Well, never thought I'd actually write a journal. Well, guess I should join the club, lol. Maybe I should rant. *rants* There... Hm. I know I can't be like any of my friends, who make themselves seem so intelligent when typing out these things. But who cares about that? I can be an idiot if I want to. Maybe being myself in this stupid journal will let people really know who I am. Sorry everyone, but I've sort of been hiding things. They're nothing compared to what you think. I mean, they're not severe... >.> But... you should know if you wanna. First of all, I could care less who reads this, since it's being put here for a reason. Second, I hope you all don't hate me after this.

I apologize if anyone mistakes me for a happy, cheerful child. It's mere deceit. This sounds undeniably cheesy, but I'm seriously depressed. There have been a few suicide attempts in my past, a few runaways, and my constant hurting of myself. I even had a phase where I cut myself. The scars are gone now. No, I'm not mental, just... how do you say... feeble minded. I felt like no one knew who I was, even if I did show who I really was. I was invisible, and no one knew who I was, or whether I existed or not. I was nothing but a roadblock to them. I sort of still do. I'm merely still a pain in the ass. A disappointment, if you will. I'm sure my parents think so. They yell at me enough, telling me I'm shit and worthless. I say I love them, but do I? My dad makes fun of me in front of my friends, but at home he's constantly yelling, and giving my sister all the bonuses and prizes for being a prefect child. I don't remember a time when I would come home happy, or wake up happy. For the longest time, I've not wanted to go home, and I dread waking from my sleep. I surround myself with 'friends' at school. I've known some of them for a really long time, but, it's impossible to call them friends. Personally, I hate them. They always have to follow suit, changing and bending to every new feminine rule of the world. They cover themselves up with makeup and jewelry, hiding behind the masks they call reality. There are select few who I know don't hide, and I really thank them for not doing that. But, I just want them to be true to me. There are probably only two people out of my true friends that I care about more than a friend. No, not lesbianism. Try the word sister or something. One of them hides behind a mask, afraid of judgment from other people. I don't care who she really is. Being ourselves is what makes people like us, but the masks we wear. I never knew she hid until she said something about it. I don't feel bad for her. Pity or remorse is something I don't do. But, it made me see a bit further into who she was. I was grateful when she told me about it. I won't say their name. But, for the time I've known her, I've come to love her. She's the only person I know who's ever made me feel like I was worth something.

The other person is... WAS my friend. I used to care about her, until she became an all out bitch and began hating me for all I was worth. She turned all of my friends against me at one point, and there was my greatest fear. I hate rejection, and being alone. I hate it with a burning passion. So many people have left me, and that is something I fear with my best friend I have now. Too many people have come to hate me in my life, and I know quite a few who would kill me if my back was ever turned to them.

I’m such an idiot. I had this whole thing planned out on exactly how I was going to type this all out, but now it seems to merely roll of my fingertips. I feel like excess baggage to the world right now. Well, I definitely look like it. I went out today to get some new clothes for my sister’s conformation, and as stripped to my skivvies to try things on, I realized exactly how ugly my body is. My stomach hangs over my underwear, I have stomach cleavage, my legs are fat and discolored, my feet are hideous, I have armpit cleavage, and there’s fat under my chin. This was about an hour ago. I cried in the change room and refused to try on any clothes. I put the clothes back, and left. My mom was pissed because she didn’t get to see me try them on. She continuously says I’m beautiful and my body is perfect, but then again, she’s a mother. She’s SUPPOSED to say that. Screw it. I refuse to listen to her. I know I’m a walking imperfection, and I probably am going to need a straight jacket after this. Why is everyone convinced that I’m a beautiful person? I know I’m not. And I’m not just saying this for people’s sympathy or pity, or just to have something to complain about. I know what I am. Try and convince me I’ve got the perfect body, and see if I’ll listen. Until then, I plan on dieting or something. Not that there’s much I can take out of my diet, I practically don’t eat anyways… But who gives a shit. I don’t. If I go anorexic, who’s gonna care? Certainly not my mom and dad. Certainly not the kids at school. Certainly no one. This is my view on my life. It’s my shit hole. I’m sending this now before I go ranting on other things that have no significance.


Ranting idea stolen from my older sister.