Let's start off with something simple enough for you to understand. There are certain things I don't want people to know about me. I don't want anyone to understand me. Anyone who gets too close to me, emotionally, finds themselves in a place that inevitably forces them to hate me and regret ever wanting to know the truth. It's simply better to keep everyone as far away from me as possible. It's just simpler this way. I would rather someone hate me without knowing, than knowing and hating. It hurts too much.

Aha, so the great and powerful Seto Kaiba does have feelings. I hate myself for having feelings. Because of feelings it only causes me to care more, lose more, and love more with the never ending horror, the only truth that everything is lost in the end. In the end, we're all alone. I'm pretty sure that was a line in a TV show my little brother watches. It's unfortunate how true that line rings in my head everyday when I wake up and every night when I try to fall into a restless sleep.

My little brother's name is Mokuba. He bought me this stupid journal because my personal doctor let it slip that I'm falling into a spiraling depression. If that's what he calls it. There are several other ways I could word it, but that would be too long to list. I personally think of it as my own private hell. A place where I can feel nothing, see nothing, hear nothing, and be dead to myself and everything around me.

This is Mokuba's way of forcing me to open myself up to my own private horrors. If he knew half of them he would have known better. He would never have wasted his money to buy me something that will only cause me more pain. But he's only twelve years old. He doesn't know any better. Some things are better left unsaid.

When the doctor, Suzuko, found out about the journal, he made me promise to write in it every day before bed. I'm only writing this now because Mokuba made me promise. Any promise to Mokuba must be kept. That was a promise I made to myself when I was only eight.

Unfortunately, because of that last promise, I have to lie to Mokuba, breaking only one promise I made to him. That I would always tell him the truth, no matter how painful it may be. But like I said, some things are better left unsaid. He's too young, and will never be old enough. I'm not old enough, and yet it is my past and my nightmares.

I have nightmares. Mokuba is afraid of them. They started three years ago, when I was fifteen. At first, Mokuba thought the mansion was haunted. But when he told me the morning after, about the screams and the scratches on the walls… Well. He found out very quickly what the truth was. Now he will never let me sleep alone. Late at night when he thinks I've just drifted off, he climbs into my bed and hopes that it will somehow keep the nightmares at bay. Sometimes it does. But sometimes, the results of the night are too ghastly to discuss. Let's just say I locked the door to my room for a week following. But then Mokuba found another way into my room through the air ducts. His constant worrying over me was what finally began to keep me sane at night. But I'm not saying they stopped.

That's the worst part, I suppose. This journal is for me to record how I felt during the day, what happened, how I responded. That's a living nightmare. I've had a photographic memory since I was five. I remember every single touch, smell, thought I had, and everything everyone else said. I remember my elbow touching my coffee cup before heading off to work; I remember one of my rivals, Jonouchi Katsuya, whispering to the King of Games and my number one rival, Yuugi Motou, how upset he was that he hadn't studied the night before the big test. I remember circling every answer to the same test: A, C, B, D, A, A… etc. It was a long test so I'll spare myself the writing. I remember the smoky scent that lingered around the teacher's lounge. I remember the view from the school roof on a cloudy gray afternoon, and what the people below on the street were wearing as the passed by, unaware they were being watched. But those are just little things.

It's only remembering every tiny, miniscule, painful detail of a traumatic past that revisits every moment of every day at the slightest trigger… It's a curse. It also doesn't help to constantly feel the aftershocks of my nightmares for hours on end; still feeling monsters tiny sharp claws and razor teeth, chewing, biting, and clawing at my insides, doing everything in its power to destroy me from the inside out. To put it on light terms, it's torture. It feels like poison constantly being injected to my main bloodstream. The screams always in my eardrums. Sudden death would be a blessing, a sweet gift that no one would be kind enough to give.

Mokuba is the only thing that keeps me going. He is the only reason worth living. Abandoning him now would cause all my previous torments in life to be in vain. That is unacceptable. And for that reason, and that reason alone, I continue to go on. Even if I have to keep writing in this pointless journal.

That's all I have to say for this entry.

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Please review. Tell me what you thought and if you would like me to continue. Writing this is just like filling out a diary entry. If I were to continue this as a story, it would be extremely fast updates.

Thank you.

-Kex3-