not ready to go into yet, is one of the biggest causes of Sudden Cardiac Arrest and Sudden Cardiac Death in young athletes. If I go into the games, even if I don't drown and even if the other tributes don't kill me, all of the stress mixed with the constant exercise could cause me to die. Then everyone would know. My friends? They might be hurt. Hurt because I never told them about such a big part of my life. They could find out about my dad and the fact I refused to tell them could make me seem scared of him, making the situation worse. My lying just makes everything worse. Hell, recently I've been feeling I even life to myself. Sometimes I wonder if the reason I think I'm a certain way is because I've been telling myself that.

The more I write about this, the easier it's getting. It's almost like I was holding all of this back and now there was a tiny crack in the dam it's completely broken down and the water is flooding out. It's nice, I like it. It feels nice to be honest. It feels nice to let years of stress out and to be able to do it without being scared of other people's reactions or judgements. I'm... I'm actually happy right now despite the fact I'm berating myself. Is this what catharsis feels like?

We're almost done with my negative traits. I expected this to be harder than it was. I'm a follower. I don't want to create waves or be in charge or stand against the crowd. I just want to blend-in, lay low. That's part of the reason why I haven't volunteered yet. This is helpful sometimes, it's easy for me to make friends. But, it's also negative. If someone challenges me to a fight or insults me, I want to walk away and leave the conversation. But if my friends or other careers are around me I feel like I have to do something. I have to fight or I have to get the last word in. Honestly they might not even care if I deescalate the situation, but in the moment it feels like they want me to fight. So I fight. I've gotten a rib broken due to not wanting to walk away from a fight just because other careers were nearby.

In the games, I'm not sure how this would pan out. I could probably team with the careers from the other districts pretty easily with this non-conflict-causing mindset. But, they could betray me. They could make me do things I don't want to do or kill people that I don't want to kill. They could make me admit things I don't want to admit, not even to myself. But, if it makes me live longer then isn't that a good thing? Isn't the point of the games to last as long as possible, even if you ultimately die at the end?

I can also be cynical. I tend to think badly of people or situations or ideas even if I don't need to. Often I don't let this show, but I still think those thoughts. Just look at my very first entry that I wrote a couple days ago. I thought this whole thing was bullshit. Growing up I was even upset my dad wanted me to be a career like he was. Sometimes when I meet people all I can think about them are negative thoughts. This can make it hard for me to trust people or open up to them. Sometimes I even wonder if any of my friends like me or if they're just in on some big fucking joke together. Cynicism is hard to deal with for both the cynic and the people around them. Even if I keep in those thoughts, they're still poison.

The cynicism combined with my tendencies to be a follower results in me being indecisive. It took me so long to decide what to put on the list of my negative traits. Sometimes I won't eat lunch because I can't decide what sounds good. This could definitely become more problematic as time goes on. In a situation like the Hunger Games I am going to need to be able to make quick decisions in an instant. If I can't decide on some simple bullshit, how am I ever going to be able to make life or death decisions? It also makes it easier for other people to influence me. I've had entire relationships where the girl just wanted to use me for one thing or another and I let her. I let her make my choices for me and did shit I regret to this day.

And now the thing I was dreading writing about. These are something no one knows about, not my dad, my doctors, and not even my mom knew (I told her everything). I have panic attacks. I'm okay at holding them back until I'm alone. Then I just melt to the floor and begin to sob or hyperventilate or shake or whatever else my body decides to do. It makes me feel like vomiting for a couple of days after. They're humiliating. They're pathetic. I'm pathetic. I cannot think of a worse scenario than having a panic attack in the games. After my rib got broken in that fight, the asshole just left me there on the ground and so did everyone else. Later my friends found me bloody and beaten on the ground. I had a panic attack in that time and it was horrible. It hurt to breathe or cry or anything because of my ribs. I genuinely believed I was going to die in that moment.

Now that that's done and over with (and I may have taken a little break from writing) we can talk about my positive traits. I decided to save these for last to maybe give me a little ego boost after all of that. None of that was particularly hard to write about at the time. But rereading it all afterwards? Talking about the most terrifying moment of my life? That was hard. Just like with the negative traits, I'm going to make a list with a couple of blank spaces for if I ever decide to add to it. Maybe one day I'll be able to cross off "cowardly" and add "brave" to this one. That would be nice.

Positive:
- Creative
- Artistic
- Hard Working
- Intelligent
- Easy going
- Caring
- Responsible
-
-

Since these aren't things I need to work through I'm not going to be as strict with myself about outlining exactly what to discuss with each thing. I'm still going to discuss these, but not in as much detail or with enough analysis. And some of them are self-explanatory. Like the fact I'm creative. I've always been creative, both in art/writing but also in problem solving. Some people think outside the box, but with me I feel like there isn't even a box constraining me. This is really helpful. It may be hard for me to make decisions, but when I do they're pretty ingenious if I can toot my own horn and they aren't what people are expecting. In something like the Hunger Games, coming up with creative solutions is pretty important because some of the shit that those god damn Gamemakers come up with are weird as fuck.

Going along with my creativity is my artistic ability. I mainly like to do landscape art, but I've done portraits of people as well. Ironically, even though I'm scared of the ocean it's one of my favorite artistic subjects. There's something about turning the thing you're scared of into art that's beautiful to me. I might eventually showcase some of my art in here, but I have a separate art journal I usually use. Though, it does have a finite number of pages and this is way way emptier it than it is. Fuck my indecisiveness.

Moving on, I'm hard working in my opinion - which goes along with my responsibility. I wasn't always like this. It took a lot of pushing from my dad. But the straw that broke the camels back was my moms death. As my dad descended into alcoholism, I had to step up. I had to get my school shit done, training done, and take care of the house. I started doing the cleaning, cooking, and paying the bills. Yes, my dad is the one earning the money but half the time he's too drunk to pay the bills or remember my doctors appointments. These make me feel comfortable with the idea of eventually moving out. I had to grow up fast, but I think it's what I needed to buckle-down.

I've already sort of addressed my intelligence when discussing my thought process and creativity, so we're going straight to the fact that I'm caring and easy-going. A caring cynic sounds like an oxymoron, but it's different. Sometimes I'll be cynical towards my dad. He's a fucking bastard and starting to get borderline abusive. But I love him. If he passes out on the floor I'll pick him up and tuck him into bed. I've cleaned up his nasty ass throw up countless amounts of times, and he doesn't know I've done any of this. I do it because even though he pisses me off, I still care about him. And as far as being easy-going, it has to do with me being a follower. I don't have a stick-up my ass so I really don't mind what my friends and I do (I wouldn't be able to decide anyway). I don't pick fights and prefer to just walk away.

I think this entry is finally over. I think I'm finally ready to really open up to this journal, even if I can't open up to myself. And I think that maybe I might be... Fuck it. I'm not that, I'm not. I can't open up about that because it isn't true. I may lie but I'm not lying to myself about that topic. I need to go. Bye journal (or whatever).

ADRIAN NAVARRE

by sixsmith.

Last Edit: Jun 7, 2021 22:35:01 GMT -5 by Deleted

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the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:43:22 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:43:22 GMT -5

HAPPY CHILDHOOD
JOURNAL ENTRY THREE―

Hey there,
I really wanted to write today, but there isn't anything particularly interesting for me to write about today going on in my life. Then I realised something. I'm sort of telling a story through this journal - MY STORY. And my story doesn't make sense without some background, some context. So I'm going to start giving context to the story of my life. I have a pretty boring life, but it's my life.

I have no clue how to start telling about my own life, so I might just ramble for a little bit. When I think of my life I think of one of my favourite quotes is, "if my life is the whim of a dreamer, let them awake and remember the grand idea that I am". Yes my life may be boring, and I may not be perfect. But I think overall, I'm not too bad and I have some good stuff in my life. If I could do anything with my life I'd want to open an art gallery. I could sell and present my own art, but I'd want other people to have a place to feature their own art too. I'd want art from all across Panem and to have every district have some sort of representation. But, I don't think that's ever going to really happen.

That's just a dream I thought of one day as a child. I was always an artistic child, and a hyper one. As a kid I was running all over the place and laughing and being loud. I was happy. I think part of the reason why I'm a strong runner now is all the running around I did as a kid - even if it wasn't always a good thing.

I remember when I was about eight I was running around the house, seeing how fast I could go. My parents had just bought me a new pair of sneakers and I felt faster than ever before. I closed my eyes as I had it in my head that it somehow made me faster. Do you see where this is going? I crashed right into a large glass vase, it was about three feet tall. When I smashed into it we both ended up on the floor and it smashed into pieces. I got cut up all over - mostly my hands and knees. At this point the little white scars are really hard to see considering how long it's been.

But that story taught me a lesson - closing your eyes does NOT make you run faster, it just makes you stupid. My parents paid for me to get into a good career academy after a lot of debate. My father was a career himself as a kid and is now a trainer - so of course he wanted me to go. My mom wasn't. Even as a kid she wasn't a career, she didn't like the idea of killing other people for honor. In fact, she was a teacher here in district four. All of her students loved her and even years later she'd still get letters from former students. She didn't want me to be a career. They left the decision up to me and I sided with my father, knowing doing otherwise would make things escalate into an argument. Also, I enjoy working out and thought it would be an excuse for that.

So far, I don't regret becoming a career. I've made good friends through this program and learned a lot about my strengths and weaknesses. Plus, it's a good thing I'm trying to stay healthy diet-wise and exercise-wise considering I spent years not knowing about my heart condition. Looking back, I definitely had symptoms of it as a kid without realising it. I didn't tell anyone about my chest pain or how I'd get lightheaded. I didn't know what it might be a sign of. I wonder if I told someone sooner and got tested, they would have tested my mom sooner. Maybe then she'd still be here...

No. We aren't getting into that right now. I need some time to think about what I want to say before I talk about that part of my life. The part that would change it forever. I'll think about it and come back to explain more. This entry is a bit short, but that's all you need to know about me as a kid. I was a happy, hyper, and altruistic little kid. I'll add more later, of course.

ADRIAN NAVARRE

by sixsmith.

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the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:45:50 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:45:50 GMT -5

THE FUNERAL
JOURNAL ENTRY FOUR―

It's me,
I took some time and I think I'm ready for this. I think I'm finally ready to discuss what happened later in my life. To talk about my mom. To talk about my heart. To talk about my dad. To talk about how everything changed in one single day. One day can change the course of your entire life, that's what happened to me. The day that this happened is the day I became a man in my mind. I split my life into three parts. Before it happened, while it was happening, and how my life is now that it's been a couple of years.

I was fifteen years old when this happened. It's been almost two years since she's been gone... that's kind of insane to think about. It was August 17th. A day I will never forget as long as I live. My dad won't forget it either, none of us will. It seemed like it was a normal day. I had training that day and it was a pretty good day. My trainer complimented how much I was improving and I actually got a bullseye in archery (I suck at archery). My mom took me out for ice cream to celebrate and she told me about her day. But, we had to cut our little mother-son date short. She said that her chest was starting to hurt really bad, but we could go out for ice cream again soon.

That was the last time I saw her alive. We got home and she said she was going to go take a nap, that she wasn't feeling well. My dad came home and him and I hung out for a little bit and I told him about my day. He tried to help my mom feel better, but she wasn't doing well. He went into the kitchen to make her some soup and I helped him out. He told her he was going to go shower, but he wanted to surprise her. He's an asshole, but he was never one towards my mom. He truly, genuinely loved her. Growing up I always wanted a love like there's.

I was carrying her soup and he was holding the door open for me. Then, I dropped the bowl and let out a scream. She was still and limp. I might have thought she was asleep if it wasn't for the fact that her eyes were wide open. They were cold and lifeless. My dad shouted at me to go to my room so he could handle things. He didn't want me to see my dead mom any longer than I had to.

Of course an autopsy was done. A healthy young mother suddenly died in her bed, we had no clue how this had happened. The autopsy revealed she had passed from Sudden Cardiac Death. Her heart muscle was thick, far thicker than what's normal (it wasn't enlarged though). This condition is known as Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. It normally goes undiagnosed and many people with it live happy and long lives. But, complications can happen. The theory they went with is she had Atrial Fibrillation (AFib) as a result of this condition.

While the doctor and morgue workers were explaining this to my father and I, he told me the symptoms to look out for. Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy is often genetic and since she had complications they wanted to avoid me having any. This is when I brought up my chest pain, shortness of breath, and lightheadedness. We did some testing and sure enough I also have Hypertrophic Cardiomyopathy. For now, I have a mild case - though not without complications.

Three months after my mother died I was in the training center, talking with some of my friends. Then it happened. I felt overwhelmed by dizziness and it was so hard to breathe. I collapsed, fainted. The medics came and cleared the room, so all I know that happened comes from what the medics told me. My heart went into AFib and it had to be shocked back into a normal rhythm. They said that luckily I likely wouldn't have died. Now I'm on medication and my teachers and trainers know the signs to look out for - after all some trainers might be assholes, but they definitely don't want to deal with the paperwork of a kid dying on them. I told my friends and the other careers I was severely dehydrated and they stopped asking questions.

ADRIAN NAVARRE

by sixsmith.

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last seen Apr 27, 2024 13:58:13 GMT -5

the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 22:47:36 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 22:47:36 GMT -5

EXISTING, NOT LIVING
JOURNAL ENTRY FIVE―

I'm back,
I know I ended that last entry suddenly. It all became too much to talk about. That dug up painful memories. It reminded me of everything all at once and I couldn't handle it anymore. I had another one of my panic attacks. But I'm okay now. I'm here to finish the prologue to my story. No matter how hard it is or how much it hurts. I'm finishing the story here and now. The good news is, there isn't much more to tell about my life. Like I said, my life is pretty boring. It's pretty normal.

My dad got really depressed after she died. They were soulmates, true lovers. And he lost her early. She wasn't even 40 yet and she was already ripped away from this world. He didn't know who or what to go to, so he went to drinking. He began to drink away his problems. He drank at home, at the bar, and even in the training center I've seen him drink what I'm pretty sure was whiskey from a flask. He normally doesn't drink at work, but that day was the one year anniversary of her death.

He went from being a jerk, to being the way he is now. If I talk backed as a kid he'd just yell at me for a second, I'd apologise, we'd move on. Now if I talk back? I get something thrown at me, I get shoved, or I get kicked out of the house until he feels like letting me back in. The only thing people know about this is when training he's been a hell of a lot harder on me. But, he's been harder on most people since all of this had been going on. Deep down, I know he's not a bad person. He just sucks at coping, and I'm not much better.

Ever since she died, I haven't much felt like I'm living. I'm here. My heart is beating. I'm breathing. But I feel as though I'm not alive, only existing. They say our parents are a part of us, and that day part of me died. That's when I started being a lot more of a follower. I dated any girl who would give me the time of day. I really got along with some, but something always felt wrong about it. I never loved any of them. I really tried to love them, but it's almost like I just can't fall in love with girls. Even as a kid, I had friends that were girls but I just never had crushes on them. At one point as a kid there was this boy I thought I had a crush on, but that can't be right.

I eventually got out of that phase. I started to try to fix things. The bills weren't getting paid and the house wasn't getting cleaned. My dad wasn't being an adult so I started to be the adult for him. I started hanging out with my friends more too, it was a nice distraction. Ever since she died my life has just been distraction after distraction. I'm no better than my alcoholic father, really. And that's all there is to say about my life so far.

ADRIAN NAVARRE

by sixsmith.

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last seen Apr 27, 2024 13:58:13 GMT -5

the thoughts you dare not share. Jun 7, 2021 23:06:26 GMT -5

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Post by Deleted on Jun 7, 2021 23:06:26 GMT -5

THE BOY WHO MAKES ME FEEL ALIVE
JOURNAL ENTRY SIX―

I have an update kind,
It's been a little bit since I've written, but something happened. Something that I cannot deny any longer. I'm not sure what exactly went down last night, it's all so foggy still. I guess I should start with some context. Some context about the boy who started it all. Some context about the boy who makes me feel this way. Killua Kravitz.

Killua is a... kind of a weird guy. He's also one of my closest friends. People talk all sorts of shit about him. They call him a liar, a manipulator, and a sociopath. Some of my friends ask why I hang out with him. The reason why? None of those rumours are true. They're just petty gossip. Everyone has some sort of gossip spreading about them. I hear a lot of it going around at school and the training center. Killua is a good friend, he's always been there for me.

Whenever my dad kicks me out, I can always crash at his place. We've been friends for as long as I can remember. He stuck with me through my moms death. He stuck with me through my serial dating phase. He's just always been someone I could count on. And last night, I counted on him and something happened.

My dad and I had a fight and I said some shit I really shouldn't have. As soon as I said those words, I regretted them so much. I told my dad that maybe it was a good thing that mom had died, so she wouldn't have to seem him like this. I didn't mean it. There's nothing good about her dying. And he's still a good dad. He's just... he's just struggling right now. I'm struggling too. Suffice it to say, my dad got really pissed off. So I texted Killua some bullshit about renovations going on and asked if I could crash at his place. Of course, he said yes, like always.

There's two more things you should know about Killua Kravitz before I continue. 1.) He's a huge stoner, the first time my dad met him he always just referred to him as "the kid who smells like pot" when talking to my mom and I, and 2.) He's the first guy I've ever felt attracted to.

That feels so fucking weird to admit.

I've had these feelings for a while, I've just been too scared to even admit them to myself, let alone express them. I thought I was straight, but dating girls just never felt right. When I look at Killua... I see something. I feel something. I get this warm fluttery feeling in my chest. I get excited, as if my entire body is having tiny shockwaves throughout. I'm gay, it's just who I am. And I have a crush on Killua Kravitz.

Fuck this is weird.

I don't know why that's so hard to admit. Probably because of my dad. I don't think he's homophobic, I just think he doesn't understand it. And I just- I'm scared to tell him. He wants blood-related grandkids one day and I can't give that to him. I used to think that's what I wanted to. But it's not. It's what I've been expected to want my entire life. But I'm tired of being what everyone wants me to be. I want to be who I am. And admitting that I am gay is the first step to do that. Though, it'll be a while before I tell anyone else.

Now, onto Killua's house. I've never smoked weed or even gotten drunk, occasionally my parents would let me have a glass of wine with dinner, but that's about it. I was having a rough day, as I mentioned, and that's when he offered me a hit of his bong. I remember saying yes. And I remembered he helped me with the hit. And I remember coughing a fuck ton. That's where my memory starts to get real hazy.

I think we talked for a bit then got some water, something about cotton mouth I guess. Then Killua suggested 21 questions. We were sitting on his couch and he had his legs across my thighs. Nothing new there. He does that a lot - same with using my legs as a pillow. I was embarrassed. I don't know why, but I was embarrassed. Maybe I said something in the bedroom or the kitchen. The game was pretty normal. But he asked something at the end and I got upset. I have no clue what the question was about or what I said. I know it was something I wouldn't have said while sober. After that, all I remember is leaving, having an anxiety attack in an alley, then sleeping off the high at another friends house.

I need to know what I said. I might call or text Killua sometime today or tomorrow to try to figure it out, I just don't know if I can face him in person. I wonder if he's mad at me.

As always, I'll keep you updated.