From the Journal of Justin Hartwood

May 21st

Something strange has been happening over the last few days. I don’t know how to explain it. I almost didn’t write it down. It just sounds so ridiculous when I say it out loud, which I’ve done in the safety of my bedroom while my parents were out and once in the shower (which wasn’t any more comfortable). But putting it into writing is…worse. Like, if I write it down, put the ink to the paper, does that make it more real? And if so, do I even want it to be real?

I guess that’s a stupid thing to think, now that I’m reflecting on it. People say our reality is built by our perception of it, which I guess to a certain extent is true. But it can’t be all true. Our reality can’t be all-dependent on how we perceive it. My own coming out story is a testament to that. I tried so hard, painstakingly hard, for years, trying to be straight, trying to convince myself that I could be straight. Because I didn’t want to be this way. I didn’t want to accept the reality I was starting to experience. I didn’t want to go to Hell. I didn’t want to be a person who was ostracized from the world for being different. But my determination to reshape my reality was in vain. I couldn’t change reality. This was out of my control, and I had to accept it.

It feels like those old wounds are opening again.

I read an article the other day online. I can’t remember what the topic was, but it had something to do with scurvy. Maybe it was weird science facts, I’m not sure. But anyway, scurvy. I read that one of the ways scurvy is bad is that it makes your body deconstruct scar tissue to get vitamin c. Your old scars literally open back up, even internal ones. How crazy is that?

I don’t know why that popped into my head. Procrastination, I guess. Refusal to articulate what I’m going through. But I guess that’s what you’re for, right Journal? No one’s going to read you anyway. And if it turns out to be nothing, just a migraine or mild case of insanity, well, I guess I can just rip these pages out.

So here we go. Try not to judge me too harshly, Journal.

Telepathy. I know, it sounds crazy, but hear me out.

It’s like in movies and TV shows. At least, a little bit. It’s almost like I know what people are thinking. I mean, people keep saying I’m a mind reader or that I’m just always on the same wavelength. I don’t think I read peoples’ minds, though. That sounds like it takes being intentional. And this definitely isn’t, and I’m not sure I’d even want to do that. What an invasion of privacy. I feel like there would be laws against that. If there were other people who can do that, I mean.

I guess it’s possible that it isn’t that. Maybe I am just on the same wavelength as everyone else. Maybe I can just read the room, tune into the conversation and anticipate where it’s going. Maybe I’ve watched so much TV that peoples’ interactions are predictable at this point.

But, I happen to say the exact thing that’s on their mind. It just pops into my head and I say it and that’s literally what they’re thinking. Or so they say. If it was one or two people, it would be one thing. Coincidence. But it was literally five people today. In different places. Different people in different places all said the words “you must be a mind reader, I was about to say the same thing!” Twice at the store, at the clinic where I work, my mom (less surprise there), and at the gas station. Just today. I could go on and list the places it happened yesterday, but I won’t. Not all of them, anyway.

Journal, what’s going on? Am I crazy? Or can I actually hear peoples’ thoughts?

June 3rd

Hi Journal. I’ve been neglecting you. I’m sorry for that. I’m trying to figure out this whole thing with my brain and I think writing it out actually helps. I just re-read my last entry. It’s so funny to think that writing this down would be harmful, cement this thing into reality. Sign it away like a law of nature. But this is helping me think all this through.

It keeps happening. The knowing what’s on other peoples’ minds thing. It’s almost constant. A thought pops into my head, I say it (because let’s be honest, I really don’t have enough self control to stop myself) and it’s what someone else was about to say. But the last few days, my timing has been off. Instead of saying it right before someone else says it, I’ve been blurting it out as they are saying it. Weird, huh?

That happened with a guy I like. At a party, two nights ago. I think it was the first time he even noticed me, but I had run into him a few times. It’s a small town. But we shared a look at the party, and actually stopped to talk! He has the most amazing gray eyes that kinda crinkle at the edges when he laughs. His friend asked us what we wanted to drink, and we both said “cabernet”. It was great, but then he got distracted by someone else. I connected with his friend, though. Exchanged numbers. She said she’d help me strike up a conversation, or at least get up the nerve to ask him out. So maybe this new thing going on with my brain isn’t all bad after all.

But I’m pretty convinced this is telepathy at this point. Too many coincidences to be happenstance. How is it that I can keep saying the exact thing that’s on peoples’ minds? That’s no coincidence. That’s design. And it’s changing. Advancing? It’s getting different. It’s more than being tuned in to other people. It’s like hearing sounds that other people make. Except like having really, really good hearing. It’s like another sense. A sixth sense? Nothing like the movie, though. God, I hope not. I don’t want to see any dead people anytime soon. Or later. No dead people for me, thanks. So I’ll call it a seventh sense. But what’s my sixth?

But the real reason I’m convinced of this, Journal, is because I think I actually heard a voice today. Like, in my head. It sounded like someone muttering in my ear, but my ear didn’t register it. My brain did, like it completely bypassed my ear. So I guess I didn’t hear it. I knew it? But not like before. It wasn’t a thought that popped in my head, it was a thought that sounded like someone else’s voice. I know this makes me sound super crazy, so bear with me, Journal.

I was standing in line at Starbucks on campus when I thought I heard the girl behind me say she wondered where I got my book bag. I turned and told her that I had found it at a consignment store downtown, the one down by the bookstore. She gave me a weird look then said “Oh did I say that out loud? Sorry, didn’t mean to.” And it got me thinking, it didn’t sound like she had said it. It’s like I imagined her saying it, but I had never heard her voice until that moment she said “oh.”

It was definitely the same voice that I had heard ask the question. But it had a different quality to it. It seemed to echo in my head the first time, but when she spoke, it was different. More real.

June 22nd

I can’t tell what thoughts are my own anymore, Journal. Am I even capable of original thought? It's happening more often lately. It was cool at first, having those little moments with another person. Saying the exact same thing at the exact same time. But now I’m questioning myself in ways that I hadn’t done since I was a kid, since before I came out. Who am I? Are these thoughts mine? Am I projecting them onto people? Am I just reading their minds? Do I even have a personality of my own or am I just absorbing those of the people around me? How am I supposed to know what to think, what to say? If I just keep up at this rate, I may lose myself in the personality of others.

Having the same thoughts as others mimics intimacy in a gross and artificial way. These are the types of moments I should be sharing with a loved one, a boyfriend or husband, not with random strangers. For someone like me, who hasn’t experienced that very much, this experience feels like a mean taunt.

The voices in my head are different. I can differentiate those. I know those thoughts aren’t mine, Journal. But that doesn’t make this any easier. While those aren’t making me question my entire existence, or at least my originality which I’ve fought so hard for over the years, it’s still causing me consternation.

I can’t shut them out, Journal. There’s no off switch to these voices. It’s constant, except when I sleep, but sometimes I get woken up in the middle of the night by what seems to be a voice yelling in my head. I recognize what those voices are doing. It’s either fear or panic attacks. And it sucks. It’s loud. It gives me a headache. Sometimes my ears will ring, which is weird because I don’t actually hear it.

The only respite I get from all of it is by separating myself from people entirely. And not just in my room. At first, the park worked. But after a while, it wasn’t isolated enough. It’s like the range on this thing is increasing. And there’s no guarantee that I’ll be alone. Other people use the park. Now, I have to go out in the woods to get some quiet in my brain.

Thank God I don’t live in a big city. I’m sure I’d be dead in a month if I lived in New York or something. At least here I can get away for a little bit. Maybe I’ll last a few months longer being here.

The chatter in my head is maddening. I can barely concentrate at work. Even writing this down is hard for me. I have to stop and really concentrate to just get a sentence out. I had to drop out of summer school. I couldn’t be in that lecture hall with fifty other students thinking things that are most often not the topic of the lecture.

Is there help for this? Is there a cure? Or am I doomed to a life of complete solitude in the middle of the woods, no husband, no company, no family? Just me and you, Journal?

I’m glad you don’t have thoughts. You’re the only one I can talk to about this without thinking I’m losing my mind. But maybe I am. I wish it would stop.

July 17th

I don’t have a lot of time, Journal. Not in the mortal sense, but in the chronological sense. I haven’t left my room in weeks. My head is in constant pain, I get nosebleeds out of nowhere. My mom took me to the doctor the other day because it was so bad. They did a bunch of tests on me. I don’t know what they decided is wrong with me. As far as I know, they didn’t say. I don’t know if they told my mom. I assume they did.

But there’s some hope on the horizon, Journal. Two men showed up at the door today. They’re actually still downstairs, talking to my mom. They’re from a treatment facility nearby, I guess the doctor made a referral. But they said they can treat what’s going on with me. Fix me.

I tried to accept myself as this. I equated this telepathy thing to my being gay. It’s not the same. This isn’t something I can just accept and be done with. It’s something that’s literally tearing my brain apart. I have to get help. Maybe they’ve got like PT or something to help take away the side effects and let me keep some of this.

But I don’t have a lot of time. I’m supposed to be packing a few things. A few changes of clothes. They said they’d have stuff there for me. But I wanted to write all of this down before I go, because I can’t take you with me, Journal. They said I can’t bring anything that may distract me from my treatment. They said they’d have everything I need.

So here we go. I’m looking forward to getting better, and getting back to my life. I’ll see you soon, Journal, better than ever.