Journal 1: 9/23/02 - Sadness
This is the first time I’ve actually sat down to write a journal. I normally don’t like these things because I always used to think they were for attention, but I think that’s what I need right now. For those of you who don’t really care to read this, DON’T. But if you care enough to listen to what I have to say, go on.
People always ask how you are, but they don’t really want to know, and you don’t really want to answer. It’s just kind of like a greeting and you just say, “I’m fine” or whatever. As for me, I don’t think I’m doing too well. I always thought parents were supposed to always be there for you and you can always go to tell and tell them anything. I don’t feel that way with my parents. Lately, I’ve been feeling alone and unloved. I guess that’s what it would be if I had to put words to it. Today was the first day that I actually seriously thought about suicide. I have thought about it quite often for a while now, but not on as serious a level as today. I don’t know exactly when it all started. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
August 20, 1985. I was born a healthy baby boy, good weight and size. I was a bit shy of the light, but otherwise in good condition. I don’t really remember the first five years of my life very well, but I do remember moving to Alabama. My family and I spent four years there. I had no friends. People considered me the “little China boy” and made fun of my last name Barney. My routine for every single day was go to school, get made fun of, then come home and watch TV. It wasn’t a very happy life, but I was young and it didn’t really affect me back then. Then we moved to Portland, Oregon. My life was better up there. I made three friends, one of which I considered my best friend. Things were better than they had ever been for about a year-and-a-half, and then we moved again.
This time, we lived with my uncle in San Bruno, California. These years were the ones I try not to remember. I had two friends, but it turned out that they really weren’t my friends: they were just using me, and then they would make fun of me behind my back. So, when we moved again a year-and-a-half later, things were looking up.
I now lived in Cupertino, and it is what I consider to be the best time of my life. I was a short little nerdy kid at first, but as I got older, I started to make friends, and this is when I met my best friends that I have today. I’ve always felt like I never really belonged anywhere, and for a while I would switch back-and-forth from different groups. I finally settled on one group, and things seemed pretty good. But things took a turn for the worse when a school prank turned into a legal issue, and I ended up in jail. I spent the next five months experiencing things I don’t care to talk about. When I finally got back, everything seemed to have changed. The old group was all gone, my friends seemed to have grown lives of their own without me. I started attending school at De Anza College and I began meeting new people. But I hung out with my best friends the most. After a second incident with the law, my friends seemed to drift apart. I got into the routine of going back-and-forth from best friends trying to hang out with them. My life slowly got lonelier and lonelier.
I’ve always thought about negative things, but it was during this time that my thoughts began to turn to a more sad and morbid tone. I would notice that everybody was good at something, and it helped them meet people and made people like them more. I’ve never really been good at anything, and I was starting to feel like everyone was better than me, that I wasn’t as good as all the other people. I also thought a lot about girls, and why everybody always had people to be “going out with” and doing new things with. I’ve never really had a girlfriend. I had this stupid little thing in Ninth Grade that lasted for about a week before she dumped me. It was probably because I was too boring. I’ve always thought of myself as kind of a clumsy dork. I started imagining what it would be like to have all these things that my friends and people on TV and in movies had. I would think about being able to do all the things that my friends could do. Ever since then, I’ve thought about people I wish I was with, or lives that I wish were mine.
As my attitude about things got worse, I started to disconnect myself from people. Eventually, I ended up the way I am now: just a few friends, but not much else. I would often think about whether my friends and parents actually cared about me or not. I would wonder what they would think if I were gone. Would they be sad? Would they get over it quickly? Would they even care? I started thinking about what they would think if I were dead. I don’t consider myself suicidal, but I’ve often thought about it. I think about reasons why I am alive, and why I should be alive. I know I like being alive: that’s for sure. But do other people feel the same way about me? How much do people actually care about me? I can never talk about this kind of stuff with anybody, especially my parents. We always argue. All the time. We would always make up afterwards, but then we start arguing again. I finally gave up. I wish they would talk to me. I wish I could tell them how I feel. But I feel like they hate me. They tell me “Why would we pay for your schooling or give you presents on your birthday if we didn’t care about you?” I know they do those things, but that’s not the kind of stuff I want. I wish people could just tell me how they feel. I would much rather have a good conversation than a cheap present. You don’t tell somebody you love them by buying them lots of expensive stuff. You show them by your actions and how you feel around them.
I would often go on long bike rides by myself (since I don’t have a car, which is another area that everyone excels at but I fail) because I have no one to hang out with. I have this tree in my apartments that I would always sit in if I were lonely. I would just sit for hours and think about my life. I only sat in it about once a year, but this year, I’ve sat in it about four or five times. Up until now, I seemed to be able to put my feelings aside and concentrate on school and everyday routines. But just recently, a big bombshell was dropped on me. My parents told me that they had found a house out in Brentwood, California, and that we would be moving there in a few months. We were moving again. My life has never been as good as it has been in Cupertino, and then I find out that we are moving away.
I spent the last week moving our furniture and all our stuff into our new house. It’s located about 70 miles away from Cupertino, and while I can still go to De Anza if I get up at 4:30 in the morning, I cannot see my friends very often. My parents have been very stubborn about this whole thing. I try to talk to them about moving, telling them that I hate it, and I don’t want to be cutoff from my friends, but they just get mad at me. We spent the last week arguing. Now I try not to talk to them, because when we do, we get mad at each other, and then we’re in worse moods than we already were.
Today, I went to the De Anza bookstore to buy my textbooks. I saw Augy there and he smiled at me and waved. It probably sounds weird, but that made me feel good, because someone was actually happy to see me. I haven’t felt like people care about me lately. I wish I had somebody to talk to about all this. I usually just think about this stuff and keep it to myself, but really haven’t been doing too well the last few weeks. I finally decided to write this stuff down; at least journal listens to you. I’ve been listening to music. It helps me a little, but I really need something else. I wish people would throw me a party, or do something just to let me know that really do care about me. They just have to say a few short sentences, that’s all. Nothing fancy. I try to talk to my parents, but all we do is argue and get mad at each other. I don’t think they know that I really do want to talk to them, and that I don’t hate them, but it always seems like they think I’m a screw-up, or it’s all my fault. I’m not writing this so people will feel sorry for me. I just wish someone would acknowledge me and say, “Hey, I like you. I think you’re a cool guy. I don’t want you to go, I would miss you.”
I don’t really know what else to say. I hope things turn up.
People always ask how you are, but they don’t really want to know, and you don’t really want to answer. It’s just kind of like a greeting and you just say, “I’m fine” or whatever. As for me, I don’t think I’m doing too well. I always thought parents were supposed to always be there for you and you can always go to tell and tell them anything. I don’t feel that way with my parents. Lately, I’ve been feeling alone and unloved. I guess that’s what it would be if I had to put words to it. Today was the first day that I actually seriously thought about suicide. I have thought about it quite often for a while now, but not on as serious a level as today. I don’t know exactly when it all started. Maybe I should start at the beginning.
August 20, 1985. I was born a healthy baby boy, good weight and size. I was a bit shy of the light, but otherwise in good condition. I don’t really remember the first five years of my life very well, but I do remember moving to Alabama. My family and I spent four years there. I had no friends. People considered me the “little China boy” and made fun of my last name Barney. My routine for every single day was go to school, get made fun of, then come home and watch TV. It wasn’t a very happy life, but I was young and it didn’t really affect me back then. Then we moved to Portland, Oregon. My life was better up there. I made three friends, one of which I considered my best friend. Things were better than they had ever been for about a year-and-a-half, and then we moved again.
This time, we lived with my uncle in San Bruno, California. These years were the ones I try not to remember. I had two friends, but it turned out that they really weren’t my friends: they were just using me, and then they would make fun of me behind my back. So, when we moved again a year-and-a-half later, things were looking up.
I now lived in Cupertino, and it is what I consider to be the best time of my life. I was a short little nerdy kid at first, but as I got older, I started to make friends, and this is when I met my best friends that I have today. I’ve always felt like I never really belonged anywhere, and for a while I would switch back-and-forth from different groups. I finally settled on one group, and things seemed pretty good. But things took a turn for the worse when a school prank turned into a legal issue, and I ended up in jail. I spent the next five months experiencing things I don’t care to talk about. When I finally got back, everything seemed to have changed. The old group was all gone, my friends seemed to have grown lives of their own without me. I started attending school at De Anza College and I began meeting new people. But I hung out with my best friends the most. After a second incident with the law, my friends seemed to drift apart. I got into the routine of going back-and-forth from best friends trying to hang out with them. My life slowly got lonelier and lonelier.
I’ve always thought about negative things, but it was during this time that my thoughts began to turn to a more sad and morbid tone. I would notice that everybody was good at something, and it helped them meet people and made people like them more. I’ve never really been good at anything, and I was starting to feel like everyone was better than me, that I wasn’t as good as all the other people. I also thought a lot about girls, and why everybody always had people to be “going out with” and doing new things with. I’ve never really had a girlfriend. I had this stupid little thing in Ninth Grade that lasted for about a week before she dumped me. It was probably because I was too boring. I’ve always thought of myself as kind of a clumsy dork. I started imagining what it would be like to have all these things that my friends and people on TV and in movies had. I would think about being able to do all the things that my friends could do. Ever since then, I’ve thought about people I wish I was with, or lives that I wish were mine.
As my attitude about things got worse, I started to disconnect myself from people. Eventually, I ended up the way I am now: just a few friends, but not much else. I would often think about whether my friends and parents actually cared about me or not. I would wonder what they would think if I were gone. Would they be sad? Would they get over it quickly? Would they even care? I started thinking about what they would think if I were dead. I don’t consider myself suicidal, but I’ve often thought about it. I think about reasons why I am alive, and why I should be alive. I know I like being alive: that’s for sure. But do other people feel the same way about me? How much do people actually care about me? I can never talk about this kind of stuff with anybody, especially my parents. We always argue. All the time. We would always make up afterwards, but then we start arguing again. I finally gave up. I wish they would talk to me. I wish I could tell them how I feel. But I feel like they hate me. They tell me “Why would we pay for your schooling or give you presents on your birthday if we didn’t care about you?” I know they do those things, but that’s not the kind of stuff I want. I wish people could just tell me how they feel. I would much rather have a good conversation than a cheap present. You don’t tell somebody you love them by buying them lots of expensive stuff. You show them by your actions and how you feel around them.
I would often go on long bike rides by myself (since I don’t have a car, which is another area that everyone excels at but I fail) because I have no one to hang out with. I have this tree in my apartments that I would always sit in if I were lonely. I would just sit for hours and think about my life. I only sat in it about once a year, but this year, I’ve sat in it about four or five times. Up until now, I seemed to be able to put my feelings aside and concentrate on school and everyday routines. But just recently, a big bombshell was dropped on me. My parents told me that they had found a house out in Brentwood, California, and that we would be moving there in a few months. We were moving again. My life has never been as good as it has been in Cupertino, and then I find out that we are moving away.
I spent the last week moving our furniture and all our stuff into our new house. It’s located about 70 miles away from Cupertino, and while I can still go to De Anza if I get up at 4:30 in the morning, I cannot see my friends very often. My parents have been very stubborn about this whole thing. I try to talk to them about moving, telling them that I hate it, and I don’t want to be cutoff from my friends, but they just get mad at me. We spent the last week arguing. Now I try not to talk to them, because when we do, we get mad at each other, and then we’re in worse moods than we already were.
Today, I went to the De Anza bookstore to buy my textbooks. I saw Augy there and he smiled at me and waved. It probably sounds weird, but that made me feel good, because someone was actually happy to see me. I haven’t felt like people care about me lately. I wish I had somebody to talk to about all this. I usually just think about this stuff and keep it to myself, but really haven’t been doing too well the last few weeks. I finally decided to write this stuff down; at least journal listens to you. I’ve been listening to music. It helps me a little, but I really need something else. I wish people would throw me a party, or do something just to let me know that really do care about me. They just have to say a few short sentences, that’s all. Nothing fancy. I try to talk to my parents, but all we do is argue and get mad at each other. I don’t think they know that I really do want to talk to them, and that I don’t hate them, but it always seems like they think I’m a screw-up, or it’s all my fault. I’m not writing this so people will feel sorry for me. I just wish someone would acknowledge me and say, “Hey, I like you. I think you’re a cool guy. I don’t want you to go, I would miss you.”
I don’t really know what else to say. I hope things turn up.