upside down head
perceptions
scarletrose2
Fickled
Invisibledon
Invisiblepal
Carlilly
Kieri
breakfust
Sammi1285
luv4you
Lilsnowpixie
londncalling
tulipbaroo
sailorpallas
pink-milk
clueless1285
Wonderwall
Franniboo
Gloamling
xxcobrasxx
trickykid
Sammit1285
soverycherry
kopa
coffeebitch
castleofsand
st0nered
delta88
starsrmylfe
beefspleen
Falla
pickles47
Localaura
interexile
classcouture
Trendyflat
flyanyway
montparnasse
Ship-whore
haircutgirl
chickie-legs
<- Tuesday, Dec. 14, 2004 | 10:54 p.m. ->





-

Neil Sedaka, you had it so right.

Why does this have to suck so, so much? Why does it have to eat away at me, why does it have to be so terrible for both of us? Why is that the rule? Why can�t I get the picture of him crying out of my brain?

This would be so much easier if I hated him. This would be so, so much easier if I thought what they said was true.

I hate this. I hate, hate, hate, hate it.

Am I really leaving everyone who ever cared about me behind? Or am I just growing up? I miss home, but I�m afraid to go back. I�m afraid I torched my own bridges when I wasn�t looking.

Rebecca was talking about how different people are in real life and in their online journals. I guess there�s really no disputing that, it�s true. So here�s the real deal: I�ve laughed, I�ve cried, I�ve tried to make myself throw up in hopes that really making myself empty will allow me to start filling the hollowness. If you pass me in the hall, I�m not a sad person � I�m just me. I�m immersed in studying or talking or eating cookies, which leaves very little time for wallowing, and that�s the way I like it. I talk about stupid shit, even stupider shit than makes the cut for this diary.

Most of all, even when I hate it, I love being alive. That�s my secret little gift to myself � even when I fucking hate life, I love being alive. That�s the real deal.

It's not the silent treatment, it's healthy.

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