S1: Journal Entry

[ I've never been one to write my thoughts down, truthfully I try to avoid them when possible but I feel as if I'm going to burst if I just keep them inside. Morgan suggested journaling, but as I sit here, pen in hand, blank paper in front of me, I feel stupid. What am I meant to write? My feelings? I feel like shit, what more is there to it?

Maybe it would be easier if I could just turn my thoughts into music, but I don't think I could do well with lyrics, I'll just feel even more stupid. Besides, when I went to go pick up my guitar in the spot I keep it, it was gone. Who else but Morgan could have taken it. I did confront him about it, calling him to ask him if he'd seen it as I didn't want to just accuse him of touching my things. Morgan might dance around the truth, but he doesn't lie. He told me he took it, and his reasoning. Made me wish I didn't ask.

I like to play at local bars in my spare time, in it's own way it's soothing, fun. Morgan knows this, and made the executive decision to take my guitar so I wouldn't go anywhere. Felt I was too fragile to be in that sort of environment right now. I love Morgan, I really do, but when they do shit like this it's just so frustrating. Not once did they ask me how I'd feel about it, they don't get my perspective at all, just doing what they think is best.

I know I can be impulsive, I can admit that, but it feels like I'm being treated like a child sometimes. Morgan barely got the words out before I just hung up on him. Now I get to sit here, and write in this stupid journal instead. Maybe I should have started with 'dear diary'. ]

Carmen's writing finally stops, brown eyes staring at the ink settling on the page realizing he was just writing every single thought that had crossed his mind. Is this how people typically journaled? He felt like he should have looked up other examples to get an idea of how to do this correctly. Well, if it was for his eyes only did it really matter?

Carmen thought this was the end of the entry but as his hand moves to close the journal, he stops. There were more things bothering him, maybe he'd feel just a little better if he wrote those out too. Flipping to a new page, Carmen starts again.

[ Dear diary,

Skye was the one who found me. Out of all the people who could have, I really wish it wasn't them. I find myself often worrying about how they would feel if they knew who I was, who I could be. Fists bloodied from a stupid fight I started, out of sorts, and incapable of answering any questions. Not like I'd even know what to say at the moment regardless.

That had to be anxiety inducing, I can't even imagine where their thoughts went in that moment. Come to think of it, I wonder where there thoughts are now. I was too busy worrying about my guitar to even ask Morgan about Skye, and I can't exactly go calling Morgan again after I hung up on him. I could ask Skye directly, they've tried messaging me but I've been too much of a coward to read anything from anybody. Not too much of a coward to throw hands, but enough of one to avoid the people I've disappointed. How laughable, I'll have to see them eventually when I go back to work, but for now I guess that's a problem for me in the future.

How am I supposed to end this? The end. ]

The pen falls from Carmen's hand with a hefty sigh, the sloth bun dragging his hands down his face in his stress. Writing things down did help him organize his thoughts better, but it felt weird to look at his thoughts on the paper, to see them in written form. It did help, the whole process of this but Carmen decided he wasn’t going to let Morgan know he had taken their advice, and he was most certainly not going to let them know it had worked. The last thing that the damned priest needed was a bigger ego.

His thoughts written, Carmen closes the journal, and decides it’s best hidden somewhere in his apartment. The last thing he wanted was for Morgan to see it during one of their visits, knowing they'd read every entry. With the journal out of sight, and out of mind, Carmen will shift his focus on making dinner. He’d like to keep his mind busy doing something at the very least.