Journal Entries

January 16, 1968

It's been over two weeks since I've last written. I didn't expect to ever write in this thing again and I don't think I want too. It's a habit, though, and I guess it helps. I'll read back to when Steve found me hurting myself and it'll help to keep me from doing that. Sometimes.

I keep rereading my notes to my brothers. They make me sick to my stomach, so at least I haven't been eating much.

The reason why I haven't written in a while is because nobody will leave me by myself. They're scared I'll try killing myself again or hurting myself. It was annoying at first, but I understood. It was a caring act and it made me feel loved. Especially when Pony would sit close to me. He wouldn't let me out of his sights unless it was to use the bathroom. He'd lean his head on my shoulder or be holding my arm or hand. I don't think it was to be romantic, hell I know it wasn't, but it was to be protective. My mind tries making it romantic, though, just adding onto the guilt.

I can't stand to eat. I'll just want to puke it up again, but Darry makes me eat dinner at least. He's gonna be a great dad someday.

I don't like hurting myself. I think I deserve it, but I don't like it. I was at work with Steve the last time I tried doing it and the first time since I tried killing myself. He was under a car and I was feeling anxious, so I tried grabbing the box cutter, but he saw me do it as he rolled back out and he tripped me to make me fall and drop it.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" He asked, and I started breathing harder. He pulled me up with him and pulled me into a hug, but I couldn't hug back. I felt ashamed and I couldn't keep my eyes off that cutter. "Soda, please calm down."

"Let go of me."

"You tried cutting yourself to death! You still have stitches! I'm not letting you go until you calm down."

When I did calm down, I felt awful. I didn't mean to freak out like I did and I felt so lucky I had Steve there. Pony might be my everything, but Steve is the best man I know. My best friend.

Neither Pony or Darry will talk about me trying to kill myself. No one will talk about it. A little part of me wants to, though, but I mostly don't. I liked it better when I felt alone and like no one cared. At least, I think I liked it better.

Pony won't talk to me about my feelings for him. That, I'm completely fine with not talking about.

Darry, on the other hand, wouldn't have it.

"Soda, we need to talk Ponyboy."

I can't write anymore, I feel like I'm about to puke again.

~Sodapop Curtis~