-----------sdswabdsdswfos
Genre: Angst
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Disclaimer: I do not own Degrassi, its characters, or anything associated with it. This fanfic was written for entertainment purposes only, and no copyright infringement is intended.
-----------Solivagant
Monday, 7:43 pm – Journal Entry Two: I Hate Photographs
Like I said last entry, this journal log is for my anger management. If you didn't bother to read the last entry, I think the cover would have given it away. The large-type letters on the front are hard to miss. But then, I guess with all the journals I have to carry around now, this one could get lost with the others.
Yeah, I'm in a bad mood. Show me a young black man that isn't angry about something (the man, the lotto, girlfriends, boyfriends, school, the asshole thatparalyzed you for life...)and I'll give you a million dollars. That's right. You couldn't find any. So I'm a -disturbed young man- today. Get over it. I did, months ago, even before they put me into rehab and therapy. Not that there is a difference!I'm off topic. Never was a topic to begin with in the first place. But I need order. Had enough chaos to last me a while.
So anyway, I also explained who I was, what I was all about. This time my therapist said to just rant about anything. Something that got me –as he put it- 'riled up'. So here goes I guess...
I hate photos. I hate everything they stand for. If you look through any family photo album, all you are going to see are happy, smiling faces. Everyone is cheerfully happy; nobody's yelling, nobody's angry. It's like the stupid phrase: 'picture perfect'.
That's because the people in the pictures know that these photos are their memories. They are the things that future generations will see. And also, who honestly -wants- to remember the bad times? Well, besides sickos, twisted perverts, and me.
Personally, I think the 'smile' has lost its value. We smile every time we're pleased; think something is funny, whatever. It is the image of happiness. Look at that stupid yellow smiley face. That yellow freak show is always grinning. We have to assume the yellow smiley face thing is happy, or else dementedly sick in the mind.
But that is why we always smile for the cameras. We want to 'express' cheerfulness. Here's the real thing though: despite what our photographs tell us, not everyone is happy 24/7, if even for one hour of the day.
Say you take a photo of a family celebrating a birthday. Odds are they are all going to be foolishly grinning for the camera. Now take that picture all over the world and show it to different people. The general consensus will be that those are happy people in the picture. They must lead the perfect suburbia life.
Pictures are misleading because smiles can be false; emotions can be faked. In truth, that family was going through a wicked divorce and the son had knocked up their pastor's daughter. -Yikes- Nobody wanted to be celebrating that birthday. Everyone hated the party. But when Grandma had pulled out her camera, the fake smiles had appeared.
Smiles are the world's conspiracy against the advancement of the human race. I say we get it all out there in the open; none of this counterfeit happy bull-crap. Because you can fake happiness but you can't fake contentment. That is why I hate photos. They never show anyone's true emotions. It's all a giant hoax which I refuse to be a part of.
The last time I ever valued a photograph was two years ago: Ninth Grade. I had a picture of my girlfriend hanging up in my locker, but apparently it was the 'wrong one'. She broke up with me over that picture. People have told me it was because I was too controlling and possessive, but I know the truth.
I have a picture of my whole family- my dad, my mom, and me- in a shoebox with a few other keepsakes under my bed. We were sitting around the kitchen table putting together a jigsaw puzzle when it was taken. It's probably at least five years old, but it is the most current photograph I have of my entire family together in one place. Nobody's smiling, but that might just be because we were all concentrating on the pieces. Whatever.
The point is: that was the last time we were together, happy. I think the actual last time we were together for an extended period of time was when I was being introduced into my Anger Management course, and before that when I was in the hospital for, well... you know what happened. Anyway, here's my point. I don't smile anymore.
Never. Not for anyone or anything. Not even for a photograph. And thus ends entry two of my journal. It's not exactly the best piece of literature ever written, but I would stand by ever single word that was written in this log. Just because I'm –like that-.
—Jimmy Brooks