Alex came over yesterday. My dad still doesn't want me going out, but he let Alex come over when I explained how destroying my social life wasn't going to make my condition any better.
It was a good day. I know this is unmanly to say, but I love Alex. I guess he's been reading everything I put up here for awhile now and he's been wringing his hands and making phone calls. He's a good friend.
Anyway, we mainly played Super Smash Bros. I'm not sure why, but that's one way I tend to communicate when I'm upset. While I was Falcon punching my way to victory, I told Alex about my week in Waite House, mostly about the poetry and staff. I left out the scary apocalyptic stuff. We took a break from the N64 to look through the journal they'd given me.
There's only three or four actual journal entries. The rest of it consists of poems and fragments. There's a lot in here I don't remember writing. Alex was fascinated by it. He offered to let me use the studio in his basement to record some spoken word. I think I might do that. We had a mini poetry slam and I read some of my work out loud and it just felt great. My dad didn't seem to like it, but he can go fuck himself. It makes me feel better, like I'm getting poison out of the wound.
Alex says I should put some of what I wrote on the blog. I'm not sure I'm ready to yet. Some of it is weird, and all of it is personal. I did record one poem on my camcorder, but I don't even know how to upload it.
The poems I'll probably put up or record somehow. The journal... I don't know. I don't know how much of it was hallucination and how much of it actually happened. Maybe it might help to get a fresh perspective on it, but it might be even better to just fucking forget about it.
I do know how to work the scanner.