It's like I'm divided by glass walls between everyone.

It's like I can't knock them down.

And when people try to comfort me and call me amazing and beautiful, I want to tell them, no, I'm a failure.

and when people say I'm beautiful, they're lying.

I'm ugly. I hate looking in the mirror, I HATE it.

I'm so ashamed of myself.

I can't do anything right.

I hate myself.

I'm a lost cause.

Am I a lost cause?

No, probably not, but I'm pretty damn messed up.

I'm just so tired.

I can pretend to be happy so easily. I shouldn't be able to fake it that well. I shouldn't have to.

I can make it look like I'm having the BEST time ever. In fact, sometimes, I get my anger and frustrations out through acting happy. I laugh loud in place of screaming, or I run around and giggle and shout and dance and go crazy, absolutely crazy with laughter and jokes, and I do that in place of me crying and breaking down into a ball on the floor. I always put the smile on when it needs to be on, but it gets harder to get the energy to fake it anymore. I try really hard for my parents not to let any signs of inner turmoil slip through the cracks. While I want help, I don't want to hurt them.

I feel like a burden. Sometimes I ask myself how anybody could love me.

Anger. Seeing Red.

I am so angry. I am angry at the people around me who have hurt me.

I am angry at him.

That jackass, that bastard, that asshole.

I want to shake him and scream at him. I WANT TO HURT HIM.

I want to hurt him because he doesn't deserve to just get away with this!

Nobody should just get away with this.

I want to spit at him and I want to look him in the face and give a big "Fuck you."

If language offends you, stop reading right now, because I'm done censoring.

Fuck you for making me hate myself.

Fuck you for telling you could use me and then doing it. For saying I was crazy and insane and making me believe it and belittling me and showing me the knives you cut yourself with and then making FUN of me for being worried.

And FUCK YOU for hurting me when all I did was love you, all I EVER DID to you was love you!

You sicken me. YOU SICKEN ME. I don't want to be around you because it makes me physically ill. And you don't give a shit about what happened to me or if I die or if I live and you'd probably laugh at me now, you'd see me and you'd LAUGH AT ME NOW.

Because you are that fucked up and angry and awful and rude.

Goddamn I pity you.

For losing the good side of you and letting yourself become apathetic.

I want to spit it out at you right in front of you and PUSH YOU. I WANT TO PUSH YOU INTO MUD AND KICK YOU IN THE BALLS AND THEN KICK YOU IN THE BALLS AGAIN WHILE YOU'RE DOWN.

I just want to say it to you, loud and clear, and get SOME of my anger out: "Fuck you. FUCK YOU."

Dark urges and self hate.

I want to break things. I want to destroy myself. I feel such incredible self-hatred that I cannot even describe it. I want to tear myself up and throw myself around, I want to scream, I want to break everything and smash mirrors and throw darts at pictures of myself. I have such self loathing inside of me that I cannot even describe it. I want to ruin my life, I want to mess everything up, I want to ruin me. I want to go walking through barbed wire and come out bleeding all over the place and I want to fall on the ground and scratch myself up and scream, scream scream SCREAM.

I blame myself for everything. EVERYTHING. I hate myself, I want to royally mess myself up. I won't take action, I won't, I won't kill myself, I won't willingly destroy my life or mess up my grades because I still hope that things will get better, I still want to believe that I'll be happy one day...

But still, the measure of my hatred towards myself is absolutely ridiculous. I just want to destroy myself so badly.

HELP!

Screw it.

Screw it, screw staying strong, screw homework, screw it all. Just, screw it.

I just yelled at my teacher, flat out yelled, and told her that she had made a mistake and that I didn't do anything wrong and that she was crazy. Yes, I called my math teacher crazy. I don't even know what the hell is wrong with me.

I almost want to say screw staying away from it but I know that's not good. My friends don't get anything, ANYTHING, and a few of them have NO idea that there's anything wrong with me! Lizzy, one of my nicest friends ever who I've been friends with since 7th grade, has NO idea that I'm even depressed. Kaitlyn, who I hang out with a lot and joke with probably doesn't notice that anything is different than how it's always been.

I don't want to go to classes, I don't want to do anything, I just want to sit here and stay here and cry but then again, crying isn't something I can do that often anymore, it usually comes in random spurts now spaced throughout the month. Or sometimes I'll have weeks where I randomly break down and cry with no warning.

It sounds so freaking sick but if wearing the pain on my skin doesn't really even make my friends who know think twice or freak out, then what do I have to do to get anyone to actually start realizing that I'm not making all of this up? That I'm not doing this just to get attention, I'm doing it to get HELP?

How loud does someone have to scream until people start to hear even a faint whisper?

And just coming out and saying you need help does nothing. People don't react to words as much as they do to actions and signs and events.

Ugh.

I can't take it anymore.

Questions.

I hadn't felt the urge to do it for like 2 and a half weeks, but today I felt it. Nothing happened, but I suppose the urge isn't gone.

I'm such a wreck. There's a photo of me on my desk of me just one week before depression all crashed down on me. I don't understand how everything is so different now.

I'm not happy. I'm not okay. I'm so tired. Of everything. I want to get brain surgery and have certain memories taken out. Certain people. They may be out of my business and no longer involved in my life, but that doesn't mean they're gone. That doesn't mean that I'm not being hurt by them anymore.

That's the thing about playing with someone's mind, and abusing their emotions and feelings. The pain lasts. It's not like being hit where you feel the sting and then it's done. It's not like that, it's like a continuous hurt, and it doesn't go away right after the infliction is done. It lingers and seeps into your bones. You know, I never thought about after. And I completely forgot about, and can barely even remember how I felt, before. I was only focused on then.

I didn't think about how the giddy girl I used to be was being strangled to death. I didn't think about how beat down and weak I would be after it was all over.

I only thought about the frantic chaos of the current situation. I didn't stop to think about leaving, or it all being over, because it was too scary to think about. And knowing now what it's been like leaving it behind and having it be over, it's completely unexpected. I thought I'd be frantic and would scream and would burst out in tears in the middle of classes and that I would feel like I was being killed.

Really, it's just a silent sucking away of the self. It's a calm, menacing thing, and you can feel yourself draining and weakening.

I don't know which is worse. What I thought would happen: the chaos, the crying, the breaking things. Or what ended up happening: the silence, the self-destruction, the fake smiles.

If I could just go back.

If I had all of the information.

If that girl was standing in front of me talking about how she babysat all the time and how her mom didn't help at all.

If I could NOT ask her if she wanted help...

Oh, God.

Oh, God. What would I do?

And how could I not let the need to put a smile on her solemn, saddened face sway me?

How could I turn my back...

I wonder what is worse: the damage that has been done to me because I reached out, or the damage that she could have found had I not reached out at all...

Or if there even would have been a difference at all. If anything would have been altered, of if it would have been all the same, and I made no real impact at all. I hate thinking that. I hate thinking that maybe the only thing I did was get myself hurt, and that I did no good at all.

These questions don't have answers.

But I keep asking: why, why, why?!

Even when I was little.

Even when I was little I always had this sense that I loved everyone around me way more than they loved me, not including my family.

I used to lay in my bed at night, and would look at my hands, and hold them, pretending it was someone else.

I used to, and still do, create conversations in my head that will never happen.

But even when I was little I always felt like I was on the fringes of everything, away in my own little world.

My scars are fading but I feel more cut than ever.

Well, no, not necessarily FEEL more cut than ever.

But in my mind's eye, if everything on the inside showed on the outside, there would be crisscrosses everywhere, and old wounds and new wounds covering almost every surface of my skin...

UMM

someone should kill me.

someone should kill me now.

EIAFUDHAUHUHSFUS

:'(

seriously, life gives NO breaks.

I want to feel alive.

So maybe I'm a better student and haven't gotten in trouble with the law and all that jazz but my sister reigns in one department: looks and allure.

Boys used to ask me, "Your sister's so gorgeous, what happened to you?"

They might as well just beat me with a stick. I'd rather be hurt in that way.

I wanted to tell them that she wasn't all they thought she was, and that she was a drunken depressed sullen bitch to my whole family and that they could go screw themselves.

My sister is quite gorgeous.

I'm... not.

My skin heals so slowly that it's not even funny. There are tiny purple lines all over me from just getting scratches, so that's what's keeping me from doing stupid things, but I guess it's good that anything is keeping me from it. I think I just want to feel alive right now.

I really HATE recklessness, especially because I know what it's like to be the witness of someone being reckless. It's scary and causes a lot of people around you issues, not to mention yourself. But I don't know, I kind of want to live on the edge or something, I want some type of thrill. I guess I just don't know where to find it. The rush. The adrenaline.

I'm starting to remind myself of people I don't want to remind myself of. But for some reason it's like if there's a possibility of getting hurt, I smile. or if there's a really sharp knife somewhere, I want to toss it in the air and catch it and laugh. Which, I know, is royally effed up. I don't want to do it to hurt other people, or to make them scared. I don't want to make other people scared at all. I do kind of want to alert them to the fact that I'm struggling and that I could use help from anybody who cares, but hurting someone isn't the idea here. I don't really want to hurt myself, I don't think, or don't know. I don't want to die, I know that.

But I'm kind of cynical lately. I kind of just want to (and I know this sounds REALLY bad, but I'm not meaning it to) run a knife over my skin just to have that rush, knowing that I could do damage, but choosing not to. I don't wish to die. AT ALL.

I don't know what possesses me to take a knife and put it over my wrist and hold it there, but it makes my heart beat faster and for some reason it just brings me back to the "here and now".

I sound so twisted. I suppose I am. But if I had one wish for this very moment I'd climb down the side of my house and run... but I don't know what I'd run to. I want someone to run to.

I tell everyone they can run to me, but who do I run to? And why would I run to me when most of the time I just want to run away from me?

:/

Magic Button

If there was a button I could push to make things rewind to last year, I think I'd press it at this point.

I think I'd even press a button that would make me a little girl again, and I could just start over again and make different turns.

I know that people change, but I miss the girl my friend used to be. The timid, shy, sweet girl who didn't make fun of my own mom when she came over my house. The one who didn't ignore me or who seemed to go off with different friends way more than me. I just wish I could go back and hang out with her again. Some may say it's awful that I'd rather have that version of her, because she's "stronger" now, but I liked it when she wasn't pretending to be strong. I think people are stronger when they let you know that they can barely hold the weight, but they somehow continue to do it anyway.

This sounds sick, too, but I feel like I, I don't know, helped her to have friends. That sounds awful. But it's just how I feel. I feel like I helped her loosen up a little bit and to be less shy, and that I invited her out on outings with friends and did everything I could to make her comfortable and happy and, truth is, I don't know if I want to do that right now. I don't know if I want to keep altering things just to keep her satisfied. I hate feeling like a stepping stone, but that's exactly what I feel like - about everything, basically. I feel like I'm just some detour people take in their life when they need to, and then they go off and forget the person who helped them when they had no idea what to do.

If I could just go back.

If I could just have another midnight conversation with her about how we were best friends and how she was amazed that I could be such a good friend and how she would always thank me and make sure I was okay with helping.

If I could just go back and STAY with her. And not leave that room and not go down those steps and not get involved with him...

Ugh. Would I really change my actions, even if I knew?

It was all so bittersweet back then. Warm spring days walking her neighbor's dog and eating cheesecake and watching TV as we looked after the baby. The baby I wanted to pick up and run away with and save. It was too late to prevent the damage on the rest of them, but I could help them pick up the pieces. That baby, though; I just wanted to get him out and prevent what will probably happen.

I still want to prevent it. I strongly hope that it is not inevitable.

Sleepovers, parties, inside jokes, being the only one to know her secrets, her trusting me, hugging her, letting her know that she was so much more than her family. Being her best friend. That's what it was all about.

Falling in love should not have been a part of the picture, should not have entered the frame of the situation, but it happened. When we went on walks, my mind should not have lingered on the conversations I had had the day before with her older brother. I should not have watched him out of the corner of my eye, noticing his limp from the pain he had inflicted on himself.

Maybe I should not have known his secrets.

Maybe I should not have met him in the kitchen for frustrating chats about everything.

I should have cut the hugs short. I should have kept my distance. I shouldn't have let him touch me at all.

I should not have told him I loved him.

I should not have.

I should not have been there.

I should not have stayed.

I should have ran.

I should not have opened up my heart.

I should have put a guard up.

No.

no no no nonoNO NO NO NO NO NO

I disagree with this.

I disagree.

Why, after everything, do I feel that I should have loved him and told him, and why, why, do I sincerely believe that it was meant to happen this way? That it should have happened this way?

I don't want to put a guard up.

And for all the PAIN and all the heartache, I do not want to put barriers up.

I do not want to close my heart.

Maybe it makes me completely screwed up in the head, but...

I do not want to put any walls up at all.

I want to remain vulnerable and loving and keep my heart on my sleeve, even if it's bleeding.

But I want someone in this world to make the choice that I did: not to take advantage of me, but instead, to love me as I am:

I am raw and vulnerable and naked.

I am easy to hurt.

But I'm waiting for the person who won't see that and then hurt me...

I'm waiting for the person who will see that and then do everything they can to make sure that I am not hurt, but loved, completely and totally loved.

In the way that I DESERVE to be loved.

and all at once...

I have lost myself again.

Completely.

:'(

But I don't plan on finding myself through self-inflicted pain tonight.

tonight.

Some nights I have all the answers. They come few and far between, but tonight is one of those nights.

Suddenly I look up at the night sky and I know that all I need to do is sit outside and look up at the stars and just feel that moment, just that moment. The only thing I want to do is take a walk and listen to things. To the crickets chirping and the rushing sound of a nearby creek, or a dog barking, or even just listening to the silence. I would just love to take a midnight walk in the middle of the road and feel a bit at peace. Sometimes I know that all I need to do is lay down on the ground and forget everything around me and let myself be swept away.

Sometimes I find myself, even just for a little bit. When I'm in the backseat of a car with the wind in my face and a great song is playing and suddenly everything is okay. When all of a sudden I know that the only thing I need to do is sit and listen and write and feel the air moving around me. The moments are so bittersweet. Peaceful and hopeful with a twinge of sadness.

But it's the hopeful kind of sad. The one that cries for the sorrows of the world, but stares longingly at the beauty of the world and all its romances and tragedies and broken hearts and healed hearts and all of it.

I can look so many other places to find myself, but it always happens when I don't even expect it. Suddenly I am the epitome of a caring and loving nature, and I am okay and at peace for a while. Sometimes the moments are very sad when this happens, but still, I have found myself, and I recognize the beauty of me.

On nights like this I wonder how I could be so harsh to myself. How I could try to find myself within a searing pain or lines and lines of crimson blood.

My thoughts are so awful that they creep in without warning; even now, after having a sense of calm and peace for about a half hour, the thoughts still come in: can nobody else love me? Am I that hard to love?

I live for those moments where breathing comes easy and the heavy weight on my chest is lifted. Those nights where I can listen to a song and become lost in it, and not anything else matters. I live to be found. There's no sense in becoming lost if you don't wait for the miraculous discovery and the wonder of being found.

Perhaps one day I will be happy. Perhaps maybe I will break free of the one thing that is holding me back, whatever it is.

moo.

Dear Friend,

You don't even answer my texts anymore. I guess you don't really care. I'm pissed at you. Don't think you can just smile and make everything better. Even though I'll feel so bad that it'll probably work. Why the hell are you like this? UGH I CAN'T STAND YOU SOMETIMES!

I want to hurt the people who made you this way

Shit

WITH UNCONDITIONAL FREAKING LOVE

ERIN

IT'S NOT LIKE I CAME INTO YOUR LIFE AND WAS A BRIGHT RAY OF SUNSHINE OR ANYTHING WHEN YOUR LIFE WAS CRUMBLING TO PIECES

NO I DIDN'T DO THAT AT ALL JUST GO HANG WITH EVERYBODY ELSE AND IGNORE ME THAT'LL MAKE ME FEEL BETTER

UGH PEOPLE.

THIS ISN'T FAIR

mmph

of course though I'm not addicted to vicodin and I know eventually I'll come off of this drug stupor but I mean while it's here I might as well eat ice pops and download music and sing and ask stupid questions.

Oww. My mouth.

Downside: a whole lot of pain.

Upside: can't think about anything else but eating ice cream and being in pain and lounging around and I've been high on anesthesia and drugged up on vicodin for the past two days so I have like no idea what's going on and everything is so confusing and weird. hahaha, vicodin makes things funny.

I can barely think about anything that's bothering me, this is nice.

The reason.

The reason that I don't know how to heal is straightforward: it was never about me healing.

For my whole life, it's never been about ME getting over distress. It was always about others.

When I was a young girl growing up, it was about my brother becoming a better person, someone who didn't fail all his tests and smoke and drink and call my mother crude names until she cried. It wasn't about me learning to deal with all of the fighting; I just hid up in my room and tried to remain as calm as possible.

When my sister was having her problems, it was all about her. She was like the sun, and we were in her orbit. She was the center of our universe; if she was off-kilter or if she was particularly harsh, we all got burned. It was about her self-destruction; it wasn't about me realizing it. It was about her depression, not about my fear and sadness. Her problems. Her accomplishments. Her health.

It wasn't about my health.

And when my parents fought it was always about them, and I had no say in any of it.

You hear of parents staying together for the kids; I felt like I was keeping myself together for the family. It was my job to prove that I was a child who would rise to meet my goals.

When I stopped swimming, it was about the team that I was letting down, not my panic attacks.

It was about me once, when I had my OCD. But all the while I was in therapy for that, I was yearning to have someone to talk with about all of the people around me.

People who looked at me didn't think I had anything to heal FROM.

My brother did: smoking and bad habits and rude behavior and social anxiety.

My sister did: depression and its close, personal friends.

My parents did: they were dysfunctional. their relationship was a battleground.

But me. I was left out, you see? But what people didn't realize was that I heard screaming and crying all the time, and I felt helpless, and I wanted to understand, and I saw traumatic things and heard things I shouldn't have that still ring in my head today. I was in the middle of it all.

And then I met him and it was all about him. All I had learned in life was how essential it was for other people to heal. I never have.

Even now, as I myself sink into the depths of depression, I wage a battle against myself in my own mind. I tell myself that this isn't my right. That maybe I have nothing to heal from. (besides the asshole who broke my heart and emotionally tormented me) That maybe the only reason I'm sad is because of my sadness for others. That perhaps I'm the lucky one; had I really faced tragedy? Is witnessing things a tragedy in itself? Have I made it all up?

Am I crazy?

Of course I think this. Of course I'm focused outwards, it was always about the people outside me. I've never closed any of my wounds because I grew up believing that the only wounds that were important enough were the ones of other people.

And I know all of this stuff, all the psychological reasons, and one would think it would help, but it doesn't. Not really. It doesn't matter what I know about the reasons behind this; you can know all you want about what makes a car work, but when it comes to fixing the car, you still have to be able to do the handiwork.

I am one giant wound.

I have discovered something wonderful.

It's called caffeine.

Yeah, I knew about it before, but I just started fully realizing how awesome it can be.

Drinking a lot of coffee and making myself feel hyper and energized.

It's totally legal.

And it won't make you die.

It's awesome.

However, I'm using it to feel some sort of energy because otherwise I feel so tired and have no motivation about anything. It's like alcohol except not.

I don't want to get myself involved with any drugs or anything, ever. EVER. EVERRRRRR

I don't ever want to become some drunk or some druggie, no no no no no no no no no no.

I want to be an actress very badly.

But if I became famous, that might kill me. The pressure, my need to please, my need to help others. If all of a sudden I had so much opportunity to help others, I would use it for so much good, I really would. If I was a celebrity, my goodness, I would HELP. The thing is, though, I would completely end up destroying myself if I became famous anytime soon. Soon being in the next year. I love acting so much so it's hard for me to realize that I want to act in films, but that I couldn't handle fame because I would forget about myself and end up dying of a heart attack at the age of like 22 because I'd be so concerned about everyone else. Like that Jimmy Eat World lyric: "A soul with a heart so big, God wouldn't let it live."

Sometimes I feel like that.

It'd be like, THIS JUST IN: ERIN DIES OF HEART FAILURE CAUSED BY PASSION FOR OTHERS

LOL, can that even happen?

Sometimes I wish that I could just forget about my problems and put them aside forever. I wish that I could go around fixing everything else, and that maybe by fixing everything else, everything would be okay, and I could just ignore that thing inside me that's screaming and aching to be fixed. I don't know what it is. It would have been wonderful if every time I ever felt pain, I let it out. If I had just felt my emotions at the time when they came, maybe I wouldn't be like this now. Maybe I would even be happy.

Maybe, maybe, maybe. Screw the maybes. Screw them.

I'm searching for the answer inside of fixing other people. I'm trying to fix myself by fixing other things. That will never work. I have to work on me. My only question is...

is there any middle ground? At all?

Is there any way to love passionately and intensely for others and care SO much and also at the same time love intensely and passionately my own self and care SO much for me?

Can these two things exist together?

Or am I destined to stand in the middle of these options for my whole life?

Am I destined to keep getting angry at all of the people I'm helping?

Am I destined to keep destroying myself?

Of course, I can change it all.

But would that mean turning my feelings off and forgetting about other people all together?

I couldn't do that. That's not a life.

It's like standing in a crowd and everybody's rushing around you and you just don't even know where to turn.

There's some subconscious part of me that's screaming out to my conscious self, screaming "Help me! Focus on me! Heal! Heal all of this and mend yourself, please! You need to!"

I've been ignoring it for far too long.

But the truth?

The absolute truth?

I have no idea how to even begin healing.

From anything.

Umm.

Help me?

I am in misery.

Tired. Sad. Lonely.

Tired.

That's about all.

How did I let this happen to me?

Everybody leaves me.

I want an exception to this rule.

2:30 AM. Still up.

Hmm.

Ugh.

so alone.

so alone. so alone. oh my gosh, I'm so alone.

the world is sleeping and I'm so alone.

Oh my.

Failed again.

Doesn't matter.

It's not going to be easy.

I'll keep trying.

Writing here helps.

It helps me not to do other things I shouldn't.

I'm caught in a rut and I don't know what to do. I'm tired of complaining. I feel like I should shut up and not speak. I feel like certain people are getting tired of listening to me.

I'm in some dense cloud or something. I just don't know what to do other than go through the motions of my day. What would happen if I stopped speaking? If I started wearing black all the time? If I never went out with friends? If I stopped talking to everyone? Would someone try to help, try to reach out, try their hardest to help me make things better? Or would I just be left alone, forever forgotten?

I have done so much for my friends. One of which I cooked, cleaned, lied, cried, and was always there for. And I didn't do it because I wanted anything from her, I did it because I wanted to. I wasn't doing it so she would repay me. However, it'd be wonderful if she would be here for me too. If she would help me. That would be great.

But even she seems to have taken me for granted and used me for her own advantage. Even she.

And then in the end I still feel bad for everyone else. I still feel like everything is my fault, just because... I don't know. I don't know, I blame myself for so much. I call myself stupid all the time. I look at myself in the mirror and don't even know what to do with myself. Then lights, camera, action, and my door opens and oh hi I was just fixing my hair what's for dinner tonight? smile smile laugh laugh shut the door

scene.

And again I pace around my bedroom, collapsing into my bed or my chair, and then I am alone with myself.

That's why I hate going home. That's why I get so sad when people have to go home after a sleepover or when someone drops me off after doing something or anything. It's because I don't want to be alone with my thoughts, and my self-loathing, and my memories, and my sadness, and everything I don't know how to deal with. How do you just make this sadness go away? I can't do shit for myself. I can do things for others, but damn it, I can't do one thing for myself. The only thing I've managed to do was to hurt myself even more.

As much as I'm running from him, as much as I want to escape the death grip the memories hold on me, as much as I want to get out of this town, as much as I want to get away from this school, there's one more thing I'm running from even more.

Myself.

And when I am not alone with myself, I'm alright, but when I'm alone, the only thing I want to do is try to get rid of the part of me that makes me a failure at everything I do. I just want to grab hold of whatever is in me that inhibits me, and cut it out and throw it away.

But how in the world do you run when you're running from yourself?

How in the world do you escape from the very thing you can't?

I'm starting to notice how mean boys have been to me my whole entire life. Boys have relentlessly been cruel to me my whole entire life. I can't even talk without them making a comment. I can't even speak in class without them making some joke about me. Why? I don't understand what I ever did to make boys hate me so much. I look at myself and I'm just, ashamed, almost. I think people are embarrassed of me. Even this morning, I went into the car freaking out and my mom just told me to shut the door and to hand in a permission slip today and I'm like, you're not going to say anything about me being upset? She just said, "I'm used to your overdramatic self."

That hurts, you know?

Nobody validates my feelings. Nobody. No wonder I go crazy in my own mind.

Another thing.

When someone kills themselves or becomes depressed, or shoot up the school or something equally as terrible, so many people always say "I wonder what made them so sad" or "You never would have imagined they might snap one day."

BUT YOU WOULD. Everybody just chooses to ignore it! Why are you wondering when it's so blatant? Why is it so hard to believe when it's been so obvious for so long?

I've been called a freak so many times. I've been called a nutjob (by my own father), melodramatic (my mother), a bitch (by my sister) and... well, my brother curses at me sometimes, but I don't feel that he actually is directing anything at me. My other family members do though.

My dog is not allowed to die. She is the only one in my world who takes me as I am, no exceptions. She doesn't care about my mistakes or anything, she only cares about kissing me when I cry and loving me all the time.

She's so old. When she goes, I will shatter into billions of pieces. She's my best friend.

She notices when I'm gone.

Social Experiment

Distancing myself from friends.

Seeing who notices.

They're over there laughing without me. I surely don't matter to them. Nothing has changed for them. They are happy without me there.

Tsk, tsk, tsk.

They're failing this experiment. Don't they know that if someone is depressed and they distance themselves, that means you go after them? That means you try harder?

People are so dense.

Or they just don't care.

I'm afraid they just don't care.

Blind.

They are all blind, or they choose not to see.

How is this possible?

Daughter to Father.

Dear Dad, I was beating my fists last night, bawling myself into oblivion, crying my heart out, thinking about how you would hold me and cry on me if you knew. I was remembering how hurt you were when my OCD was such a struggle. You cried because I was in pain. Last night I started sobbing just thinking of how much pain you would feel if you knew the pain I was in. Today is a new day. Some stupid kid carved the word "Fuck" into our car, and you said that mom probably got someone angry, and that they probably retaliated. How dare you accuse her. You then went on to talk about how everything in the past year between you too wasn't your fault at all. How awful of you! You have played with our emotions, you know it! How are you the same man that held me when I cried? That cried with me? How is this possible, dad? I then told you that I was having my friend sleep over, and you said, "Great. That's great. You had a friend over last night and now you're having another one over. I never get any peace and calm, I always have people running around." Dad, this isn't helping! You don't know what it's like to be alone with my thoughts! I can't go to you; you tell me they aren't real! I cry in my bedroom at night and push my tears aside when you come in. I am so harsh to myself. You do not know. I pity you, I feel bad for you, I cry in a corner curled in a ball for YOU. I dream of making your life what you wanted it to be. When I am alone, I am bombarded by all of these thoughts and memories. Oh my goodness... Do you know how wonderful it would be to be a giggly girl for a little bit? To have a sleepover and talk all night and watch TV and drink soda and eat junk food and laugh and laugh and to just forget? Do you know how much I crave the company of anyone who can let me escape inside our teenage moments? Do you know how much I wanted to save you and mom's marriage, and make everything okay? How much I wanted to scream at you that I loved my brother and that he deserved to have a good life even though he was lazy? Or how many times I hear mom yelling for you when my sister was ready to take her life? Do you know how many times I have sat up in bed wanting you to hold me and comfort me? Or how manyt times I have criticized myself because I knew it wasn't up to your standards? Or even my own? It is so hard to cry and want the person who made me cry to wipe my tears away. It is so hard to fall in love for the first time. It is so hard to watch an emotionally abusive relationship take place in my own home, and then fall into one myself. It is so hard for my feelings to be denied. It is so hard to want more than anything to tell you how I'm feeling, but not be able to do so, for those feelings will be cast aside . I love you so much. I want to save you. I want you to be happy. I want to help. I want to pull roots out of the ground on hot summer days with you. See me! Hear me! Believe me! Justify my pain, please! You cried on me, Daddy. YOU cried on ME. Can we reverse that? Can I please cry into your shirt and bawl like the helpless child that I am, and can you just hold me until I've fallen asleep? Can you please see my pain? Can you please try to heal these wounds with your own loving touch? My heart has broken. Oh, pleae, please, please by the father I need you to be, and please try to piece it back together. Love, your daughter.

Okay, then, starting over.

I hadn't taken my OCD medication so I was cranky and so if I take it from now on it shouldn't happen.

I must be crazy.

Well here goes day 1 again. I'm going to make it until friday. I will. I'll keep up with everything I'm supposed to and that should make the difference.

urges.

I have the urge.

I'm not going to do it.

Day three.

I gotta keep on trucking.

Well then.

Easier than I thought it would be. Not doing it. I want to, sure, but I don't need to. As of now. And I hope it stays that way.

Everybody sucks, they don't even notice anything. I mean they think it's all happy happy joy joy. Ugh.

I'm surrounded right now by the people at my lunch table. Sometimes I think Lucy suspects something. She doesn't say anything. I don't know if I want her to. I had a couple of "almost" moments today where that thing almost happened. I don't like to use specific words, you know? It sounds so harsh, and I guess it is, but it's not crazy and awful and disgusting when it's happening. It's controlled, it's a release, it's... well, it is crazy, but my mind somehow convinces me there are reasons.

I invited Renee over after school because I didn't want to be alone. When I'm alone, I start thinking. I hate thinking. I hate when my thoughts block out everything and I'm just staring and nothing can keep me from remembering and missing. And I hate when I get that feeling, and know what I need to do to get rid of it, or to at least take the edge off.

I have a therapist, but I actually have an appointment next week. I figure I can make it until then. With effort. I hope. Yeah, I just need to keep believing that I can. As long as there's something left over. If they leave, if they fade, it's so weird, but I'll feel betrayed. I'll feel betrayed if the wounds heal.

That sounds so crazy. That sounds so damn crazy. Maybe I am just crazy. Maybe I'm just really trucked up in the head and am criminally insane.

But then, I remember that night when he said to me that he was crazy and I told him he wasn't. And he said, then what am I? And I said, "you're just hurt, you're just hurt."

So why can't I just say that to myself? Isn't that true? Aren't I just hurt?