I found this. I remembered reading it to a therapist once about 1993. At the time I had a portable word processor. It had a keyboard, an LCD screen, it saved text on floppy disks, and it printed on thermal paper which came in rolls eight and a half inches wide by an uncountable number of inches long. I printed the following journal entry, along with about a hundred other entries, on one hundred-day long sheet of paper that insisted on staying curled up like a scroll.
The dead me scroll.
I try to laugh. I try to pretend it doesn’t hurt, or feel scary, or lonely. I’m gay, 36, HIV+ and alone. True, I live alone and have no romantic pursuit, but those isolations are deliberate – or so I say. And besides, that is not what I mean. I am talking about the kind of alone that comes from pretending to be alive – pretending I did not die of childhood. The alone of believing that these games are all I am; that if I stopped playing them, not only would my death become real; I would no longer exist.
No longer exist?!! What psychobabble is this? Let me explain alone some more. Let me explain forever.
feel more alone every day I am a writer. I began writing feel more alone every day to express feelings I could not touch. I learned feel more alone every day by sheer obsessive determination how to construct feel more alone every day sentences, how to examine text, feel more alone every day which lacks the inflections of speech, for every possible weakness feel more alone every day in clarity. I eventually developed some feel more alone every day understanding of how to break text feel more alone every day into paragraphs. But the truth is, feel more alone every day I write not to express feelings, but feel more alone every day to contain them. To encapsulate and dispose of them feel more alone every day forever in the only place I own, the only place feel more alone every day I have permission to use as a dump, the only place I can get rid of feel more alone every day noxious feelings without crossing any personal boundaries. To avoid feeling, I have turned feel more alone every day my own mind into a hazardous waste site.
But it’s leaking.