February 14, 2015
The boys are trying their best to cheer me up since my dad died, like, three days ago and all I've been doing is moping around the bus. I have to go go his funeral soon, meaning they're going to have to push back some shows or do them without me or something, I don't care, I don't care about anything anymore.
February 15, 2015
I fly back today and I wish I could bring somebody for comfort, but that somebody hates me right now. Sigh. I hope the plane crashes and I die.
February 16, 2015
Spoiler alert, the plane didn't crash. Everything seems mopey in Australia. The clouds are grey and there's a heavy layer of fog on the surface of well, every thing. It's as if the whole of Australia was mourning my father's death. When I got off of the plane I rolled my small bag into the terminal and had looked around for my sister since my mum would not leave the house. We didn't speak much on the drive back which is good because I really didn't want to. I left my phone turned off and I do not plan on turning it back on this whole trip. I went to my old room and looked at all of my old posters before laying in my bed and mentally preparing myself for tomorrow's events.
That's where you came in, little journal. You are my place to let everything out and I'm glad I have you. Basically all that Mali talked about in the car was that she doesn't want to have to dig another grave any time soon. I'm pretty sure she saw my scars because what else would she be talking about? Life is such torture. Goodnight, little journal.
February 18, 2015
You know how I said it was the worst day of my life a while back? Well yesterday officially tops that by a mile. It wasn't really raining, but it was kind of like misting or something, anyway it sucked. Everyone cried, and cried and cried as a man went on about how he was a good man and was too young to die and how it wasn't his time. I meam obviously it was if he's gone, like seriously dude we aren't stupid. Do people even pay attention to those people?
Anyway I get to stay tonight and tomorrow and then I have to go back with the boys. it's not that I don't want it's just that...I don't. I don't want to face them again. I don't want to see sympathetic looks everywhere I go.
I was really close to my dad. I called him a lot but not recently because I have been so busy with touring and self hatred, it's great. Anyway, he was okay with me being gay, he was okay with all of my decisions I made and always reminded me of the consequences. I guess he didn't think of his when he took up smoking and eating like shit which resulted in giving him a heart attack and ultimately killing him.
I can't say I hate him for dying. I understand and accept that he made bad decisions. I don't think he left me here all alone because I've been dreaming of him. He's always finding a way to enter my dreams.
He would tell me that if I wait long enough, Michael will come around. He'll help me, and love me.
In all honesty, how am I supposed to believe that? I mean if he's some sort of angel then sure, but he just looks the same as he did when he was alive. I think my mind is just playing tricks on me, making up a self wanted image of my father and having it tell me what I want to hear.
I hate when people say suicidal people are angels who want to go home. Let me tell you this, I'm no angel. I'm some teenage boy who can't stand to live in his own skin.
February 23, 2015
Suicide is an answer.
A/n: basically I would've had this up earlier but I fell asleep lol
