Diary Of 1000-Personas

Bruce → I am normal

Bruce Johnson, that's my name.
It's nothing special, I know.
My name is normal for kids like me, everything about me is normal.

Everything is supposed to be normal.

I did something I shouldn't have. I don't know why, I don't know how to explain myself.

Fuck, I feel like a screw up.

I did everything so well up to this point.

I blend in with guys like me—I'm athletic, confident, attractive, good with girls, my grades aren't bad either.

Sure, I'm known as the school bully—leader of our school's "gang."

But, I'm also one of the most attractive and talented kids in town. I fight those who disrespect me.

Who gives a fuck if I feel "disrespected" by fags existing around me. If they knew what was good for them, they'd destroy those stupid rainbow pins and fit in—like everyone else.

It's not hard to be normal.

It shouldn't be hard to be normal.

If it weren't for him..

He distracts me, he makes me forget everyone is watching.

When I look at him, I see the one person in the world I can trust. The only one I will travel to the end of the earth for.

I love him, I always have.

It was never as a brother, but always as a friend—a bestfriend.

It was... It is!

I-I don't feel differently. I'm just confused.

Yeah, I'm confused.

Growing up, I'll admit, I wasn't normal.
It's my parents' fault.

They never loved each other. They fought, and fought, and fought.

Everyone in town knew about their terrible relationship —they were the biggest gossip around.

They accused each other of cheating constantly. My mother stole money, alcohol, and, according to my dad, time.

He "gave his youth" to her.

My dad was violent, irrational, and an alcoholic. When they fought, it would also end with my mother being bruised and him.. looking for a different target.

My memories are vague beyond those fights. Inside the house, there was never a good moment.

Outside the house, no one talked to me.

My family was the town's hot topic, and no one wants their kids to associate with that kind of drama.

"With parents like his..." "His body, do you see...?" They whispered, always wondering if I was troublesome or not, speculating my dad's rage from my bruised skin.

I hated people—I still do, just better at hiding it now.

They talk behind your back instead of telling you—right to your face—how much they despise you.

I'm honest to the people I hate, but others aren't.

Back then, no matter where I went, people hated me, because they hated my parents.

Eventually, I met him. He wasn't in as bad of a situation, but he was known as well.

His parents were in a silent war because of his mother's cheating, according to the rumors. They were still together, but only for appearance sake.

Parents weren't as wary, but kids were.

'What's it like to have parents who don't love each other?
To be the result of a mistake?'

Kids learn vulgar thoughts from caretakers, parents and teachers are bad role models. No one was friendly.

Sometimes the kids would force themselves to invite him to play, but not me.

He noticed... And stuck with me, closely.

We were freaks, you could say, together.

Unloved, unwanted, gossiped about. And we were just kids.

From those days, we stayed together. We promised to always be best friends.

Back then, our friendship was.. different.

I remember it the same way he does, and I hate myself for it.

I'll never admit it.

I was younger, I didn't realize what I felt would make me more of a freak than I already was.

I didn't know there was more to life than feeling comfortable and safe with one person.

I lived in the moment—before deciding to be better, to be normal.

I don't admit the words "I love you" had any unnecessary meaning.

He was, and is, my best friend. That's it..

I'm still normal.

We're still normal.

Nothing has to change, nothing should change.

I will never admit to what he thinks I am—i'm not like that homo rich boy, I don't support that club for fags—I like girls, only.

That's the way it should be—anything else.. is wrong. Anything else is a distraction and a mistake, driven by lust.

We're better than lust, mistakes, and distractions.

As long as he stops prying at "the truth" behind our alcohol-induced night.. together, we will always be better.

If he keeps prying..
What will I do?