Guide My Secret Life - Following diaries

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Start a Wiki. Laura with the diary Laura Palmer 's secret diary held revealing secrets about her abuse from BOB and other town secrets. Known pages Edit Read by Harold: But still I'm afraid to tell her of my fantasies and my nightmares; sometimes she's good at understanding, other times she just giggles, and I don't have the nerve to ask why things like that are funny to her. So I feel badly again and shut up about it for a long time. I love Donna very much, but sometimes I worry that she wouldn't be around me at all if she knew what my insides were like.

Black and dark, and soaked with dreams of big, big men and different ways they might hold me and take me into their control. I'm gonna tell them who Ben Horne really is. Jacoby at his office. He wanted to see me and go over what I had said to him on my tapes. He wanted to hear more about James Hurley and the fact that I had mentioned going sober because of him.

I told him James was some one I had known for a long time, although not so well. I told him I had fallen in love with his purity and the idea that if I was strong enough I could let James take me [3] Laura's father, Leland , ripped pages from the diary and showed them to Laura the night she died. Last night I had the strangest dream.

I was in a red room with a small man dressed in red and an old man sitting in a chair. I tried to talk to him. I wanted to tell him who BOB is because I thought he could help me. But my words came out slow and odd. It was frustrating trying to talk. I got up and walked to the old man. Then I leaned over and whispered the secret in his ear. Somebody has to stop BOB. BOB's only afraid of one man, he told me once.


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A man named Mike. I wonder if this was Mike in my dream. We had intense friendship- I was a bit in love with him for a while, like so many of us were. Also, David was very, very loveable. In the later years, as we both grew up, grew older, we grew closer, more honest with each other, an easier, gentler, genuine friendship and love. We video chatted, we messaged often, emailed, and then there was the immediacy of social media to keep up connected.

I speak to most of my friends more online than I do in real life. He never felt far. I knew when he was in crisis because he told me, I knew where to look and who to call and I did not enough. He was my friend and someone I would call a real friend and for a long time, a close one. There must be so many of us out there who are struggling with the same thing as the world has changed; friendships online, and how to cope when your friend who you met online dies, how does anyone around you understand it?

There are no old haunts to visit or vigil, no day-to-day hole that burns. No passing the house, or gathering friends for reminiscing. How do you grieve for someone who is, to those around you, a phantom? Luckily, my husband and my family all met David and he kept in touch with them all. He felt part of my world.

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Nothing left but just wish, wish, wish. I had wanted a hundred times to get in touch, to say something. I try not to think too much about other things. Wish wish wish. I grieve who he was and who is lost to the world for ever, grieve because I knew his mind and grieve because I can imagine too clearly what may have been going through it. Am I being silly?

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Is this basically insulting to people who were actually there, every day, the real friends and loved ones? Why do I feel so sad? What do I do? I first met David when he surprised me by telling me he was coming to my wedding in Sometimes gotta admit this eh I had lied to people and said I had met him before because I was slightly embarrassed by the intensity of my feelings for him, having not met him yet. But it was then that I met him, crumpled, delighted, shy and exactly who he had always been to me, at arrivals in Heathrow airport.

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A huge hug, the strangest thing, that voice in my ear, really! I was overjoyed to have him there on my wedding day two days later reading some of the messages we sent to each other during those days, breathless at being a bus ride away, I wish you were still here , he had been one of my most beloved and enduring friends and it meant everything to me, and I find this hard to write about.

I wished I had still lived in London then. To have some sort of link back, to be sitting in the same airport making the return journey to him this was not how I had ever visualised that. Took a flight and got hammered on the free red wine and tried to enjoy the novelty of tiny TVs on seats. I never would have had the courage to go if not for that, and coming out of the airport to a friendly face made the whole journey bearable.

I wanted to go to his funeral to say goodbye to him. I felt like, even though we had fallen out, it was the least I could do, and it was the last. His real spaces, and his physicalness, and to be around people whom he had known and loved, to put spaces to names and faces.

To, and this is all part of the struggling where and how to grieve this, validate myself and my own feelings, too.

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To be there, really, like we all do. I felt awkward as fuck. I wondered if I should be there would he even have wanted me to be?


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They are surreal and odd though this one was pretty celebratory in tone, story sharing, memories, still surreal. It was standing room only you silly fucker and I wondered if should get up and offer my seat to someone. When I looked up, I started crying. Where do you even begin with these things? How do you make sense of it, any of it?

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I have a few of his things which were there for anyone to take, a few things I need to send. His Holtzmann glasses he was a cosplayer live on with my son:. Anyway- after writing this, still no closer to making sense of anything, sorry. I love you still. Go hug people, or pick up the phone. Apologies for the long silence. Hello anyway! Moving country. London makes it extremely hard to make it your home unless you are extremely wealthy, which is ultimately why we have to leave.

Supporting one family on my very modest indeed charity job income and all the freelance work I can get too just to make it harder for myself became impossible. We lived in a literally crumbling 2 bedroom house we were trapped in because we were on housing benefit and the fact that we were on housing benefit at all when I worked 2 jobs just felt so stupid and pointless. Back is gone.

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I have developed the English reticence with strangers and orienting myself is tricky. In work, everyone leaves at 5pm. Dogs to feed, kids to pick up, and generally life to get to.

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