Journal Entries

Entry #1 10-15-15

Lately I've been really depressed. My school counselor took note of my sudden behaviour change and told me I should write in a journal for catharsis. So that's what I'm doing. I don't know, exactly, how this works, but I'm giving it a try. Anything to take my mind off the emptiness inside me. It's ironic really. How I act so happy, yet I'm probably the most sad sack of potatoes that I know. Everyone looks so happy when I pass them in the halls. But some people look as f***ed up on the outside that I do on the inside sometimes. But I know the look on their faces is just an attempt to call for attention. I keep all my pain inside myself in a bundle so that no one can find or recognize it. It's hard to keep the pain from glistening in my eyes though, as I speak about things to people I feel like I can trust, about things I shouldn't entrust them with. That's why I can't make eye contact with others actually. I lie to others about being okay, and when I tell them that I'm not, I look away so that they can't see my pain, and feel guilty for not recognizing it sooner. Well… I think I'm getting a hang of this whole journal thing… But, that's enough for the night. I am only 12 after all.

Me

When I finish my journal entry, I close the leather cover, and place it on my shelf, underneath everything else so that no one can find it. I didn't want to do this, but my school counselor said that it was for my own good and that it was healthy to write out my feeling. In my eyes, it made me feel crazy. Hearing it from the counselor just made things worse.

I say one wrong thing and all of the sudden my classmates take me as a suicidal freak and report me to the office. I got a lot of crap for that. I even gained a reputation. I didn't much appreciate the mean names that I was called before, but being called 'Psycho Suicidal' didn't make things any better. The major anime watchers that practically worshipped Japan even put a small white flower on my desk, which practically screamed 'I want you dead!' and 'You don't belong here Psycho!' And I knew it too. The sad thing is… I agreed. That's when people started slipping notes in my locker saying things like, 'I really hope you get hit by a car.' 'You're crazy!' 'Go away nut job.' but those ones I didn't care much about. The one that really brought me to tears, was the one that said… 'Hey stupid b****. As you can see, none of us like you. Why don't you do the one thing that your mind must be screaming at you to do… And f***ing kill yourself.'

When I read that one, I froze in front of my locker. There was a group of kids at the end of the hall laughing. They were the ones that dropped off the little note that I had read. But I didn't care. I was too busy dropping to my knees, crying, covering my mouth with my free hand. That's when my only friend ran up to me and pulled me into a tight embrace. He didn't know what was wrong, until he grabbed the note. Even his eyes began to tear up as he cradled me in his arms. By now I already new that he had a crush on me, which made it slightly awkward to be in his arms, but all I could do was cry in his chest, clutching his shirt as I did so.

The group of kids that were there before had finally left, afraid that they would get caught for bullying. But like I said, I didn't care… I didn't care about anything anymore. Not even about the fact that the dear friend that held me so carefully in his arms, wouldn't be here starting tomorrow. And I would be alone… once again.

Entry #2 10-20-15

I feel like I can't breathe. I don't have enough space. Everyone keeps throwing their spiteful comments at me almost as if I can carry the weight of all of their hatred. Well… I can't. I don't care how frustrated people are with their lives. I'm not a punching bag for their minds to punch at and I'm not what they say I am… Am I? I don't know anymore. Should I do something about this pain I'm feeling. Well, I could talk to my friends. Wait… What friends? I don't have friends. I'm all alone… And that means that no one can stop me if I wanted to harm myself, can they? No. It's my choice. If I get to much blood on this page, I'll rip it out and start a new entry. I want at least something/one to know what I'm about to do… Good. There's no blood. Well, here anyway…

Me

I finished my entry and slipped the journal back where it belonged. I had cuts up and down my legs. They were an angry red color. In all honesty, I loved it. It felt nice, the way they stung under the hot water I used to wash the open wounds. But the thing I really loved about them, was the beautiful crimson red color that oozed out of the cuts, as the thick, red liquid dripped from my thighs and wrists to the tile of my bathroom floor. Dropped the razor I was holding in that moment, and brought my hands to my face and cried into them so that no one could hear me.

The next day at school, no one spoke to me. In class, everyone flashed me dirtier looks than usual, smirked, and looked away. They were planning something, I knew it. Unless they were simply enjoying my pain. Well… I'm glad it amused someone. It was killing me though. It was eating me from the inside out. When my classmates did talk to me, it was just to tell me that I was ugly, or stupid. (Even though I had better grades they could ever hope to get.) My parents said it was jealousy and then went back to their own business. I said it was sheer hatred. And it was. When I got home, I did my homework, and went to the bathroom with what I now called my only friend. My razor blade.

Entry #3 11-8-15

I don't wanna do this anymore. I have no friends so I'm always alone. My family doesn't take care of me the way they should, so I'm practically raising myself. I have so many bullies at school. I keep getting into fights. And in turn, I keep feeling pain, and a deeper pit of emptiness. I keep searching that emptiness to see if there is anything else, but I'm starting to think that it's just a bottomless pit of nothing. I'm slowly falling into that dark pit of nothingness, and it appears that I was right. There is no end to the suffering inside. My soul has left me… And I'm too weak to try and catch it. Maybe I should listen to what my peers are telling me. Maybe I should find a hole somewhere and die in it. But I know that if I do that it won't solve anything… Will it?

Me

I finished writing this down and laid down in bed. It was old and uncomfortable. Kind of like this life I was living. And the way I was living it. I wanted a change. I wanted a new start. Maybe then I wouldn't think about myself this way. Scratch that. Self-hate won't stop even if I do change my location. Maybe I should just change myself instead… Or both.

A/N: It's kinda sad, I know, but it will be continued. This is simply a story about my life before now. It's slightly recent, and I've been doing stuff as of late that kinda reminded me of the topic. I figured that if I'm going to write stories for you, you should understand me more. Because then you could understand my stories more. By the way, in the beginning of the story I'm 12, but that changes towards the July journal entry of 2016 because my birthday is July 25. Love you guys!

Love, Ghoul-san~!