Last week marked the very worst day of my life so far. If I’m honest, I don’t think I will ever feel such pain in my life ever again, and it pains me further to write about it. Many great writers have said that writing helps us to transfer the pain, to numb it.. I wonder if it will work for me too.
She left the flat to spend time with her parents, which I didn’t mind. I was going to be out a lot with Healer training anyway, so why should she be alone all the time? It’s the summer holidays for her, she should be enjoying time with her parents. But then my mother arrived and she said a lot of things. It seems ridiculous, but I can’t even remember a lot of what she said. Somehow, she convinced me that this was for the best. I have always thought that if something were for the best, it would not hurt so much. But then again, for the best never seems to take away everything that lit up your miserable life.
I have never been one for cliches, but it seems that since I met her, I’ve been full of them. I became something I’ve never been; stereotypical. We kissed in the rain. We had stupid arguments sometimes that didn’t matter. We had inside jokes. We would cuddle. Sometimes, we simply couldn’t keep our hands off each other. In short.. I fell in love. I’d never realised before she came into my life that I wasn’t really alive before her. I was simply going through the motions, I wasn’t experiencing them.
I find myself asking why I still write a journal. I have thirteen journals, full and hidden away, with what I would say is almost every miserable detail of my life written in them. This one is my fourteenth, and it is so very different to the others. The others are just as detailed as this one, the innermost thoughts of my messed up mind.. So what is different about this one? This one has her in it. The pages of this one are alive. Alive in every single word I have written, because I have been alive in every word I have written. More alive than I have ever been in the past seventeen years of my pathetic excuse for a life.
Right now, I can faintly smell her on this sofa, memories of us sitting here together flooding my mind.. Images of her getting up to check on food in the kitchen, and that time I put Elvis on and tried to teach her to dance.. That was such a disaster. The cheese sauce came out though, and we laughed so much that the neighbours came calling, asking us to keep it down. Our first photograph together, from the first day I met her.. It’s hidden away with my other journals now. I can’t bear to part with it. That photograph marks the day that I came to life, that day when there was snow covering the beautiful grounds of Hogwarts and I met an impossible girl.. An impossibly mad girl, with mad hair and her camera..
Many have said then when you lose that spark in your life, for whatever reason you may have lost it, it’s as close to feeling death as you can get until you actually experience dying. I disagree. I think this is as close as I could get to falling into madness without actually diving into the depths of sheer insanity. I feel like a dog who left it’s toy, then whined when the toy was dangled in front of it, only just out of reach. Does the dog deserve the toy after leaving it? Perhaps not. But, he will sit and wait for you to get it down from the shelf for him, loyally waiting for his beloved toy. I am nothing more than an addict. She is a pure substance that should be left alone, and not messed with. I don’t believe I’m an addict in the sense that I think I need her when I actually don’t, and by no means was I messing with her, like I have wrongfully led her to believe. I think I’m just hooked on her so much that I need her to be able to have certain emotions. I’m in too deep, and I don’t know how to go on living normally.
I bumped into her yesterday. We argued, shouting at each other in the street.. I don’t even know how it happened, but she ended up coming back to the flat with me. We had sex on the sofa. I said some horrible things to her, I told her she’d just been a stupid choice. In a sense, I mean that. If I’d never asked her out, none of this would have happened. She wouldn’t have been hurt. But I’m a selfish bastard, and I wouldn’t trade those memories I have of her for anything.
I suppose the best way for me to describe the way I’m feeling might be with books. I feel like I borrowed the rarest book from a library, there is only one copy of this book. I couldn’t afford to buy the book from the library, and the book deserved a much more worthy owner in the first place. But this book will forever be on my mind, until I am on my deathbed and I might ask whoever is closest where the book is because I want to gaze upon it one last time. I learned to read between each line of this book, I learned the true meaning behind the words. I appreciated every single part of this book. But this book was clearly never meant to be mine, and I have put it back on the shelves of the library, to be discovered by a much more worthy owner than myself.
And there we have it. Just another cliche.
I find that I’ve barely written in here recently, especially when you consider that I used to write in here every day. It’s almost irritating. I’ve come to rely on these journals, simply to get all of my thoughts out of my head. I’m not sure if that’s healthy or not.
I have started Healer training now. I think it annoys Millie how little I’m home, which might be most of the reason she’s only there a few days a week. If I’m being nice about how I feel about the training so far, I’d have to say I’m not enjoying it one little bit. My reasons aren’t the normal reasons, it isn’t because there’s so much to learn or it’s complicated.. If I’m honest, I’m not intimidated by how much there is to learn and I don’t find it particularly complicated. Once something is explained, I understand it. I’m glad for being born with such a brain. My reason is that it’s just not what I want to do. I really don’t know what I want to do, having never been given the chance to even think about it. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been told that this was the career I wanted and would have.
Although we don’t like to talk about it because it only ends in us arguing, I can tell Mils really hates what I’m doing. She knows I’m not happy, and I appreciate that she only wants what’s best for me.. But, she doesn’t really understand that I don’t have much choice. Or maybe she does, and she thinks it’s stupid. I’m not entirely sure on that one.
The fact that we’ve been arguing is fantastic by the way. I know that sounds ridiculous, but it makes me feel like this is much more real now. We met in January and have been coasting along so nicely since, going through the normal progressions a couple would.. And now we occasionally have really stupid arguments. She actually shouted at me the other night, it was nice to shout back. I probably seem completely insane, but I do think it’s good for a couple to argue sometimes. It makes the nice times mean more, I believe.
I should leave this for now, I have to hit the books again. It just never stops, does it?
I’m home. I say “home”, but it never did feel like much of a home to me. It isn’t warm or loving here, like most people say their home is. To me, this is simply where my parents live, and I happen to live here too. At least for now anyway, Mother has informed me that there is a flat in their name for me to use once I start this Healer program properly. That starts soon. I can’t lie to myself, I’m not looking forward to it. I have absolutely no idea what I want in life, but I know what I do not want. And I do not want this.
As predicted, I got good grades in my N.E.W.T’s. Fantastic. Those grades show that I can do whatever is necessary to pass an exam, but does that really mean anything? I don’t believe it does sometimes. Passing an exam in something and applying it in the real world.. They’re really quite different, aren’t they? So I can use defensive magic in a controlled exam where I know I can’t really be harmed, does that mean I can defend myself out here? If a death eater should cross my path and attempt to kill me, am I going to be able to defend myself as easily as I got through that exam? The simple answer is no. I am completely unprepared for this world, outside of Hogwarts, and that terrifies me. Oddly enough, I don’t fear having no future, I don’t fear for the possibility of my life being taken, because really.. Who am I? I’m not important in this world, I have no significance that would make my death so tragic. What terrifies me is Millie. She would move past my death, but I know her temper. She would get into dangerous situations without a second thought, and I couldn’t help her.
I thought about how I could practise real defence, and it occurred to me that I could simply annoy my mother. Of course, that is a horrible way to think, I should not annoy her. I do that enough without trying, but if she were to discover I was purposely doing it, she might get my father to give me the belt again. I haven’t been given the belt in a couple of years, I’d rather it remained this way.
Jake has left for Paris now, I think. I haven’t heard from him for a few days, but perhaps I am assuming too much. I hope he made it to Paris. He deserves better than marrying a woman he dislikes, and playing happy families for the rest of his life.. It’s just not the Jacob Lowell that I know. He’s mad, he wants to perform.. I see no reason why he shouldn’t be allowed to do that. Of course that pulls into question what I’m doing, something I don’t want to do simply because my parents want me to do it. I suppose there’s a reason I wasn’t placed in Gryffindor, and it’s very apparent in the choices I make sometimes.
We shall see how my life goes, whether it be a tragedy or a triumph.. It has to be lived out either way.
Once again, I’ve neglected to write in here. The stress of N.E.W.T’s has been incredible, much more than I anticipated it would be. I’ll receive my results tomorrow morning, hopefully I’ve done well. Jake says that I shouldn’t worry because I’ll do well no matter how bad I think I messed up, but one can’t help worrying.
I’m not sure how much I want to write on this subject, but I feel an obligation to write about it. The other night, I had wandered to the unused classroom I always do, only to find it locked. It hasn’t ever been locked in all the time I’ve used it, so that really should have raised my suspicions. As I unlocked and entered the room, I found the most horrific sight before me. My Mils, at the mercy of Evan Flint. It truly was disgusting, and I’ve never been so angry in my entire life.
That horrendous excuse of a human being had his filthy hands all over her, he had her tied up and in pain.. I won’t write any more on what I saw, because I fear I’ll hunt him if I force myself to remember it. I’ve never felt a desire to kill a person before, but I almost did that night. If Millie hadn’t been there, I honestly believe I’d have killed him.
I’ve been attempting to work out what emotion it was. It wasn’t jealousy, because what I saw wasn’t anything to be jealous of. He didn’t hold her like I do, he wasn’t kissing her like I do.. She didn’t want him anywhere near her, especially not like that. I don’t believe it was just anger. Anger, of course, played a part in it, but.. I think it was more than that. Protection isn’t an emotion, so I can’t say it was that.. But that’s exactly what it was. I had the strongest desire to protect her, at the same time as feeling a murderous rage for everything he’d already done to her.
In some ways, I’m glad I found them at the moment I did, before he’d gone too far. Millie doesn’t deserve the memory she already has, and I did briefly consider a memory charm to spare her from it. I couldn’t do that to her though. It’s wrong to wipe out memories, even bad ones.
I’ve found that I’m questioning myself a lot more, after this incident. I’ve always been a calm person. I’ve never been one to get into fights. I have always used words to fight, in a sense. I wasn’t even aware I could cause so much damage physically.
I once read something that said love changes a person. It gives you strength beyond what you knew you were capable if. It gives you emotions you’ve never felt before. It gives you the ability to adapt more easily than you ever have before, able to change so that you are exactly what the person you love needs, when they need it. At the time I read it, I thought it was ludicrous, if I’m honest. Now that I’m in love.. Not so much. I can understand that now.
As always, I feel better after writing. I feel more organised in my head. I wonder who actually started the first ever journal.. Perhaps something for me to do when I get home, learn that. Goodbye for now.
I haven’t written in here for what feels like a long time, which I must admit is unusual. I would love to say I have an excuse that isn’t a cliché, but I haven’t. The simple truth is that N.E.W.T’s are fast creeping up, and I’ve been studying almost every waking hour. If I’m not studying, I’ve been rudely tempted by either Jake or Millie.
I haven’t gotten a chance to write much about Millie. What could I possibly write about her? I could never put into words what she means to me, or how amazing I find her. She’s truly fascinating, I find it inexplicable.
Of course, Julie fascinated me at first. Julie was different, intelligent, beautiful.. But then we grew bored of one another. I find myself wondering sometimes if this will happen to Millie and I. I really hope not, I’m not fond of the idea of losing her.
Jake has been tormenting me for weeks now, because I “finally” lost my virginity. I wasn’t entirely aware that there was a certain point in a man’s life when he should no longer be a virgin. Jake says that in the pureblood society, which he knows I have barely anything to do with, there comes a point where it’s weird to be a virgin. Unless you’re a woman, of course. Apparently they should be “deflowered” on their wedding night. Deflowered. Jake really does use some odd words for things sometimes. I don’t know if it’s because he’s American, or because he’s mad. Possibly both.
I spoke to Millie about John quite a bit a few weeks ago. It was rather odd, I must admit. I don’t speak much about my family, as this journal could easily show, but I told her about John. I haven’t told her much about my mother and father, though. I know that eventually, I will most likely have to tell her why I don’t want her to even meet them, but I will put it off as long as possible. For now, I’m content with her only knowing about my wonderful Little John.
I really do miss my little brother. I dreamt about him again a couple of nights ago, the same dream as always. The same dream that I’ve had from the moment I received the letter informing me of his death. Once again, we roamed the woods and pretended we were Robin Hood and Little John. And once again, I woke up wishing I was still eleven years old and playing these games with him.
I really must remind myself to write to my mother this week, she’s been awaiting a reply to her last letter for three weeks now. I’ll only get shouted at when I return home for the summer if I don’t, and I definitely don’t want a howler again. That was just embarrassing.
I should get back to studying Transfiguration. If I survive the night, I shall write again tomorrow.