Pumpkinfest, Battersea.

{Undated.}

No helmet, scared to death, I sit on the back of a dirt bike, speeding the fastest I have ever been going towards DEATH. No inner voice to alert my conscience mind of the stupidity and outright retarded choice of mounting that dirt bike.

I lived, heavily in thought to be able to say that, but only now do I wish I said something different. I do not like to be so close to death. My own life is something I control, but yet I cannot help but steer it in the wrong direction. I must stay in, sheltered from myself and my ability to take my own life. Under the warm and watchful eye of my loving parents. I am happy.

{My father read this entry in my journal and thought I was planning to commit suicide. He was noticeably distraught when he confronted me. I had to explain to him that the entry was referring to me riding on the back of a dirt bike through farm fields in Battersea with no helmet on. Being scared to death but not being able to get off. He was relieved to find out that I wasn’t suicidal and pissed off to find out I rode around on a dirt bike with no helmet.}

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