Mother would be pissed, Gerard would be pissed, my father, Bert and Jamia would be pissed. I think I honestly would be killed. Not that I mind so much now... the whole dying thing. If it were eleven months ago I guess I would, but not anymore...
Everything’s just packing on me and I don’t even have someone I can open up to about anything, to cry on their shoulder or to have comfort me. No. All I have is a pillow to hug, a blanket to cover myself in to at least give me some sort of safety and a plush teddy bear for fake comfort. I’m a complete mess! I can barely even haul myself out of bed in the mornings now. I seriously just don’t want to get up!
If I had a caring mother I guess things could be different... I would have a shoulder, comfort and could possibly talk to her. But I don’t, and I probably never will.
If someone finds this in the future, they’re going to be disappointed when they pass the black cover. All they’re going to find in here are the tales of a depressed teenager from the year 1987.
But if they are good enough to go through every page right to my final entry, I guess I’d be pretty grateful because, at least I didn’t do this for nothing...
Frank, 14 November
Note: I think I’m going to give up on mother now... she’s never going to get better, is she?