No Apologies.

Sleep is hard to come by lately. Unconsciousness seems to be all I can manage, a kind of greyed out mash of dream heavy imagery mentally dominates my brain for hours on end every night, but doesn’t give it the satisfaction of real sleep. I always used to think that sleep was a restful experience, now I think it’s a daily slackening of the rules I’ve creates to stop myself from going insane.

Ah melodrama, where would the pointless self hating mental aristocrats of the world be without it?

Hello, my name is Complex. I am a young man of means, of late immersed in a sea of indecision and lacklustre personal performance. I hope that this diary will help me catalogue my ups and downs, my rights and wrongs. I hope that you won’t think me too self indulgent if I use this to voice myself, letting at least a few people know about the overly specific nature of my seemingly eternal self hatred.

For the record, I intend this diary to be entirely typical, I don’t want to express anything original or interesting at all. I’m hoping that I can use it to catalogue the banal nature of my mind, so that I can sift out the parts of myself that I find to be unique and work towards their eventual emphasis. I will be making no attempt whatsoever to stop myself from sounding like a typical moronic teenager, even though it’s been years since I qualified. This process wil in all likelihood be boring as hell for others to read, but I don’t really give a shit. At this point, all I want is to write. I need to write. It’s been years since I’ve written anything. My mind is full of stale food, the odour of which taints everything I put in there.

So I will be using this as an attempt to clean out the mouldy leftover sludge from the cold fridge of my brain, here’s hoping there’s still something left inside worth eating when I’m done.