Dear Diary,
Oh, what's WITH the "Dear Diary" thing anyway? I'm not so stupid as to think I'm really talking to my diary. (Except when he - nevermind.) And anyway the two words just sound so retarded. So... fake. Words that a little girl of seven would use.
And I'm not a little girl of seven. I'm not a little girl anymore. I'm a grown woman of seventeen, no longer as stupid, as innocent, or as naive as I used to be. Though my brothers may not seem to think so. They still treat me as their little sister, their little doll, who must be protected from those "evil people, especially those bad men", at all costs.
But I say I can think for myself, and I've seen enough of the world to know that it is not the happy place I used to think it was.
Even so, I should be able to live here in this pathetic world; I should be able to live here, you know? If not for all those fucked up people out there; those people messing my life up daily. Do they enjoy it or something? Is it a game to them? Do they like to torture people 'till they go insane and scream at voices in their heads? Do they take pleasure in ostracizing people and seeing them lonely and miserable, with no friends in the world?
Damn it all, I need to live my own life! I can't stay in this bloody shadow all the time. People look at me and they just see another of "that family". Dirt poor and dumb. Nothing special.
Oh Merlin. Why should I think I can express my thoughts here, writing in a little brown book? When I can barely even make them out in my own mind? When I open my mouth and nothing comes out?
Maybe I'm just grasping at straws. Everything is so fucked-up in my life right now.
The exams draw closer and the teachers pile the pressure. And I am forced to leave my sanctuary, my safe little haven, and once again, those bimbos and wankers surround me.
Simple-minded; superficial; shallow. That describes them perfectly. All they think about is what pathetic, supposedly perverted joke they're going to make next; how shrilly and high-pitched they're going to laugh; who they're going to flirt with next. It makes me want to throw up.
I retreat into my mind. I dream of a life where nothing is real, my life is void of everything and nothing at all. Nothing. That's what I dream of. It's come to this after all.
The battle rages on. I am trapped in a glass cage; the prison of my own making. I beat on it, screaming to be let out. No one hears me. I don't think I even hear myself.
Life goes on normally around me; I watch, helpless. And there's nothing I can do anymore. Nothing left to say or do.
Because I'm lost.
And I hate myself for the front I present to the world; to be accepted, recognised. Contrasting so from the bubbling frothing rage within me. The part of me I've never let anyone see.
To the world, I am the bubbly, anticipating, wide-eyed, giggling, innocent little schoolgirl.
...
But that's not me.