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Tuesday, June 4th, 2002
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12:14 pm - Confessions [TOANWTS]
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Mally knows everything, or just about. I told her about what happened in the closet, loosely, anyway. And she saw the marks on my arm, got me talking to her. I don't know why I told her everything. It was stupid and dangerous and now someone else knows what a sick fuck I am. She says it's not disgusting, that I have the right to live my life the way I want to. But I don't want this. She said that I'm like her best friend, and that I am worth more than I think. She's sweet, but she's wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong.
Mally swore not to tell any of this to anyone, no matter what. I hope she keeps on that promise. I hope she does, because I know for a fact it'll be tempting to tell when I finally get the courage to do what I need to do. I can't live like this, I can't do it. I'm not strong enough to be this twisted, not fucked up enough to enjoy it. I don't have it in me and don't know what to do about it...oh, hell, yes I do. I take little steps towards it every day, and one day, I'll finally slip and do it and we'll all be better off for it, if anyone cares. Mally will care, but she'll understand. And Laurence...well...maybe he'll understand, too. If he doesn't, it's not like he'll notice, anyway. He'll be too busy with his girl. Wish I could distract myself so easily. But I can't, and my course is startlingly clear. Just have to be man enough to do what needs to be done.
~Dylan
current mood:  cynical
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12:01 pm - Quidditch match from hell [hp-hogwarts]
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I went to the Quidditch game. I hate this sport. I honestly do. Brooms are not my thing at all, and the less time I spend around them, the better. But Niki was playing, and Professor Grimalkin...well, I guess he's not a professor anymore but I don't know what else to call him, aside from sir, he was coaching. So I had to go. It was only fitting. And we played well, I guess, from my limited Quidditch knowledge. Everything was good until Kat Black and the French Seeker dove for the little snitch, and hit the ground. She didn't move, neither did he, and the entire stadium went dead silent. Looks like they're both hurt bad, but how bad, no-one's saying. Hope she turns out alright. Kat's nice, and she's one of Nimue's friends, and I put a lot of stock in Nimue.
Caught up with Niki after the match. She was upset, but she got a shower and managed to relax. Went to the lake...there's something about that damn lake, it keeps pulling me there, and I don't know why. I feel really off. Have for a while now. And it's not really physical or anything, I just feel off. Restless, ready to clock anyone who looks at me wrong. Don't know why. I don't know much of anything. Feel better when I rub that little bit of iron that was in Niki's necklace. It's almost soothing. Eh, rubbish.
Still hope everyone's okay, though.
~Dylan
current mood:  restless
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| Wednesday, May 29th, 2002
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8:22 pm - In the closet? [TOANWTS]
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I'm a sick fuck. I know it now, can tell as clearly as I can tell anything. I'm an absolute sick, sodding fuck.
Saw him in the corridor. Apparently, he followed me out of the library. He came up behind me, and grabbed my arm. He knows. He saw, saw the marks, and when I tried to jerk away, it set one to bleeding. And he...God...he trailed his finger through the blood and licked it off his finger. Christ...it was so raw...he told me not to hurt myself, as if he cared. I replied it was obviously a privilage reserved for him, and all he said was "love hurts, baby." Then he kissed me. Iesus, that kiss. It was like drowning and I wanted to dive in deeper. I wanted to dive in and die there, in perfection, the thrill of him pressed to me, his lips claiming mine in some desperate dance of desire and need...I wanted all of that sweet perfection. We ended up in some broom closet, to my shame...I didn't want to let go. For one moment, everything was right, I was alright. He wanted me. I'm a fucking nancy boy. But I wanted it, too. At least, until I realised what was going on. I bolted, ran like the Devil himself was after me, had another of those damn spells somewhere...the world misted over, and all I knew was longing and guilt again, agonising guilt.
I have to stop this. I have to make this end, because it's sweeping me along in a tide of blood and perverted desire that I can't stop. My arms are raw, and no matter what he says, I have to keep cutting, keep making the blood flow, keep pushing everything back for a tiny moment of fucking clarity in the middle of all this. The blood runs thick and red and the pain, thank God for the pain, making sure I know I'm alive, that I can feel something other than this...make it go away...make me go away...how could I do that? How could I end up with him like that? How could I? I'm disgusted with myself, but damn, I'd do anything to be back in there with the heat of him pressed against me in some fevered imitation of love, something akin to lust turned on its head and made mad.
I have to make it stop. I have to.
~Dylan
current mood:  dirty
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12:54 am - Rodent [TOANWTS]
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He's a rodent. Absolutely a smegging rodent, and I hate him, hate everything about him, from his smile and his beady little eyes down to his impeccably polished shoes. I hate him and loathe him and crave his attention. I didn't just write that.
*sighs* I did.
Mally was talking to me, talking to me like a human being, drawing me out of the magical psychology book I got out the other week to see just how much of a nutter I really am. It was nice, talking to a girl instead of being a lurking in the shadows kind of guy. Until he made a quip about her just wanting in my pants. This coming from the poncy ferret that wants to prove to the world I'm gay. Pick a sexuality...oh, wait, he's shagging a girl now, so apparently he bloody well can't. First Cherry, now this...dammit. Dammit dammit dammit. I'm so confused! I want to kiss him and bust his head open at the same time. When did I become not good enough to even have a brawl with in the goddamn hallway? Not that I care. Because I don't. One less source of black eyes and bruises.
I'm a sick and demented freak. Did Mally see that? Did she see the cuts running down my arm, almost to my wrists now? Thank God the robes are long enough in the sleeves to hide them...don't know what will be done when short-sleeve weather comes. Maybe I'll be dead by then and it won't matter, if I wasn't such a fucking coward. I could take what I wanted from him then make sure no-one but him knew of my secret sin, my taint that's ripping me apart, gangrene in the wound of my soul. I could take this to the grave. I will. If I can't feel the blade anymore, it means I feel nothing. Nothing but lust, perverted lust. That'll be the time to amputate, to kill the infection with the knife instead of letting it fester. That'll be the time to do it...and it's getting closer. I can't cure myself, can't make this go away, can't stop being God's practical fucking joke. So I'll make myself go away instead. That'll fix everything, and they'll never, ever know. They'll never know that I wanted to caress his cheeks instead of hit them, kiss his lips instead of split them...they'll never know. I'll take it to the grave, my silence sworn in blood.
The best secrets always are.
~Dylan
current mood:  lonely
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| Friday, March 15th, 2002
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2:40 am - Just putting it off.
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I'm really just dragging my feet.
I mean, it's all I ever do, drag my feet.
I settled down to try and get some sleep, to try and be numb that way, and I can't. It's all one horrible, fucked up nightmare that I can't escape. Or maybe this is a dream and that's reality and I'll never, ever know what's really real. Nothing seems real anymore. I can't feel anything. I'm numb, I'm cold, I'm ice, and there's nothing to pull me back into the waking world. God, just let me wake up, please. Just let me wake up and get away from this. I'll be normal again. A straight, normal human being, no magic, no nothing if you'll only let me bloody wake up from this.
There's no God up there tonight. There's nothing. There can't be. There's no sign of heaven or peace or anything. I'm on the outside looking in. And no-one cares. I don't want them to care. There's nothing here worth caring about. Just a damned, vile thing...I am a thing. Poisoned with my own lies and depravity.
Maybe I'm the one who should have been conjuring daemons. They might actually want me. Or maybe I'm too sick for hell, too, and I'll become a ghost, wandering the grounds at night with the Grey Lady and Nearly-Headless Nick. And I can watch everybody, on the outside looking in again. Always on the outside looking in. It'll be easier this way, for everyone. And Laurence won't have to worry about me busting his face, or wanting to snog me in the hall. He just won't have to worry about it, and surely that'll be better. It has to be, it has to. Just one less thing to fuss about, to worry about, to want and never have. Why would he ever want me, anyway? Why would anyone? Just some kind of freak, some dumb Taff. Still don't speak English very well all the time, and my magic is freakish--just look at Transfiguration. Some good that fae blood nonsense Mum talks about has done for me. It's just made me this way. I don't want this...and no-one else wants me, either. And I don't blame them.
Just cut harder, a longer stroke, some more blood...maybe it'll wash away some of my sins....
~Dylan
current mood:  exanimate
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| Thursday, March 14th, 2002
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12:01 am - Don't know what to think
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Rumour says that Laurence tried to conjure a daemon, that it backfired, and even hell won't have him.
I want rumour to be wrong. About all of it.
Why would he conjure a daemon or something? I mean, aside from the standard Slytherin answers and all that jazz. I don't care that they fancy they're all evil incarnate. I can't see Old Scratch wanting Laurence. Even if he did, not going to bloody well let that happen. He may be hell, but he's my hell.
Sometimes, I think he's what's driving me insane. Other times, I reckon he's the only thing I have to keep me sane.
Maybe I'm not sane at all. Not normal, not clean, not safe, not sane.
If anyone ought to be letting daemons have a crack at them for a one-way ticket to the fires of Hell, it ought to be me. Got to be easier to take than this...
I mean, I look back on everything, and I think about my life, and I realise that I've been playing the whole world for a fool, myself included. This is the truth behind my lie. I don't want it to be. I won't let it be. I've been lying for so long...I don't know how to stop. I wish I could go there, see him for myself and not have him hate me for it. I wish I could do it without hating myself for it.
It's a little late for that, I reckon. I already know I'm scum. I know it with every beat of my tainted, sick heart.
It's starting not to hurt now. The red lines go all the way up and it doesn't hurt. The blade presses into the soft flesh of my upper arm, leaving cross-crosses like the bite of a whip, and I don't feel it. The marks nearly show when I roll up my sleeves--so many of them, healing or raw, all standing out, angry and red against my pale skin. It doesn't do anything, it doesn't make this living nightmare receed for a moment of clarity. It isn't working anymore, and I don't know what to do. I can't do this, I can't. Every second is one more that's killing me with the truth behind my lie, and I'd rather die in a lie than live this. I can't face this. I can't face myself. Everything's a blurr right now. I used to love Charms, and going out to work in the greenhouses or with the animals. Now, it's just one more pointless act in a string of them that's supposed to be my life. My lie. It's all a lie, just one after another after another and the blade doesn't push them away anymore, doesn't clear the fog.
Why did you do what I ought to have the courage to do? Why did you put yourself in harm's way when it ought to have been me? Why?
I think...I think I'm going to stop being a coward and go check on him, if no-one's there tonight. Just a moment, just to make sure...
I'm a madman. I don't know what is left in me, what there's left in me to do.
I almost want someone to stop me. But that would be more than pointless. I'm already damned. Might as well seal the deal, and put an end to this insanity. I just can't do it without one last look. Not sure what I'm going to do yet. Not sure how, or when. But I'm going to stop this. And I only know one way.
~Dylan
current mood: restless
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| Wednesday, March 6th, 2002
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9:36 pm - Gratitude [TOANWTS]
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Oliver thanked me today, for trying to help Cherry. He invited me to sit with the guys. I couldn't make myself do it. I barely could make myself look Oliver in the face. Did he see it in me, too?
He said he beat up Laurence, gave him a broken nose, just like I've tried to do three million times since maybe our third year or so. I'm not sure how I feel about that. There's this wierd, sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. I mean, I know Laurence deserved every bit of it he got, but still...the thought of anyone else hurting him, of anyone else making him bleed....I don't know what to think. I don't want anyone else to hurt him. He's the source of my private hell. I should be the one hurting him. That ought to be me. And I can't bear the thought of anyone else doing it to him.
I'm a sick, possessive bastard.
They have to know, have to be able to see it in me, see through me. Christ, I've been with these guys for years now. They must see it, must hate me for it. I hate myself for it. And yet I pen the letters home, "Dear Mum, all is well...how's the family..."
I want all of this to end. I need it all to end, or else I'm going to go mad. Maybe I already am mad, and this is my insanity as well as my punishment for some sin so horrific I can't even name it.
Or maybe it's a nightmare, and I just can't make myself wake up.
If I cut harder, if I can make myself feel it, maybe I'll wake up.
But it never goes away. The blood stains just get darker and I fall farther down the spiral of my descent into hell.
~Dylan
current mood:  nauseated
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4:49 pm - Test
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Disorder Rating Information
Paranoid: Moderate
Schizoid: Low
Schizotypal: Moderate
Antisocial: Low
Borderline: Very High
Histrionic: Moderate
Narcissistic: Low
Avoidant: High
Dependent: Moderate
Obsessive-Compulsive: Low
Borderline? Well...yeah....I guess so.
~Dylan
current mood: depressed
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| Tuesday, March 5th, 2002
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10:57 pm - Bloody git [TOANWTS]
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I want to kill him.
I also think I want to snog him, but moreover, I want to kill him.
He drugged Cherry, Oliver's girlfriend in the library, snogged her, then left her there. I helped her get down to the hospital wing, and all the while, she was so upset, as upset as someone drugged can be, about how she kissed Larry. I know how she feels, I think. He says it wasn't him, that he didn't do it, and he took a swig of the pumpkin juice in question to prove it. Bastard did it. I know he did. He is the only one with the motive to do it...though I'm not sure why he would. Maybe to piss off Oliver. Maybe to make a point to me. Not that I care. Because I don't. I could get a girl without having to stoop to drugging them. I'm not a swotty nancy boy, I'm not. I can't be.
Goddammit...I can't stop thinking about him, about this whole mess...he was comforting me last night, trying to drug a girl and kill me today. I can't take it. I don't know which way is up. I don't know what's wrong with me, what I want. I feel...dirty, somehow. Very dirty, like I'm tainted with some kind of disease, like I have cancer or AIDS or something. I want to hex him. I want to kill him...or maybe myself.
I didn't write that.
*sighs* I did.
I'm a sick and vile thing. I want him. I want him in the most base and disgusting way possible. There, I said it. I'm never going to act on it. I'm not gay. I'm not going to let myself be gay. I'll be celibate before I be gay. Girls don't like me anyway. I'm so horrific, why would they? I can't cope with this...I can't do this...God, how could You make me this way? How could You do this to me? How badly did someone fuck up somewhere to make me like this? God, I couldn't look my Da in the face and tell him I liked boys. I don't like boys...I don't...I can't. I'm supposed to get married, raise a family and that's damn hard when you're not interested in bedding a piece of skirt. I don't...I...Iesus....I don't know anymore.
It's either him or me. Either I'm going to kill him myself for doing this to me, for putting me under some kind of spell, making me want him, or I'm going to kill myself and do the world a fucking favour. Better to be dead....better to be dead...
~Dylan
current mood:  infuriated
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| Monday, March 4th, 2002
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9:56 pm - Make this all go away.... [TOANWTS]
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I'm going mad. I'm going out of my skull. He kissed me again, like a brush of feathers against my cheek, and I wanted to curl up and die. I think I did, inside. I liked it. I don't want to like it. He's a guy! He's Laurence Fogginton-Smythe, the biggest git on the face of the planet. I don't like it, I don't like him. I don't like his smile or the smell of his skin. I don't like it, I don't want it, I can't cope with this. This isn't me. I mean, I know I'm different. I've always been different...but not this. I can't be gay. I can't like him. He's everything I hate.
I think I had one of those spells again, when everything gets out of control, and I black out...I think it happened again. Happened when I heard about Da, happened a while back, when we thought Dafydd got so bad hurt in that accident playing rugby...I can't remember anything. I ran off from him, and the next thing I know, he's holding my hands, smiling at me. And I'm shivering again. Christ, I can't cope with this. He was holding my hands and smiling at me, and I was bleeding and shaking and I can't remember anything. I can't remember! What happened, what did I do? What's happening to me? Why can't I make all of this go away? I just want to curl up and die. I'm not gay, I'm not attracted to him. He doesn't make me shudder with lust when he smiles the right way. That's not what this is. I don't know what it is, but it's not lust...it's hate, it's anger, I don't know...
God, please...just make this all go away. Make me like everybody else. Please, God...whomever's listening out there...please....I can't be like this, I can't, I can't...I can't take it, can't bear it, and if this is your idea of a joke, then you're sicker than all of us...fuck, God...don't do this to me...
~Dylan
back then i couldn't do the things that i can do now.
this is slowly take me apart.
grey would be the color if i had a heart.
i just want something i can never have.
in this place it seems like such a same.
though it all looks different now,
i know it's still the same
everywhere i look you're all i see.
just a fading fucking reminder of who i used to be.
i just want something.
i just want something i can never have
i just want something i can never have...
(Trent Reznor, "Something I Can Never Have")
current mood:  distressed
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| Sunday, March 3rd, 2002
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9:22 pm - Oh, Jesus. [TOANWTS]
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What a day. Got in a fight in the library because Laurence Fogginton-Smythe called me a Taff. Dumb git. Slugged him, he tripped me, I lost five points for Gryffindor, and we trade insults. He even went so far as to call my father a faggot. I could have killed him. I should have. I wanted to. Instead, I walked.
So I get out in the hall, and my bag starts to come apart. I need a new one. And my stuff's all over the floor and here comes Fogginton-Smythe again, and he takes my last copy of Squee and rips the damn thing up. So I punched him. Okay, okay, so it isn't original, it isn't nice, but he's neither of those things and I don't care. Managed to at least beat the shit out of him before dropping him to the floor to finish him off when the bastard grabbed me and kissed me. He snogged me, right there in the middle of the Charms corridor! Jesus.
The worst part of it is it wasn't bad.
And I so did not write that. He's a guy. He's a bloody guy and I don't like guys. I fancy girls. I like women in short skirts, I have this thing for redheads...and Fogginton-Smythe is a redhead. I'm not going to consider that.
He thinks he loves me. And that's not possible. Dammit, I'm not going to let it be possible. I'm not gay. He can chase as many boys as he wants, just so long as he leaves me out of it. I'm not gay. I don't like clothes, I don't like showtunes. I like hard rock and action movies when I'm home. I like sports. Not to watch guys run around, either. I like playing rugby. I'm a guy's guy. I like to hang out with the chaps and watch the skirts. I'm not gay.
So why wasn't it 100% repulsive when he snogged me?
Gah, this is nonsense. And then when my bag ripped finally, he tried to help me. I just wanted him to shove off, which he did when I snapped at him.
That's it, I'm going to find a girlfriend. Maybe more than one. Because I like girls. I really, honestly do.
Just wish I knew why none of them seem to like me.
~Dylan
current mood:  confused
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| Friday, January 4th, 2002
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5:36 pm - Snow? Inside? In September?
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And I thought I'd seen most everything the ceiling in the Great Hall could do, but that's definitely a new one on me.
Apparently, Niki and I are on again. It's kind of confusing...actually, very confusing. I respect her need for time and everything. Hell, I respect her, period the end. It's just...odd. I mean, I care for her. I love her, and she knows. And yet sometimes, there's this utter distance. I don't know. *shrugs* She's one of the few people I'll go to the wall for anymore. Bran, too. And Nimue. Lots of girls. I think I've gone soft.
Runes next. Argh. Love Magical Languages, hate Runes. They don't click as easily.
~Dylan
current mood:  thoughtful
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