I got relatively angry last night, so I whipped out a red notebook and this is what happened.
Because I want everything.
And I know that’s impractical.
Oh, hell I’ll just copy what I’ve written. And reflect.
Why am I on the internet so much? Because I’d rather be there than in the real world. Particularily the internet. The internet is not for idiots. By that, I mean you’ve got to be smart - careful on the internet. Otherwise you’ll get into trouble. Like me. It’s now, more of less, an addiction. TO me, my daily dose of interneting is never too much. I’ve always got something to do. Is not wanting to be bored something to worry about? Well, I guess my methods are. Maybe they’ll never understand. Maybe they do, and the just want to help. I’m glad they love me. But they shouldn’t love me. I’ve been nothing but a burden. I can never understand why people would ever want children. Okay, babies are nice to watch - it’s nice to impart knowledge - but is it really worth a human life? With all those goddamn emotions? Buy a fucking dog. Fuck. Maybe it’s all my fault. What can’t I be Jesus? Why do I like to feel sad or angry? When I’m happy, I only feel guilty. That’s not happy. If my parent’s didn’t love me, I wouldn’t make them so sad. My family. They’re all good people. They don’t deserve the pain I cause them. Thry should hate me. Is that what I’m trying to do? Make them hate me? That’s impossible. They’re such good people. I don’t want them to be unhappy. Even if it’s at my own expense. They can hate me all they want. As long as they’re happy. But that will never happen. Why can’t I be Jesus? I want to be Jesus!
10:45p - 26-June-2005
I guess one thing I can do is follow their every order, and keep my mouth shut. I’ll be a mute. Won’t help my Spanish grade. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha. I’ve always had trouble making decisions, anyway. Remember when Mom told me that I have to start making my own decisions? I sure do.
If they ever read this (which they probably will - they’re so nosey, but I don’t blame them. They have every right not to trust me. It just gets kind of tiresome), they’ll probably say something like this: “You’re our daughter, we can’t hate you, we want to help you, pray!, you’ll understand when you’re older, are we going backwards?, you’re not listening, you can’t do this, you’re supposed to tell us these things, blah, blah ,blah, we do trust you!, we would never lie to you, are you saying that we’re not allowed to love you? it’s all our fault?, we want you to be happy, what are you talking about?, you’re making no sense, should we be worried?, you’re only fourteen, you’re scaring me, don’t you know how I feel?, why haven’t you told us this before…” blah blah. You see where I’m going. And then Gino will say something like, ” ” err, well, he’ll ask a lot of questions (to which I will never give a solid answer) and then go on about how I’m only fourteen and how I don’t even know what I’m talking about and how he used to geel the same way…okay, once again you see where I’m going. Gino tries to prevent me from making mistakes. Okay, he cares about me. I’m not a fucking handicap. I’ll make my own mistakes. I’ll fix ‘em myself, too. Or maybe I won’t fix them at all. But at least we’ll all know it’s my fault. You act mature for a 19-year-old. Don’t expect me to act as mature as you. As everyone keeps stressing, I’m only fourteen. I’m allowed to act like that sometimes. My handwriting is so inconsistent in style. The pressure is always the same though. I want to get it analyzed one day. Whew. I don’t tell them everything because I don’t like discussing it. I’ll only try to end it quickly by lying, which makes it worse for myself. I don’t like to lie, but sometimes people have to. Hmm. Want to know something? Remember when I said that after I took all those pills, I prayed to God that I would live? Well, truth is, I prayed to God that I would die. I lied because you were so fragile. I remember that day pretty clearly, I prayed to “God” that I would die and go to Hell. I lied to them. I still regret having lived through that. But we all know pills are unreliable. I was too scared. Fuck. I even apologized to God. Maybe I did die, and Hell is just living like you’ll never die. Maybe this is Hell - I’m dead from then, but I’m still alive here. If that’s the case, I sure as fuck deserve it. Want to know more things about me?
1. I put her in the plastic bag. But I couldn’t bring myself to throw her in the pool.
2. When I left the hospital, I wasn’t ready.
3. I wish I were still in the hospital.
4. If someone put a gift basket of drugs in front of me, I’d do it all in a heartbeat.
5. Sometimes I think that all I need is a long hug from him, and everything will be okay.
6. Why him? Why is he so special? I hate that I don’t mean as much to him as he means to me. I hate it. What the hell is so great about him?
7. Oh, and her. Does she even exist?
8. The other her. She’s still apart of me.
9. I want something terrible to happen. Maybe then I won’t feel so discontent.
10. I wish I were as depressed as I was then. At least I knew what I wanted.
11. I only miss cutting when I’m not doing it.
12. I half-heartedly hope my parents find this and either a.) hate me or b.) send me away.
13. I know that won’t happen. We’ll talk about it, I’ll get tired of talking, and bullshit my way out of it.
14. Now I really don’t want them to find this. I wouldn’t forgive myself.
15. I still haven’t forgiven myself, and I refuse to forgive myself. Ever.
16. If I keep writing, I’ll never stop.
12:20a 27-June-2005
Yes, and that’s how I was feeling last night. Ehh…I’m so weak. Tah-tah-tah.
PE Foundations is boring. My mom is gardening. My brother is mad at me, and he damn well should be. Even so, I still feel bad. I’m not going to apologize for what I did. I’m not sorry. It’s his own fault he can’t handle my being sick of him sometimes. And I’m not sorry. I shouldn’t apologize when I’m not sorry. I feel bad, but I’m not sorry. And, fuck, even if I did apologize, since when did apologies make a difference?