November 10, 1999 - Wednesday
Well, I'm finally on the road to having an online journal
I can't say I've been too pleased by my progress so far. I thought I would be able to get
more done with the HTML coding. I thought I would be able to...well...I don't know. Actually
achieve something that I wanted to get taken care of.
Of course, this is nothing new...
So I've been depressed. Blah blah blah. The world is sick of hearing about me and my pitiful
depression that just won't end. So Chris is dead. So he hanged himself. So I loved him. So what
life goes on (well, not his, but everyone else) how long am I supposed to mourn someone
that was as selfish as he was? My guess is a very long time, because even if he was a selfish
arrogant jerk, he was still my pussycat, and I still feel like there is a hole in my heart the
size of a small solar system.
Oddly enough, even though I hurt there is a strange numbing feeling that has spread throughout
my body, enabling me to work and do things and get through every day without crying or breaking
down in some totally inappropriate way. Amazing how the human mind works. Beautiful.
He came to me last night.
Nevertheless, he came to me. And he held my hand...I couldn't really get a good look at him as he
was moving too fast for me to pick up anything solid. It all looked like static. I reached out
and felt pressure around my hand, and it was pressing my hand to my chest, and when my hand was
on my chest, I felt so calm and sleepy. I asked him to join me, but he would not. Just sat on the
edge of my bed and stroked my hand until I fell asleep.
Maybe some people who think they're going crazy actually are. You never know. Seeing ghosts is not
the most nerve soothing experience, but I didn't want to deny its happening last night because my
last promise to Chris was that I would not let the power I naturally have stay hidden forever just
because I am afraid of what might come to me, or talk to me. I promised and now feel I have to
deliver on that. You don't reneg on promises you make to a corpse. It's bad form.
I hate writing this part, it sounds like a ghost story that should be told by the light of the
silvery moon in front of a campfire with a flashlight held under my chin to give my face those
ghostly features.