Tuesday
The best place to hide it is my boxer draw. The lads don't stay over, nobody.
They won't need to look through there.
I'm the irrelevant one of the group. I'm there because I can play bass, but I'm irrelevant.
I don't like me.
My mum doesn't like me.
Tristan doesn't like me.
Brad doesn't like me.
James doesn't like me.
The fans don't like me.
Management doesn't like me.
Nobody likes me.
Nobody has noticed my sudden obsession with jumpers and long sleeved shirts or covering up and being left alone for long periods of time.
They don't suspect a thing and they think the razors are for shaving. How ignorant.
I've thought about quitting the band.
I think it would be better if I did. Finish this tour and then leave.
You're irrelevant anyway, nobody would notice if you weren't there.
Wednesday
I was in the bathroom earlier today. I overheard the lads talking as I clutched the razor.
Just cut, die when you get home.
Just cut, die when you get home.
Just cut, die when you get home.
"All Connor Ball is," Tristan said, "is an irrelevant brat who I can't stand to fucking be around. He's a piece of shit."
"Thank you," Brad chimed in, "he pretends he has problems when he doesn't have any, I guarantee. And his new little act of "I'm so anxious let me pull at the cuffs of my sleeves to show you how anxious I am oooo I'm a baby" I hate it so much."
James then said probably the most decent thing of all of this I think, "we're going home on Saturday, and we don't have to see his ugly face or hear his pathetic voice for the next 4 months. Who'd want that? We don't even have to think about him."
"I have to get something from his house because I left it there for my sisters birthday. Good place to hide a present, but it's a five minute job so I'll go home and then go to his on Sunday and pick it up."
Please don't come round too late on Sunday.
I cut 8 times then cleaned myself up and rolled my sleeves down.
Brad told me what he'd just said and said he'd be there at 1. "Fine by me," I said.
