It is purely out of concern for my family's well-being that I have decided to write in this journal. I do wish to leave some sort of explanation for my poor mother. I can see her now, saying, "What will the people at work say?"
So, I will, as best as I can, dispel any myths about my impending suicide. And, mark me, I mean to throw myself out the window of my apartment no less than ten minutes after I finish this journal. I don't know if I will be able to convey all of my reasons for this drastic step, but I'm thinking that if fifty pages aren't enough, I would never have gotten the point across anyhow.
There, I've started this whole business. I've been meaning to start this journal for months, but until now, I've not possessed the necessary fortitude. But, listen to me talking on and on without proper introductions. How rude of me. I surely wouldn't want to reflect badly on my mother.
In a word, call me Ray. Raymond Holden III to be a little more specific, but Ray will do for our purposes. There is no need for formality. I doubt anyone will ever read this book, except for maybe the police. And they will not have to read too much to see that a suicide is what occurred. (Or is that what happened? I can never get the grammar to agree)
Either way, I will humor myself into thinking this book will be read by many sets of eyes. It is better that way, I think. So, as I sit in a café and listen to a lady talk of all the candles in her bedroom, a lady with no clue about the content of this journal, I begin.