Jerusalem's journal - entry #1

2/21/25 #1

My name is Jerusalem. My parents are not religious, just strange. I would like to think I am my father but I take after my mother far too much. Though neither of them have ever been starving the way I am, so maybe I am nothing like mom and dad. I can estimate the age of fourteen years old when I started experiencing these emotions. But truly, I believe they have been here my whole life. Beneath the skin and slipping out when they can. Unsettling, wretched emotions. Wretched emotions. Wretched Emotions. They are Symptoms of something. It isn’t supernatural, as most ignorant people believe. It is real and it is a physical affliction that embeds itself into every thought and action. I try to hide it when fur creeps up my sleeve but most human beings are not aware enough to even notice. So single-minded, so absorbed into themselves and their menial work they don’t even see the way my teeth sharpen and glint. They are stupid. So stupid and dumb. I wish I could make them see how stupid and simple they really are. 

The world around me feels desolate. Far too big and far too open. There should be something to fill the space, something to hide in or behind. I am afraid when I look at roads. They are so long and flat and predatory, just waiting and waiting for something to wander in so it can strike and slaughter. I avoid them at all costs. I am no prey. I am a predator. I am a predator. I am a predator. I know this for certain now. The symptoms have only grown more intense. I am obvious with every hungry smack of my lips and longing gaze at heedless bumbling passerby's - the perfect prey that they are. I don’t know if my family can see and they ignore it for their own comfort, or if they are too stupid to notice at all. I don’t know which would be the worse scenario. I am so very unlovable. Unlovable. Unlovable. Sorry, I don’t mean to repeat myself. I think my writing may be boring beyond my base compulsions. I am not truly sorry. I don’t mean to lie. I do anyway.