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Tangled Ball of Stringy Emotions and Stuff
"Broken" by Lauren Hoffman
You're a little bit damaged
I'm a sucker for that
I know you're just broken
Friday November 8, 2013 4:19 PM
I don't feel right. I wanted to start this entry differently. I wanted to write about how I don't need anyone anymore. The hell that was last week proved to me that even when the words I wanted to say made me bleed inside, when it blew over, I felt so much better. I had power.
I even decided next time I get the notebook from Lily (the one we share), there will be no writing for awhile. Everything I wrote in there came out wrong and I didn't like it.
I think maybe something isn't right. All this fiery anger I've had. The only escape was Netflix. That is so sad. I've forgotten how to read. I tried, but my mind won't focus. I keep having to re read the sentences. It won't sink in. It used to come so easy to me, just like writing does.
My back and my head hurt so bad.
It's hard, now, to talk. I don't care about these people who surround me, so why does every little thing feel like a stab in my side? Why can't I confess my secrets to the empty air around me without feeling like everyone knows everything and I'm stupid to do things like that. It makes everyone on the same level. No one more special than the other.
I'm all paranoid again. This time, I think I'm Borderline. Well, actually, I always thought that, when I began trying to figure out why I was like I am.
I have this stupid bipolar thing pinned on me. I HATE that label with a passion. I want it OFF. It explains NOTHING to me. Nothing. I don't know what happened to me. I died. Part of me died. She's been dead and I had no idea. I guess that overdose really wiped her out, or maybe it was the therapy.
She left things behind, though. I'd rather have been labeled BPD.
It would explain my self-harm. My raging anger fits. My attention seeking first overdose, right before I began this diary. Always feeling like the people around me were floating away from me. Not wanting attention when I got it, but when I didn't, craving it so bad. Trying to be close to everyone and only pushing them farther away by vomiting up my feelings when they weren't even wanted.
Smothering others. Those weird things I do sometimes, all deadly. A couple years ago, walking on a frozen lake, daring it to break. And then it did.
And Marina. Poor Marina. The way I took small things and created this whole cloud of hate and yet I still wanted to be her friend. When I knocked it all down, I tried to rebuild it. I'm an idiot.
The way when I hurt people with my words, it's... fun. Like when I cyber bullied my friend in sixth grade. The way I never thought really about her, how she told me things she never told anyone else before and I used it to hurt her. I didn't feel it until I got in trouble for it. Then it turned around and beat me to a bloody pulp. That's where my self-esteem died. That's where that girl I was was born.
Why does this trouble me so much? I don't know what or who I am. And it kills me. I may be at peace with who I am, but I am no where near settled.
I always want things to get really bad, like a crisis, and then when it happens I feel guilty and resentful because, ta-da, my wish came true.
SO yeah. Here's this fucking thing. My weird waves if anger when someone says something just a little bit wrong. And when I see a look given to me that I interpret as hateful, I want to crawl under a rock forever.
Oh my god. Please, intense feelings, go away. I know what should insult me and what shouldn't, so why do I still feel this stuff even when I know there's no reason? And I can't control it.
So I'm shy. Wanting someone while at the same time, keeping myself at a cold distance from everyone else. It hurts.
I need to go
Inside and out
Like a dead body this is not okay
I'm never okay
Even when I'm fine... I'm just not alright.
Again, how could anyone ever love me when I'm such a tangled mess? I need to solve this now, because I can't live with it there. I'm stuck in the corner, to shy to say "excuse me."
Well, excuse me. I don't want to die. I just want all this... evilness in me to go away and take their demons with them. Leave me alone.
I wish I could scream on here. I would in real life but my headache is really bad. Well, not really, but it's painful.
Why is my writing always dark? Why am I always asking why? When will I stop? Anytime soon? When I talk to Pat, she says I have a humorous outlook on life, which I do, but it never seems to show here, does it?
She also said I should be an actor because I bring words to life.
Too bad I'm extremely shy. Maybe not obviously shy, but once you start talking to me, you can tell. I'm guarded. And you won't get past these walls.
I'm being over dramatic which wouldn't be a first. Maybe all anyone sees in me is an awkward, arrogant girl who walks too fast.
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