Dear Diary, I am about to tell you a sad story of the life I'm living while trying my best to contain my anger,
it's 7.40pm and today is Wednesday the 2nd of December 09, I just got back from work.
Diary, I have never been honest with anyone these many years, sometimes this side of me just appears once in a blue moon and people ask me why I'm so quiet, I notice, that they've noticed a sudden change in the air around me, a violent and silent man in deep thought.
But I've kept it locked away, nobody knows, and even if I trusted someone so much to tell him or her about it, who would believe me?
I look happy on the outside, carefree, fun-loving and I act like an asshole whenever I want not giving a damn about what others say, but what would happen if that was totally opposite? What happens when I'm alone, all by myself. Right, like anyone would believe me or take me serious, maybe mum, but it'd worsen my anger since her worrying and nagging pisses me off the cliff.
Most people would know me as a caring good friend, a listener when you have problems, a fun-loving hyperactive person who doesn't give a damn about what others say behind my back or in my face. But, I have been depressed, since the day I started working at that monster's office throughout my teenage years, filing papers, fetching documents here and there, shaking hands with people I don't know and don't want to know, but above all, I've been living under this monster's roof since the day I was born.
It starts out this way, my old man, is a very, very backwards, old-fashioned and aggressive person who would probably dare to point a gun at the pope of the vatican city without giving a shit. I myself, 'think' I have inherited the exact same bad temper, so bad that when it reaches it's epiphany, this 'rage' mode comes out and I just feel like killing someone, cursing and wishing people to death under my breath, at times I just shout and scream into the sky when nobody's around. Heh, Diary, I sound just like him.
Working at that office, is so bad that I'd rather Die, literally. It's easily the most gloomy environment I've worked in with caveman-like requirements postman jobs delivering shit here and there, I've learned things there, but they're not teaching me the most important things I have to fucking know, and I'm getting fucked up through the phone by my old man as a result.
That gives me stress, which contributes even more to my short-term memory loss, it pisses me off so much I want to either fucking bash up his BMW and stab a knife through him or slash my hand off, bleed to death. The pressure makes me think things. Think about how easy it would be to just.. let it all go, and die. That ass doesn't give a shit or care about how he's making me feel. He's a workaholic after all.
But Diary, I'm not stupid like most people out there. I know I only get to live once, and I have a mission to complete, dreams to share with the world, I want my voice to be heard among the billions people. I'm bearing with all this dumb fucking workload just until next year, and I really hope, I'll be able to do what I want with my life. This man from hell standing in my way will not stop me from reaching for my dreams, I will surpass him and impress him.
For now, I'll calm myself down and be patient.
~Sam
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