Feburary 26, 2011

I'm sorry I haven't been good at writing in you. Every time my therapist finds out I haven't written another diary entry, she chastises me. She says writing can actually help you get things out.
I'm beginning to get bad again. My mood is spiraling downward, and it seems as if there's only an empty pit bellow me. I've been pushing my friends away from me. I just don't want to hurt them.
Maybe I'm being a bit pretentious. Maybe I'm flattering myself. I don't know.
The only friend I really talk to anymore is Kaitlyn. She is such a sweetheart. I came out to her as gay and she has been by my side ever since. When I told her, she said she wasn't shocked and could actually tell, admitting to being bi herself.
I met her in choir class, which I did finally start this semester, by the way. Ever since I met her, she has been the best friend I've ever had. I know it's only been a month but she's still really cool.
The only sad part is I'm afraid I may have to push her away too. I don't want to hurt anyone if I do something to harm myself. I know some people are going to be upset, it's inevitable, though I believe everyone would be better off without me.
Especially my mother. My mom is a very Christian woman, very set in her beliefs. She forced me to go to church with her when I was a child but I quickly rebelled against it. I never believed in her god or any of it. It just all seemed like bull s**t to me (and to be honest, I think my dad believes it is too).
That being said she brought me up to be very cookie cutter. She taught me all the evils of everyone who aren't just like us: A good, white, normal Christian family. She taught me to hate people who were gay, or people who believed in different gods. She taught me to treat people of different skin colors with less respect. She taught me how superior men are to women, and that women are just here for them.
As if I was nothing. As if I would grow up to be just like her, obedient to her husband until I died.
She would have a heart attack if she ever found out I was gay.
As much as I despise her, I don't want to see her hurt. It'd probably be best that I wasn't around much longer.
You're just can't keep your little snoopy diary eyes off my wrists can you? Okay, I'm sorry. I caved last night and I started self harming. I had never really done that before, so it was new to me.
I was in a fit of crying and couldn't think of what else to do. I tried it out, others had told me that it helped them cope. And it worked. Right after I tore into my skin with that razor, I couldn't feel anything. I was just numb and I was able to go to sleep easily.
It was one of the greatest feelings I've had in the past month, even though I know it's really bad and self destructive. I just can't help it. I want to go deeper and carve out my pain.
Why does everything hurt so much?
I'm sorry that my life isn't too eventful, diary. It's been over a month and I still can't seem to find anything exciting to do. Mostly I just go to school then come home every day and do chores and play video games. What else can I do?
I can't talk to people.
The.. fictional people that I talk to haven't even really been talking to me.
I saw a man in my house the other day. It was obvious he wasn't really there because no one took any head to him, but I saw him and he smiled at me. He bowed his head very deeply and lifted his hat a moment in greeting before he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trench coat that happened to be a little too big for him and walked off.
Other than that, I haven't seen anything lately.
In a way, I kind of miss it. Is that wrong?
Rose

Author's Note

First Draft (Chapter Three)

Reviews

[eatme]

I find your writing to be at a professional level.
Your subject matter is not my thing.
In terms of publishing, 'negative emotion depression overcoming abuse' tends to not have a market because everyone already feel that way so it makes people hate their lives even more.
If the character vampires out and starts eating people, I could get into that.

It is so well written, I can't tell if it is writing, or your actual journal.
You have the gift to write.