I am disappointed in you. Yes, you: the reader. Don't you know that these writings were never meant to be read, that they were meant to be discarded, burned? Is it somehow not clear, that this is my wish? I do not know how they have survived, it was through no intent of mine. Burn them all immediately.

There is no point in reading them. There will be no great conclusion, no moral, no last act. Someday, these writings will simply end. I will either grow tired of them, or a tragic and swift death will take me away. There will be no three act structure, no happy ending. You're a fool if you believe otherwise.

The only reoccurring character in them will be me. There will be no others. And therefore no intrigue, no romance. No great friendships. As far as incredible feats of magic go, and wondrous adventures? Look elsewhere. I am both incapable of these things, and completely uninterested in them. Go, get your childish fantasies somewhere else. Here, the mundane and brutal reality reigns supreme. Go away.

Wait! Please, don't go! It's not true, I don't want you to leave! I desperately want you to read this. Every word that you read, every sentence and every paragraph – it is all a great gift to me. It fills me with joy and hope. It makes me feel like I have a purpose. Like I matter. Yes, stay with me! Please, read just another sentence. And another. Maybe one more?

Don't you see, that I'm trying my hardest to seduce you? I pick my words very carefully. Shape every sentence the best that I can. Does it please you? Will you accept me, like me? Oh, I do hope that you will. I've shown my very soul to you, stood before you completely naked. Don't push me away!

Only your complete and undivided attention can satisfy me. I need you to feel, like I feel. I need you to understand me. To dive in with me, and let the waves take us away. I need to infect you with my fever, just to make you see the world as I see it. I need you to think that I'm special. One of a kind. I need you to fall in love with me. Please, will you take my hand?

But, I'm deluding myself. I know that it wouldn't work, if we were together. It might seem appealing after reading these pages, but they are just a finely crafted mask that I wear. Reality is much more disappointing. In it, I'm a nobody. In reality, I'm repulsive and flawed. Others repulse me as well. I am fundamentally incompatible with them. I'm better off alone.

I'm also deluding myself, by even thinking that my writing has made an impression on you. It might seem enticing to me, but my mind is being clouded by emotions. You on the other hand, are unbiased. You can clearly see how pathetic I really am. How overly dramatic, vain, and pompous I am. I have no redeeming qualities.

I'm so incredibly vain, that in my vanity I even assumed that you are still reading this. I know that you have closed this diary a long time ago. You gave it one fleeting glance, and moved on, uninterested. You haven't even made it past the first page. Good for you. I mean it. You have better things to do.

But I don't. I'm wasting all my precious hours on this. The last few precious days that I still have left, before death takes me away. I've lost the sense of time. It's already dark outside, but to me it was morning just moments ago. I write, rewrite, tear out pages. Throw them onto the floor. I torture myself, I can't even sleep. I hardly even eat. This needs to be perfect.

But, is it? Or is it unreadable? Derivative? Worthless? Or, worst of all, ordinary and boring? There is no room for error here, there will be no second chances. And if any of it has been done before, I'll bury myself alive. All my hopes rest on these pages. They need to be perfect. Original. One of a kind.

Why do I care so much? My reasons are very simple, and quite pathetic. I'm building a giant monument to myself. I dream of greatness, and this is my lottery ticket. There is no end to my vanity. I have unearned fame already, but I hate every moment of it. I want people to recognize me for something that I've actually done, not for something that just happened to me.

I told you that you shouldn't be reading this. Stop fueling my ego. I'm a tick, that wants to engorge itself with your blood. I'm a parasite, like all artists. I provide no necessary service, as I only serve myself. I already told you that I'm irredeemable. Let me be forgotten, as is my fate. That would be the only rightful punishment for my sins.

I am only in love with myself. And it is a sick love. It is an incurable disease, that I've had all my life. No matter how much I punish and discipline myself, it will not come off me. But, I punish and discipline myself only for my own sake. Anything that I do, I do for my own benefit. For my own good. I do it all out of simple egoism.

Do you really want to know why I'm being so honest? It's because I'm desperate. I'm throwing everything that I've got at you. I'm selling my soul, maybe then I'll get what I want. Did you really think, that I was trying to cure myself? That I was trying to better myself? How naïve. I don't care about curing myself at all, you fool.

It is my disease that is speaking to you. Say hello. These memoirs? They are all a design of my sickness. It is all a ploy. I speak the truth, and I do it all to seduce you. So you'll read, and in doing so satisfy my ego. So that I'll become great. Do you see now? I have no control whatsoever.

I am cursed. Any attempt to get rid of my egoism has already been doomed from the very start. By the mere fact that I attempt to outgrow it, I only sink deeper. Like the Devil's Snare, the more you fight it, the tighter it twists around your neck. I try to be better, I try to be perfect; but I only do it for myself. And you can't fight vanity with more vanity.

The cure would be to become a better person. But to constantly want to be better – that's the disease. It pains me who I am, I can't accept myself. I need to be great and powerful. I want relief from my suffering. I want fulfillment. I want exaltation. I want everything that I don't have. I want it all. All for myself.

No! I hate everything that I don't have. Get it away from me. I already have all that I need here: I have myself. And no matter what, deep down I still believe that I'm special. Maybe not in any way that's immediately apparent, not in any way that you'd appreciate. However, I'm still somehow better than all of you. That is my only tenet. The only thing that I really believe in.

I'm like that fox, that is trying to get to the grapes. Oh, how I desperately want them! Even if they really are sour. I need all that I don't have, maybe that will finally make me happy. Hold on. No. How absurd! Why would I need sour grapes? I hate grapes anyway. Pathetic little balls of fruit. And the seeds in the middle? Horrible. I'll just steal some chickens, like I've always done.

Happiness is for normal people. Me? I'm the Boy who Lived. A martyr. A saint. Let them have their happiness, their friendships, their love. I have something far more important, something that they'll never have: I suffer. Suffering is far more noble, just, and beautiful. It is meaningful. And what meaning is there in happiness? None, I tell you. It is not right to be happy, when others suffer. It is a crime. The only right thing to do, is to suffer with them. For them. Out of solidarity.

No! This is just my ego speaking. My disease. It does not want me to be happy. Because to be happy, I would have to change. And to change, is to admit that I'm not perfect. It is to admit that I'm actually flawed. And I haven't admitted that yet, oh no. These so called 'flaws' that I've shown to you? They're what makes me special, a martyr. Tortured, and beautiful. They're what makes me attractive. They're all precious to me, I wouldn't exchange them for anything.

Do I want to change, or not? I don't really know myself. What I do know, is that my disease is right there beside me. It's right there, as I'm making the decisions. Pushing me. Trapping me in a web of lies. It sneaks into my every thought; I can't trust myself anymore. It poisoned everything. Did I really think of that, or did 'it' think of that? It's in there, right now. Inside my head. Scheming. I can feel it. It's driving me insane.

And so it goes, this self-love of mine. This incurable disease. I've had it all my life. No matter what I do, it will not come off me. It has sunk its claws deep into me, and it won't let go. It tears at my flesh, gnaws at my insides. My body burns with a fever, and my mind is beginning to boil over. I feel like a caged animal, that's throwing itself at the walls of its prison. And the metal bars do not give, they will never give.

I can't stay here anymore. In this room. In this house. It's unhealthy. It's cabin fever, it must be. I must leave these four walls, before I grow insane. I've decided to go for a walk. See you later.

I'm feeling a little better now, even though it wasn't as relaxing as it should have been. It was already afternoon, and I was jumping at every shadow. My hand constantly around the wand in my pocket. Just as I normally do, I avoided all other people. Especially now, that they could have been there to kill me. Why didn't I just bring my invisibility cloak? Damn it. I'll put it in my backpack next time, as it would be too uncomfortable to walk around in. I want to feel the cool breeze on my face.

I walked quickly, as usual. My mind was still racing, it was all a blur. A second here, a second there, then I walk away as fast as I can. I didn't want to be noticed. I didn't want to stand out. I'm going somewhere, people! No need to look at me, I'm busy. I have places to be. I'm already late. Can't you see how fast I'm walking? See, how normal I am? I'm just like you. I'm not just aimlessly walking around, I swear.

I went to some of the old places that I knew. It was a strange experience. I went to my old school – I'm so glad to be rid of that place! I've hated that gray building, the fence around it, the narrow corridors. It's all so small when compared to Hogwarts. But somehow, I still feel a sense of loss. A twinge of nostalgia. Things were so simple back then, and I was just an another face in the crowd. I hate how time changes everything. I want to go back.

I went out again. It's becoming a new obsession of mine. However, this time it's a healthy obsession. It's easier on my brain. Are these positive emotions that I'm starting to feel? Relief? It's a simple pleasure, listening to the trees rustle in the wind. To the birds singing, or seeing a squirrel pass by on a nearby tree. Strange, how in but a single moment, I can go from the depths of despair and anxiety to such… happiness? I'm drunk on it. I don't want it to go away.

I just sat there, read a little. I've brought "The Sorrows of Young Werther" with me. I haven't finished it yet, so far I was taking in how he describes nature. I want to write like that. The words that I'm was reading amplified my own emotions, they made everything even sweeter. I didn't really get much out of the romance part, but personal tragedy? I soaked it up like a sponge.

Then I got up from my park bench, and started walking again. Back to all the old places, back to all the old routes. Back in time. And I reminisced how it all had been back then, before Hogwarts. How I've lived in a different world of magic and fantasy. How I've been fascinated by the "Narnia" books. How I've wished that they were real. How much I've wanted to go through a wardrobe, meet Aslan, and even the Witch.

Before Hogwarts, I would walk and dream. I would insert myself into those books, fantasize how awesome I would be. I had entire conversations inside my head, even though that I was so silent in real life. I dreamt about how I would impress everyone in Narnia, how I would become praised and accepted. I wanted to meet this character, or that one. I wanted magic and adventure. I wanted it so much.

I don't anymore. I'm too cynical for that now. It's too painful to fantasize. I've already received my one chance. I've been granted an impossible wish, but I've wasted it. I've wasted it all. Now I finally know, that things don't ever change. That I will always remain alone, and a nobody. Perhaps, it was all a punishment for my idiocy. For how greedy I was. For dreaming, instead of taking action. I deserved it. I deserved it all.

Things didn't suddenly change, just because I went to a magical castle. It all remained exactly the same. I remained exactly the same. I was still a coward, I was still shy. I was still friendless, I was still mediocre at everything. I still continued to wait until things would magically improve, and did nothing to better myself. I just continued running away. I just continued getting by with minimal possible effort.

Please, learn from my mistakes! Do something, before it's too late. Do it now! If you're unhappy – act. Don't wait, as you'll be waiting your whole life. Don't just fantasize, but go after your dreams. Make them a reality. It'll be a hard road; an adventure. And you don't need magic and dragons just to have one. They've only made my life worse. I believe that the Muggle life is much better, more peaceful. And it's not mundane at all, it's much more sophisticated. So go live your life, how you've always dreamt of living it. And if you already have a wand? Throw it in the garbage bag.

I've had different dreams at Hogwarts, but similar. My fantasies were all about discovering some hidden power, secret spell. About becoming great, and accepted. Becoming worthy of my fame. Finding friends, going on adventures. And I only had to wait three more years until another wish was granted to me. The Triwizard Tournament came, and my own name was spat out of the cup.

I never put it in there, but who cares? Finally, I would become a hero! Finally, I would become great and accepted! But nobody believed in me, and nobody believed that I didn't put my name in. And I realized, how they all hated me. I stopped going to class. I avoided everyone even more, and secluded myself in the library. I started my frantic research into every topic that I could think of. I would show them all. Or die trying.

Looking back, it was the only time in my life when I was proud of myself. I wasn't happy, I was in a bad spot, I nearly crumbled under the pressure. But I was proud of myself. I learned more than ever before in my life, and I did it all alone. Those spells? Crouch didn't teach me them, I taught them to myself. He did tell me what to do in the first task though. And the second. Third one he practically completed for me.

As I did the tasks, people slowly started accepting me. At least the Gryffindors. They shouted my name, gave me thumbs up. It felt amazing to be recognized, praised. But nobody actually become my friend, oh no. I had a few pleasant conversations, but nothing beyond that. I was too scared, I think. Maybe I pushed them away, maybe I just didn't know what to do. Panicked, I always turned them down, gave them excuses. I went back to the library, to empty classrooms, and just studied on my own. Shaking, sweat running down my face. Endlessly playing back inside my head what I had said to them. Kicking myself for it.

I had bigger things on my mind anyway. First task: dragons. Crouch told me what it would be, and that I should try flying. Even though I got badly burned, I managed to do it. Second task: the lake. Easy, especially when all I did was swallow some weed. Crouch literally gave it to me. Third task: the maze. Practically empty, other contestants got taken out by my guardian angel. It was all an adventure tailor made for me. It seemed dangerous, but there was no way to fail.

And I've already told you, who waited for me at the very end. But I haven't told you, that I've actually thanked him. I've thanked Voldemort. I've thanked him for the dream that he made real for me. For granting me my wish. I've thanked him for making me feel special, powerful. For giving me an adventure of my own. Even though it was all an illusion. I think that he was happy for me too.

I believed it all! I believed it all, because I am hopelessly in love with myself. You might dream about your lover, but I only dream about myself. I only want myself. There is no room for anybody else. That is my sickness, and it cannot be treated. Or at least, I cannot treat it alone. But I'm years, decades away from opening up to anybody else. And I don't have that much time left. Only you can help be. Perhaps. Maybe. I still trying, looking for a way out. Even though I'm not entirely sincere. You see, I don't want to break up with myself!

Would other people even be able to help? I can't even think clear around them. Panic takes over, and I don't know what I'm saying. I can't look them in the eye. People touching me makes me feel uncomfortable. I don't even want to be with anyone, it would be too stressful. I can't even imagine how it would all even happen. It's not for me. I can't do it!

What would I even say to them? I don't know. I can't talk like a normal person. I'm too formal, too awkward. I don't say "bloody". I don't say "mate". And I certainly don't say "oi". I've developed my own dialect, out of reading old books and ancient magic tomes. Frankly, it's even a miracle that I still remember how to speak.

Social interactions are alien and incomprehensible to me. Just like magic is to the Dursleys. How does one become friends? Is there some secret handshake? How often do we meet? I have no idea what other people even do in their spare time. Argh! It feels like everyone else is a member of some secret society, and I'm the only outsider. They immediately know that I don't belong. They can smell it on me. How do I get in?

I had Hogwarts, I had the Tournament. But I need a third miracle. Perhaps this one will finally be more than just a painful lesson in disguise. How long do I have to wait for it? First one was after eleven years, next one after a little over three. So just one year gap before the third? That should be right about now. No! I can't wait. I need to do something! But what? What is the cure? How do I get better?

I've stressed myself so much, that I'm feeling physical pain. It's shooting through my hands, it's rolling through my stomach. It feels like I'm falling. I've been pacing around my room for the past twenty minutes. It's dark, so I can't go out. I don't want to sleep. If I sleep, the night will just flash by. Sleep would transport me in time to tomorrow. One day closer to my death. No, I will stay up for as long as I can. I want to slow down time. I want to stop it. Burn all the calendars, smash all the clocks!