Entry Number 2
I don't why I'm telling you all of this. I don't think that it's even because I want somebody to care. I just want somebody to know. I want somebody to know that I'm not who they think I am. I could be anybody around you, you know. I could be your best friend, the one you pour your heart out too. I could be that shy girl in the back of the class who rarely talks to anybody, but smiles at everyone. I could be your sister. I could be your daughter. I could be the bully, or I could be the victim. I could be the girl you are falling in love with. I could be anyone, and you wouldn't know. Because I speak, but I do not talk. And you hear, but you do not listen.
Me? I'm in love. There's no denying it. And in a sense, he has saved me. He has never given up on me, despite the fact that I have given up on myself numerous amounts of times. He has given me more chances than I deserve. But then again, I have done the same for him. Love itself is a whole other war. We're always so wrapped up in ourselves, too. We go forth telling our friends why the one we love is wrong and we're right, yet to our lovers, we take the blame. We soften the bit until we get along. I guess in love, you have to decide which is worse: a damaged pride, or a broken heart. And again, this goes back to how I speak, but not talk. And how others hear, but don't listen. I think we all play both roles. That's how we get hurt. We are so convinced that we are right, that we refuse to see just how we may be wrong. Maybe it's not their fault if they never notice when we're upset. Maybe it's our own for never giving them the clearest of signs. But then again, maybe it's their fault for not caring enough to look. Or maybe they do care. Maybe they are trying to look. Maybe we make what we want them to see invisible, and then get mad that they don't see it. This is why I never blame him when we fight. I blame me. I know that I am doing something wrong; I just can't always figure it out.
I told my best friend, the person I tell everything to, that I have slipped back into depression. That the demons inside me are winning. He told me that I would grow out of it. He said that I would be fine once I got out of high school. I guess that shows at some point, I did want someone to care. I still want him to care. I'm half tempted to paint the walls with my brains to thank him for thinking I would grow out of it.
But then he would blame himself.
I may be cold hearted and selfish, but I don't want him to blame himself. Even if it would be his fault. Suicide? Yeah, it never ends the pain. It just passes it on to someone who really did care. I've had the pain passed onto me numerous of times. I am not selfish enough to make somebody else deal with it. No, I'm not saying that suicide is selfish. I'm saying that I'm selfish. There's a difference.
There is a beauty in the way the snow falls. So quitely. I wonder what it would take for my mind to be quiet like the snow. I have weird thoughts, you know. When you're a prisoner of you're own mind, would you not try to escape it? Perhaps that is why I wear a mask. I am trying to be free of the prison I am in by simply acting as if it does not exist. Or maybe I'm just crazy. I like the latter one. Being crazy. Crazy is the base for genius.
I realize that everything I say more or less steers away from my story. Maybe it's up to you, the reader, to figure out how my random ramblings tell my tale. If you're still reading this, perhaps it is because in me, you find you. Fat chance though. Unless you are my boyfriend, you will not find you in me. Or he might kill you. Just saying. Ahaha, perverted jokes during a serious time. My rambling reveals who I am. Tomorrow, I will begin the story. But you have to know me first if you're ever going to understand my story.
Format: twilightgirl995