I think books have a strange quality to them. When I designate one as a personal log, I feel compelled to write about what this is for. To remind myself? To give myself purpose? I'm not sure.

But "I'm not sure" has always been a part of my life, and turning it around to "Yes, I'm sure" perhaps might need introspection and reflection. And with how busy I tend to be, I generally don't have time. So this is just to record these things and put them away for later.

It's also easier to write my thoughts down, I have too many at any given time and need to prioritise.

And perhaps where my feelings need to be described. Writing makes me feel very relaxed. I can take my time to think and not feel like I'm put on the spot. This is nice, and I get to focus on writing nicely as well.

That aside. Today is the first day of the new year. This is a resolve of mine, to just write things down instead of keeping them in every day and night. I haven't told anyone about this. This might help me try and fix myself. I'm not drinking or partying the night away, no after the chaos that was the last three months of last year I don't want to be around people. It's tiring. I spend most of my day dealing with people, why do I want to deal with more people at night? I don't know how others can do it.

Nothing much has happened today that is worth of note for this book, but I suppose it's a good time to say a happy new year and hope that things will look better.

I forgot today is Sunday and therefore my typical off-day. I tried to go to work today. Thank Merlin Elixa stopped me. I feel that I've spent so much time in my life working that it's all I know best. It's a major problem, but it helps me not think of things I don't want to think about. It's such an unhealthy thing and hardly a mature way - I feel that I'm running away from facing those problems - but I don't know what else to do with them.

I really should figure out how much do I update this book. For now it'll be "as they come".

Is it bad that I expect something to go wrong anytime soon in the wizarding world? After last year...

No, something probably has.

What appears to have been written in later, as the colour of the ink is different:

I wrote that at work. Apparently that bothered me enough to stop mid-measuring out Horned Slugs. I am as easily distracted as a cat.

J brought me to a place called Hampstead Heath today. It was a very relaxing place.

Though going out with him makes me remember old times. We may not have gotten far, but there's still an element of...nostalgia? To everything. Sort of a revisiting of old times, and if I could just believe it maybe it was, but I highly doubt it. I highly doubt all of that.

I also revert to being a little dark-ish whenever I'm out with him. Dark-ish? Dark-minded? Grim? I need to stop. I hate doing that, but I do it and then realise too late. He takes it with such good grace that I sometimes wonder if he's doing it sincerely or just pretending to. I can never figure it out.

And therein lies another question. Why do I doubt all my friends? Why am I scared of them? I like them. I like to be with them. But I wonder if all I'm doing is bothering them. Even thanking them for putting up with me is something that I see people getting annoyed over.

I would like to be able to stop doing that and having more faith in myself with people, but I am always scared of them, and it's hard for me to admit it. If I trust them, surely then it wouldn't be that hard? What have I got to lose?

This is odd. I'm not afraid of people in the hospital. But then again I know what I'm doing there.

I feel like I am close on something, but it's just out of my grasp. I need to get out of it.

J is a fast learner, I am happy to say. It's lovely to see someone who's interested in learning, though I should not be surprised. We're the kind of people who are quickly engaged in something new and absorb it fast when we want to learn. I can't say for when we don't, because I can't comment on him and I have a suspicion I know but am not sure. Speculation could be poison at this stage.

I've forgotten how good it is to swim. Sometimes I like to submerge myself in water and the coolness emulates the numbness I sometimes feel when I 'drown' in my emotions, but for some reason the water in the pool makes this feel better? I hope it's not just chlorine fumes. I read somewhere that it's a dangerous 'chemical', but I assume that it's been diluted to the point it doesn't harm. It makes sense, after all. I dilute medicines for safe consumption. It's surely easier to dilute a 'chemical', whatever that is. I should look up the etymology of the word 'chemical', Muggles use it a lot.

I suppose in the swimming pool I am in control of whether I drown or not. I have the skill to prevent it from happening. Whereas when it comes to my own emotions, I am lost at sea, battered by the currents and the waves. There's no such thing here, it's a controlled environment. Yet in the Cyclades I simply don't go when there's bad weather on the way, but then again my own bad weather I cannot necessarily forecast, especially when I am affected by such a thing as trauma, according to Muggle books.

Do I try to impose control on myself too much?

J came around on the 18th.[1] Utterly frazzled. It doesn't need a second look to know what he's going through - well, for me it would. It's not something that I'm proud of knowing, having personal experience, but it helped in this case.

But I need to write this somewhere, write it down so it can stop bothering me. I gave him treatment, even if temporary, to help him. Because I wanted to. But now I'm not so sure. He was blaming himself for it, and while he has a tendency to do that...his shady side jobs are a choice he actively makes.

Am I enabling him to continue partaking in that kind of behaviour? I can't make him change his mind or force him to be someone he isn't, but I can't deal with the knowledge that every time he gets better he promptly goes and gets himself into something that makes him worse. It's a cycle of destruction, and I'm not sure if I'm the catalyst to its progression or indirectly contributing to the detriment he continues to put himself through.

I still believe that there's hope for him, but it's fast dying out like a light the more I question the logic of his actions. What I said to him that day...I meant every word, but I doubt he will listen. I doubt he will learn. I hate that I have these doubts, but I do. His choices are what's destroying him, and I'm scared that all I'm doing is speeding up that process by giving him the help he asks for. Because helping people is what I do, and health is a basic right.

But I have a feeling that with him, I'm going to have to place a limit. There's wanting to get better and consciously making the effort to, and then there's making deliberate choices to go into danger without thinking ahead. For someone as intelligent he is, he can't see two steps ahead of him.

This is making me feel horribly uncomfortable to deal with, and I'm starting to question how much of a friend he is to me, all other things aside.

1.	Something Will Always Rule Me

I find it silly to write about my own birthday, but if I'm going to write anything I might was well make it an equal(?)* amount of positive and negative experiences. As memories.

_{*For a given value of 'equal'. Arbitrary values I can tolerate, but not my strong point.}

I would willingly do it again.

I would.

I'm writing those two words repeatedly just to remind myself that, yes, I had fun. Not saying that I never had fun on the one day that everyone feels special about, just...more fun.

...I'm sitting here trying to convince myself that it was worth it. How silly is this.

Today I affirmed my dislike the very concept of a 'date', if not the term itself.

The way I see it, it's basically putting on a performance to impress, if you're looking to impress. It feels like it.

Though come to think of it, it might be that I fear people would not like or appreciate the person I am...or find me dull.

Some already do.

There is what appears to be best described as a frustrated ball of scribbles on the left side of the page, as if the writer started on a letter but then devolved into cancelling it out in an agitated manner. The handwriting after this becomes agitated and shaky.

If only I could stop giving a fuck about what other people think about me.

Met an old acquaintance.[1] Agreed to go out at night with him 20 minutes later.

It feels new. Interesting. Risky. But interesting. I'm up for interesting.

And it's the Aethonans, why not?

This feels...forward. Forward? Brave?

Strange to apply to me. I've never considered myself that. Maybe it is just a frivolous feeling. It'll go away. I just want to go, no expectations.

_{I'm sure it'll be fun.}

1.	I've Been to London (18th February)

Please leave me alone

The tail of the 'e' ends in a jagged, agonised trail. The quill tip breaks through the paper halfway along.

Four mostly straight, very thick lines follow; the wielder of the quill appears to have been pressing the quill to the paper very, very hard. Each line spans the page, the last one halfway trailing off in a long, thin, wobbly line that ends in a blot.

Dyed my hair.

Feel it makes me stand out too much.

Demented badger.

Erase identity to go unnoticed.

Hate it.

The other pages in the journal related to the disjointed ramblings can now be found folded within a blank page that has been made into a triangle, like a bookmark that shows quite obviously a gap in the pages. Although easily accessible, it suggests that the owner of the journal doesn't want to see those pages anymore.


The Book of Enchanting and Extracting Blood (with illustrations for the Advanced Student) _{Vampires Not Included} ✔

Controlling the Tide: A Hawaiian Guide on Surfing Magic ✔

How to Dynamically Manage Charms for Dynamic Results in an Efficient Empowering Way in Quite a Short Time Dynamically load of dosh

Kinetic Theory of Liquids ✔

He'e 'ana: The Wave Riders of Hawaii ✔

NB: Material is difficult to find on the latter topic. Look to the East and Polynesia.

Reminder: The conjuring of water as a tool to aid wizards in their daily business has been long part of wizarding life for hundreds of years. Regardless, where the Western world usually sees water as a tool, there are other cultures where they ride the waves for recreation, exercise and, in the case of Hawaii, a way of life.

In many other cultures, water is given due respect much like fire, or even moreso depending on that culture. Not only is it vital for life, but it also has the power to destroy. A hurricane by itself does less damage than the floodwaters that follow it, even in Muggle lives.

Blood magic itself is about the use of power that blood holds. I feel it's too risky, dangerous, to even tap into its full potential. As a healing agent? I have my doubts on whether my sanity can hold up to that kind of research when I'm in this mental state.

But since water is a majority component of blood, surely it can be manipulated in some way... the idea of enhancing blood circulation to a recently operated wound, or even putting blood back into someone's body temporarily is a very possible alternative to blood magic itself.

Under it is a simple but well-drawn diagram of a red blood cell.

Muggles have found that this is one of the components of blood. It cannot be seen by the naked eye. It sounds... almost ridiculous that the body is full of invisible things, but if a Wrackspurt could exist I have very little reason to not believe in the existence of a 'cell'. Besides, I'd be going against thousands of years of Muggle medical history and that's not a hill I want to die on.

Water charms such as the Water-Making Spell conjures water out of thin air - conjured items do not last long. I am not looking to create water. I am looking to manipulate it. I imagine that water mixed with other substances in a solution will be a more difficult matter to deal with than pure water alone...

Start small.

It's been a month since I was attacked at Hampstead Heath.

Here I am, writing this in the late night at St Mungo's as mouse blood stirs in front of me. On one hand I'm surprised I'm still here, working as usual like nothing ever happened; on the other something definitely happened and it still affects me.

Of course I try to pretend that I'm fine, but those close to me can see the difference. Who am I to presume everyone is too blinded by their own life problems to notice? I did not, but those close to me have become few and the distance I've put myself between those who were once close isn't helping.

I don't speak to my family these days. Mother's letters I forget. J's letters, too. Accumulated only to be answered in a hurry weeks later. I say I'm busy, but I'm the one making myself busy to stave off the horrors of the dark, and it's not the dark of the night that I'm afraid of.

I'm sure everyone is worried about me.

Dementors attacked again in Hogsmeade[1]. And I heard rumours they caught my attacker, but he escaped. This news does not bode well for me. As much as C tries to not show it, he does worry when I turn him down for another night out. And concerned. But as long as I can floo between places and can remember that place, it works. It doesn't always happen since I sometimes take minutes to recall where I want to go, but in that case I don't risk it.

I suppose the point of this journal entry, if there was a point to it in the first place, is finally putting words to the scrambled darkness and horrors that I've been experiencing intermittently since the dementors swooped upon me. It's been hard to put a description to anything going on in my head, let alone the feeling I get when I'm alone like this. And yet when I'm alone my mind is at its utmost clarity. Well... not quite. When C leaves me to read or gaze into the fire at his place, there's a tranquility that I've not experienced at home. I wish I could bring my kneazle, but I surmise he may not take so well to Claude - or perhaps he might. Rustle's never been one for socialising with other animals.

But to sit in his place near every night would be an outright burden to him. Even if he insists, it just isn't something one does to others. And of course E's warm arms are still open to me, but sometimes I remember the little things, the little inconsequential mistakes, the knife she waved at me - it's so stupid. The word 'stupid' is underlined heavily as if the quill had been scratched repeatedly, and quite hard. Things that were no one's fault but whispers of faint repulsion - why, I don't know.

It stinks to have your happiness drained from you by force. I don't get the same comfort I once used to from my good memories, as if they've been sucked dry of the respite they had. Even if I still value those memories, they just don't have that feeling come with them anymore.

Which means that my Patronus is effectively out of commission. Wonderful, having your defences - what you know to defend yourself - stripped away in a new age of terror.

I would not know what to do if I ever came upon my attacker personally. I would not know what to feel. What to say. Except, perhaps, "Was it worth it?" I have considered wanting to know if he'd enjoyed it, but that's an answer that I think I have no desire to find out. I would never understand why some men just want to watch the world burn.

But then I would never understand why my head brings up all of the past back when I need it the least, either. Honestly, the last thing I need is reminding me the absolute failure I was last year in communicating anything I wasn't capable of doing. Admitting I was out of my depth. I have no excuses for that. I should be moving on from it, consider it a lesson learned, but here I am thinking back on 'what could have been', not 'what I have now'.

The number of thoughts I would like to record about punishing myself violently, physically, every time something dark drifts up would probably warrant the hospital forcing me to take some paid leave for the sake of sanity. Even now the sharp tip of a quill seems to be

The rest of the sentence is furiously scribbled out, along with a small spattering of ink. It seems after scratching out those words, Arc had forcefully thrown his quill at the desk, hard enough to splash ink across the page.

1.	Dementors Breakfast in Hogsmeade