First off, I'd like to explain what this is. One of my best friends in the world kept a diary in the last few years of his life. I found the only one not destroyed and kept it. He was a sweet boy, and I wanted to remember him somehow. I have no real pictures of him, no video. . . nothing. This is all I have, so yeah. I did take out a few extremely personal things, for sake of secrecy. I sometimes skip things and come back, so don't be too surprised if entried happen sporatically. . . Oh yeah, and I have his permission. Anyway, here you go.

October 7, 2000*

Wow, that was the best sleep I've ever had! I slept really well. Probably 'cause I'm all conked out and snoring. Vincent's still asleep on the floor. He's snoring, too, and it's kinda funny. I've been thinking since I woke up, and I wrote a pretty little poem.
Soft crying, be alone
No, I won't. It cannot show.
Nothing real, nothing fake,
I pray to you. . . My life to take.
Depressing, isn't it? But I thought it was okay for rhyming. I hate rhyming!

*October 6, 2000*

I went home. I always do. Vincent's taking care of me. I don't know why; he doesn't even know me. Dad left for a few days on business. It's always good when he's out of here. Anyway, Vincent's in the shower right now. He's singing. It's so funny. I'm in a much better mood now. He took care of all my cuts and made me go to sleep. For some reason, I actually did. I guess I was just exhausted. It's so hard for me to sleep soundly, but I did. I woke up, and he was just there. I don't really remember coming back. I was really weird for the last few days. He even brought me my homework from school. He says he's just worried about me, and it's not healthy to disappear for days at a time. So here I am, back in my room. Vincent has been sleeping on my floor. I told him he can have the bed, but he insists on the floor. I can't really move around that much. He's been bringing me food as well. What I really need is a shower, though. I'll have to get about and walk so I can do that. I'll write more later.
*Later!*
Well, I couldn't manage to walk around. Turns out I twisted my ankle pretty badly and got my knee all mangled. My ankle on my right leg and me knee on my left. Go figure! So I was stumbling about and trying to get to the bathroom, but I just kinda collapsed instead. Vincent, still all wet from his shower, had to help me to it. Then, I couldn't get undressed, either. I was getting frustrated, but he had to help me out again. Jeez, if that wasn't horribly embarrassing. First, he met me about two weeks ago. He found me in an alley, bloody. He's here in my house, taking care of me, and now he had to help me take off my clothes. This seems like one of those weirdly convienent things that happen in people's cheesy love stories!! Anyway. . . We ate dinner together. He is an ATROCIOUS cook. It tasted awful. I'd never tell him that - in fact, I told him it was good. He cooked noodles. They burnt. BURNED NOODLES!! Has anyone even heard of such a thing? Well, he tried really hard, so I didn't want to tell him it made me want to throw up. He tried so hard!! I didn't want to tell him that it was so awful. But I told him that next time, I'd help him. Hee hee!

*October 1, 2000*

Well. . . The last few days have been pure Hell. I don't think I stopped crying for less than an hour at a time. I'm such a crybaby I can't believe it. But anyway, I guess I could say WHY. Dad tried to cut my hair again. He held me down and got some of it. It'll grow back. That was what started it. He then proceeded to break all my CD's. All the ones I saved for so fricking long for. . . Everything that mattered, anything that mattered. . . It's gone. Diaries, possessions. . . Everything. I've screamed my voice raw as well. I don't want to ever go back home again. I'm sitting in some random alley, watching a rat eat some rotting food. I don't want to go home!! I just can't take him anymore!! I can't see and I want to sleep but I'm too scared. I want to go somewhere where I don't have to be screamed at for what I am. I want to go somewhere that I can go to sleep and wake up and I'm not bleeding. I want to go somewhere that I don't have to deal with him. I want a home. . . I don't like this alley. It's cold and dark and quiet. I want to go to somewhere, but there's nowhere to go. I guess I have to sleep at one point. I'm scared. . . Well, good-night whoever is out there. There will eventually be a home for me where I'll actually want to go. If not. . . I'll make one.

*September 29, 2000*

Vincent met my dad. Well, he kindof did. Dad went and got drunk right in front of him. I could kill him. Vincent just looked around like it didn't bother him. Dad told Vincent he'd make a great girl if he just got some fake boobs and wore a dress. Vincent just smiled and looked like he wanted to hurt someone. That's how it went for about a half an hour. Dad insulting him and Vincent trying to be polite. I think I was about to cry. That was when we left the table with stupid drunken Dad. Arrrgh. I hope he rots. Anyway, I then took Vincent to my room. That was a little different. He actually had an interest in my CD's. They took me FOREVER to save up for, and a ton of effort to get. I love Gackt!! Then I had to find a way to get him home. That was not fun. That was long and difficult. Oh well. Someone listened to my rants about Gackt! La la la, kindof happy day but not really! Well, if I just stay positive. . . Things can't get too much worse if I focus on being positive. Or at least that seems to be the general belief.

*September 25, 2000*

Vincent got beaten up today. I'm sad. They gave him a big cut down his cheek. I want to kill them! How could they be so mean? All he said was to leave me alone. . . Already I'm causing problems for him!! Well, I helped him clean up his face. That made me feel a little better. Not a whole lot. He said it didn't matter and he was glad that he had been able to stand up fo me, even if it didn't work. He's going to meet my dad. . . I'm scared for him.

*September 23, 2000*
I met the sweetest guy today. Well, I suppose calling him a "he" is a little weird, but I think. . . Yeah, I'm pretty sure he's actually a guy. Anyway [part deleted for my own personal privacy], so that's how all that works. Weird, isn't it? We slammed into each other in the hallway. I seriously thought he was going to cry or something. I remembered seeing him around, but that! I never expected him to be so nice! He's so shy and quiet. He calls me Camui, too! I'm so happy! This is the high point of my week!! Even if my hands hurt and my back smarts, I don't care! I have a new friend! Oh, Vincent! I'm so happy we rammed into each other. I might have never met you. In other times of the last few days, HE keeps harassing me about my hair. It's past my shoulders now. I think it is kindof pretty. Not on me, and if I took better care of it, it would be. Vincent said it was pretty. MMM!! I'm really, really happy right now. That's really good!! La la la. . .

*September 20, 2000*
I'm back again. I did write for the last few days, but HE found them and burned them right in front of me. He's mad. I want to cry again. Not like that would ever help. I got beat up today as well. I think they fractured my eye socket. I'm going to sleep.

*September 14, 2000*
I don't even know WHAT to write. My hands hurt a lot. But it gives me something else to think about. I'm sick of being here. Sometimes I want to commit suicide. I know I shouldn't. But I don't have much to live for. I don't have any of those "true love" story-type people, and I don't have any person alive who would give a damn. Oh, I should stop whining. My back hurts. I talked back to my dad, so he belted me across my back. I have welts the size of footballs. I want to cry. I think I'll just go to bed, though. Not like crying will ever solve anything. Camui, haven't you learned?

*September 10, 2000*
Oh, I'm so mad! I got stuck in a little gym locker today and I got locked in! They did it until I cried. They poked me continually and threw water on me. I couldn't even move. . . I'm so humiliated. The gym teacher pretended not to notice. Why do they all have to treat me like I'm scum? Not like my father cares. . . I AM scum to him. Why would it matter? And they call me Calvin! I hate that stupid name. I am Camui! Why doesn't anybody acknowledge that. . .? I cut my hands again tonight. I didn't even mean to this time. But I wanted to do it again, and I don't know why. I did it about four times in all, and I can't feel my fingers, even though I'm writing. I'm dribbling blood on your pages, and I'm sorry. I think I'm going to go bandage my hands.

*September 9, 2000*
Camui, age fourteen. I go to school in a medium-sized town. I don't like it here very much. I'm really lonely. I don't really get along with anybody very well, and I am shoved into lockers a lot. I really hate it here, to tell you the truth. But things will get better, or so the counselor tells me. I don't think so. My father still is a jerk, and I lost my last five diaries due to him. If I keep this one hidden, maybe he won't take it away. I sound so whiny!! Oh well. These are my personal thoughts. . . he can't get at them. Well, in better news, my hair has grown! And it didn't get cut off! Oh, I'm so happy.