Dear Diary,
Wow. How corny does THAT sound. Well, people have said journaling helps you sort out emotions, and at the moment, I could use some sorting. Because, well, I'm confused. Confused about what I am feeling. Confused by why I feel the way I do. Confused, in general. Confused about why I so desperaely want to go boarding school. Confused about why my life has gone the way it has. Confused about why I want to cut my skin open and bleed. Scared about how good it feels. It's disturbing how badly I want to cut, but I'm also repulsed by the very idea of it. I guess I'm just not a "good" cutter, whatever the hell that's supposed to mean. I'm just so confused right now. I'm sad, but nothing really triggered it. At least that I can think of. I mean, I'm like this a lot. So something must be up. But that would mean something's up most of the time. Like every minute of every day. It's so confusing. Because sometimes I really am happy. I just feel so happy, sometimes. But I'm also torn up on the inside at the same time that I'm happy. It's like, half of me wants to just skip around and laugh and never stop. But the other half of me, the side that wins most of the time, feels like I'm dying on the inside, like I'm torn to pieces. It makes me feel like I'm crying, but I don't. I think I've lost the ability to cry. Crying is a healthy way of relieving extreme emotion, which of course, I don't do. Instead, I've turned to causing bodily harm, and inflicting pain, intentionally. It's not healthy, and it's extremely addictive, Diary. I don't know why, but it's harder than I thought it would be to quit. I mean, I never got to the point of Elizabeth. I don't use scissors or anything, but now that the idea's there, it's appealing. And I don't want to. I've got my "promise ring" on. I don't know the proper thing to call it, so I've taken to calling it a promise ring. I promised myself that I would no longer cut, because the scars won't help anything, except to fuel the urge. And I can't do that to myself. To Allison. To my Mom and Dad, no matter how much they annoy me, sometimes. I could do it to myself. I'm not that important. But I can't hurt others, no matter how much they've hurt me. I mean, they're still my family. And my friends, too. I can't imagine how much I've hurt Jessica in telling her how I honestly and truly feel, even with the "filter" as we call it. I can only imagine through my own pain how it felt for her to watch me break down that Friday night, the first and last time I've cried in a few months, at least. I can't put her through that anymore. It's just not fair to her, to torture her this way. So my promise ring is more a promise to them than to me, because, if it were up to me, I would already be dead. But I've got too many people who that would hurt. So I'll live for them. I have to. Have to.
That's all for now, I guess.
Love,
J.J.
Dear Diary,
We really need to establish you a new name. I guess I wasn't done. I think I've just started, actually. I'm sorry. I really just need someone, or in this case, something, to talk to that won't judge me. And that won't go running to my mom when if and when I do slip up and cut. I need someone non-judgmental, and someone who I won't trigger with all of my thoughts. And well, I know you can't cut, so you seem to be a good candidate. I'm staring at my ring now. It seems to be growing bigger by the minute. But I've decided to stop. And I have to. Because Jessica will notice if I stop wearing the ring. Only she knows it's significance. And she'd know exactly what's going on when I stop wearing it. And that scares me. No one can know what's going on. I'll be ignored, hurt, and even possibly stared at like I'm a freak. I mean, Elizabeth does it too, and even she's ignoring me. And I don't know why. Maybe she thinks I know more than I should....Maybe she's scared about how much I understand. Maybe I trigger her for all I know. But it still hurts. It still makes me feel worthless, and like suicide really is the only option. But I can't leave her that guilt. And Jessica, too. She'd feel horrible for knowing, but not telling. So I'll live, however meager and pointless my existence may actually be. It's not pointless, though. I'm going to change the world somehow, someday. It's like the quote- "To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world." I think that's true. I'm hoping I'll be important to more than just one person, but if I can't, whatever. I hope that someday, people will quote me, and I'll be happy. But I'm not sure. If I ever do land a starrring role in a movie, I WILL ask my mom for help with my depression. However, after I mustered up the strength to tell her I want to be an actress, we've never discussed it. Which hurts. It feels like she doesn't care, like she doesn't remember what I want. Only Allison. Because Allison is the only one with problems, or so she thinks. If she knew how I felt, well, maybe then I'd get headshots. Maybe I'd be famous. Maybe, maybe, maybe. But that's never going to happen. Because until I get a starring role (ya, right) she won't know anything. And I'm glad. Because I hate therapy. It's horrid. It's just so damn akward to sit on a couch and talk about your feelings with some lady who never has any rational responses, and who's never been in your spot. They all think they know how to help, but they don't. I know they don't because I was forced into therapy for over 3 years.. And I never got any benefits from it. Except for a lot of punishings for the tantrums I threw when it was time to go. I've always been a....spirited child. I do like to make my voice heard. I won't get lost in the crowd, even though that's how I feel a lot of the time. It's sometimes a nice feeling, but sometimes it sucks. I mean, there are people who treat me like crap. And I wish those people treated me like I'm invisible because then at least I'm not being mocked and hurt. But there are the people who do treat me like I'm invisible, but those people, I wish they would notice me. I mean, I do exist. They're the people who make me want to die. Because then they'll have to live feeling guilty for not noticing me. Or maybe they just wouldn't notice me anyway. I guess I'll never get to find that one out.
I have to go.
Love,
J.J.
