Disclaimer: Don't own. Never will own. (Unfortunately. T_T)

WARNINGS: Major language. Talk of sexuality. Mentions of sex (nothing approaching graphic even if you reached out with a ten foot pole. Mentions are vague at best.) Minor mention of cutting.

My life has gone to shit.

Literally.

Two weeks ago was when I woke up in the hospital. After all my vitals were done and yadda, yadda, yadda…blah, blah, blah, so on and so forth, Yagyuu gave me the crappiest news I had ever received by far.

I had a rather serious disease, known to most of the world as…

Dun, dun, dunnnnnnnnnn…

Sorry…couldn't resist.

Anyway, I had a form of leukemia!

Yay, me. Thanks for finding the one way to fuck up my life even more God! Honestly, I was looking for something else to go wrong. I mean, there's no possible was that I might have a full load, could I? My life can't be that bad, right?

Wrong.

Since this is my diary, excuse me, my journal as my therapist would like me to call it (apparently it's supposed to make me feel more secure in my sexuality. Quite comfortable being bisexual people. It's not that strange.) he has also told me not only to write down my fucking feelings about every little thing that happens to me, I should write about my childhood as well.

Well if they wanted me to finally crack, I think that that works pretty damn well.

Hell, I'll go full on mental breakdown if they want me too.

Wouldn't want to disappoint.

My childhood, well I'm using that as a relative term. I never really had a childhood.

Let's see…

Never knew who my actual father was. Mother hated me, thought I was the devil's spawn (probably was too). My older sister never gave a shit, just so long as I stayed out of her crap, she stayed away from mine. My little brother always bothered me and I always told him to fuck off. I got beatings from my mother, death threats, the whole lot.

I drink a lot, mostly the hard stuff, you know what I'm talking about, the good vodka. Oh yeah, baby. I smoke, I cut, I do drugs sometimes, may have or may have not actually gone out and experimented with my sexuality on a first hand basis.

Well, I will tell you that the bigger the dick, the more fun.

Oh, and the bigger melons a girl has, the more they're into the harder stuff.

Huh, who knew, right?

So that was just my childhood. Some crazy shit definitely. I mean, it'll probably scar my therapist for life just reading the cliff notes, not to mention the affect it had on me.

You know, the one who actually lives in that shithole life.

Anyway, enough self-pity.

But isn't that what this is? Self-pity?

Wouldn't a real man just go and deal with his crap without having to go to a goddamn therapist? I mean, what the hell is the fucking point? My mother doesn't care as I've said before, my siblings have learned that my presence in the house is erratic at best, and the only few that I could say care a little bit would be my teammates.

That's probably only because they want to use me to help them win the nationals.

Except Hiroshi.

What other explanation is there? What sane person sits by a comatose person's beside for three weeks while said comatose person will possibly never wake up?

I still don't understand that.

And since I was truly stumped and apparently blind to the answer, I decided to ask my therapist. God knows why, but his degree in human interaction (the fuck, right?) kinda made me think he knew something about friendship, or whatever twisted relationship is.

When I asked at my next daily session, his answer was so simple.

So fucking stupid as hell too.

His answer was, "He probably actually cares about you Niou-san. Why does that seem so surprising?"

Well, have you even been reading this damn diary?

Because seriously, tell me if you aren't, because then I'll stop writing and it'll do us all a favour.

Let's get back to the present then, shall we?

Oh, but wait.

Forgot something, yeah it is fucking hard to believe. Since when has anybody fucking given a damn about Niou fucking Masaharu?

Yeah, you're right.

Never.

Guess what, I found God a few days ago.

I'm going to completely and totally change my ways and become a better person. I'm going to quite all my vices (the drinking, smoking, drugs, cutting, and sex) because my body is a temple and I shouldn't go and corrupt God's perfect image of me.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

Like hell I did.

No, what really happened was that I had some jackass Christianized freaks who tried to shove their self-serving religion up my ass.

Seriously though people, get this -cue the drumroll- I'm an atheist!

Yay!

I honestly couldn't care less about the big man upstairs (Santa Claus, right?) because when did he give a shit about me?

That's right, he doesn't.

Therefore, all that crap about he cares about and that he's always with you is just a bunch of made up bullshit. You are responsible for your own actions. It's a fact of life, suck it up and deal with it.

I'm sorry if I totally just mind-raped you, wait, no I'm not.

STOP BEING A GODDAMN PANSY AND GROW A DAMN SET OF BALLS!

There we go, I think that most of my rants out (though more may come later).

I might assume that did something for me. Took a load off of my shoulders or something like that psychobabble.

But somehow, it wasn't as satisfying as telling to the sons of bitches themselves.

Anyway, might as well move on to the main topic of this entry that my therapist wanted to get some insight on. Naturally, that might make me want to be the slightest bit difficult and completely avoid the topic altogether, but I think this time it might actually help me to get this one out.

I know, you're like you're not Niou! Who are you and what have you done with his body?

I assure you, this is not Invasion of The Body Snatchers (or the Pod People, or whoever the hell those people are-good movie though). I'm still Niou.

Last I checked, anyway.

Just kidding. But yeah, I've decided to write down my reaction to this utter bullshit, because if I said any more than I did at that moment (and I said an awful lot, mind you) I probably would've gotten myself expelled for harassment of a teacher/staff member or something.

Yesterday, my bitch of an English teacher was having us discuss some book, ah hah!

Sorry, just remembered the title. It was Painting by Numbers and it was actually a pretty decent book. Apparently the school system was using the book to bring up awareness on bullying or suicide rates or something like that.

The book was something about a brat named Seth who basically had a really shitty life.

Sounds familiar right?

Yeah, so he's some rich kid from the good side of the tracks, so everybody just thinks that his problems are incredibly superficial.

i.e. they don't exist in the puny little minds of society.

Which was wrong. Very wrong. This kid ended up with so much baggage from his mother and his father and his classmates, he did some drastic shit, mainly yell at a fucking teacher about something that sounded vaguely suicidal and he got shipped off to some pricey hospital asylum.

We haven't finished the book yet, so I couldn't tell you how it ends, but the story line sounds really familiar to me. If the ends going to go like I think it is…

Then it won't be pretty.

But like I said, I don't know yet.

Anyway, my teacher asked if anyone had gone through something similar to the situations in the book.

I raised my hand along with most of the rest of the class. Don't know why, but I assumed it would be interesting to see how far I could get down this line of questioning.

Next was do any of you have a father that left, or didn't acknowledge you in any way shape or form?

One third of the hands went down, mine was not among them.

Do any of you have a mother that truly ignores you and doesn't like you?

Most of the hands left went down, (there are about thirty-six people in my English class) my stayed up with about six others.

Have any of you tried alcohol?

One hand went down. Guess whose it wasn't.

Smoking?

Another one down.

Drugs?

Another two.

Sex?

Both of the other hands left went down, but mine was still raised. Poor little virgins.

Depression? Cutting? Other forms of self-harm? Homosexual feelings?

My hand still hadn't gone down.

"Suicide?"

It was funny at this point, she was obviously just trying to get me to put my hand down along with my devil may care grin, but hey I'm still being truthful and I wasn't the one who picked to participate in the activity in the first place.

"Complete social isolation from your peers?"

My grin faded completely and I felt my mouth press tightly into a thin line.

"Physical, emotional, mental and sexual abuse?"

Oh boy.

-Fuck off sincerely,

Niou Masaharu

AN: So, what did you think?

Personally I thought it was a bit depressing, but I like it overall. Though the thought that Niou actually went through all of that was painful to write about. Like I mentioned earlier, I love Niou, but this really does make for an interesting background.

Did it make anyone else want to cry just a little bit?

I know, me too.

Anyway, the book Painting by Numbers? Yeah, that's real and it's a very good book. If you ever have time and don't mind a bit of profanity and several rather, ah, inappropriate situations it's a really good read. It belongs to David Thyssen though, not me.

Oh how I can wish though, right?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed. If you did you know, my review button is right down there and it's feeling a bit unloved at the moment.

Hope you'll help it feel more loved, just like Niou.

Love,

Tainted Fated Demise