I'm satan's finest. Who are you?

December 25th, 1986 - Van Nuys.

Merry Christmas.

That's what people say at Christmas, right?
Except normally they have someone to say it to.
They have friends and family,
And they haven't been crouched naked under a Christmas tree
with a needle in their arm like an insane person in a mansion in Van Nuys.
They're not out of their minds, they're not writing in a diary,
And they're definitely not watching their holiday spirit coagulate in a spoon.
I didn't speak to a single person today.
I figured why should I ruin their fucking Christmas.

I've started a new diary and this time I have a few new reasons.
One, I have no friends left.
Two, so I can read back and remember what I did the day before.
And three, so if I die, at least I leave a nice little suicide note of my life.

It's just me and you, diary. Welcome to my fucked up life.

Magaluf ar bra. Igar korde vi pa grabbarna grus. Idag ar vi doda. Nu ska jag bada och sola lite. Pa lordag aker jag hem. I natt dromde jag om Dregen, puss hej.