This is my diary. Well, Bakura's diary. As you guys probably understand by now I identify myself with him and you could almost say he's my alterego.
He and I are two, we're together and will always be, in som way.

Feel free to be apart om mine and his life from now on, 'cause this'll become one hell of a mess. I can't promise you regular updates, but atleast this one is a start.

Day of Writing: Tuesday, June 2009.

Went to the first rock-festival in my entire life a few days ago. It was such a rush and I barely needed any alcohol or cigarettes to hold me up. Not blood or sex for that matter, either.

Not at all like myself, that is.
Getting high on music, on life itself is nothing unusual but I always needed some other stimulative things to do. Such as carve into my own flesh, but that's an entire different story that stretches years back in time now.

My lust for inflicting pain on myself and to see the blood flow and take all that mental shit with it.... It's a tough addiction and I've come to the point were I don't even bother counting my scars anymore. I'm sure I've got more then a thousand.

Apart from that I've spent a huge part of my life fleeing. Escaping, running away, to go somewhere safe, whatever people call it when you want nothing more then to not be in this reality. It's harsh and the awakening that follows is almost more then some of us can handle.
I'm one of them "us".

Today I plan to do absolutely nothing. At first I caught myself in thinking positive, wanting to go out for a walk... The sun's shining and I have a mild phobia of getting a tan. Some people think it's pretty. I don't. Not on me at least. So from now on I won't go out in direct sunlight without sunblock on. Paleness is a keeper, damn right it is.
I can't go around looking like YamiMarik, that damn brat, with his blond hair and tan skin. Looks... weird, but hey he's still one of the few most sexiest guys I know (apart from myself, ofcourse).

Just kidding. I hate myself and my body and I plan to do something about that too. Got to try to do some more exercise. Eat less.
Yeah, I'm sure I'll be able to do that...
Just put my mind to it and keep myself distracted.
Drink a lot of coffe and tons of gallons of a lot of water. Hah. Perfect.

Only problem is to hide my food-issues from my parents.
My problem is that I eat when it tastes good. And I'm able to eat a lot. Sickens me at times, but still I continue eating like I'm a starved fucking pig or something. Disgusting.
I have actually gained weight. I have. It's not a pleasant sight, thighs bigger and stomach bulging out a bit. And I'm skinny, but not as skinny as I like myself to be. A flatter stomach and thinner thighs sounds like a fair deal to me. For now.

Enough of that shit now.
My outside apperance is important to me. Sad, you people might say, but that's just how it is for me. If my hair's on one side then I'm on the other. I can't go out meeting new people without my signature thick, black and clean-looking, Egyptian-inspired eye-liner around my bloodshot eyes. It's awkward to let people see beneatch that. I'm not as hot without make-up, I'd tell you. My dear black circles shows everyone what a torn life I've lived.

These days, when I write isn't as many... as before.
My goal with all this shit is to try write everyday or atleast when I come to think of something that means... anything, in search for my perfection, and for that antidote that won't make me feel that my soul's decaying.

I'll explore some of my fetishes, I'll dive into my mind and dig up a damn rotten mess, to try to get some order in there.

It's annoying not to know who you are, why you're here and why the fuck you're still alive. Why are we still here, huh? Why?!