Entry 17:
The truest statement I have ever heard was said by Izaak Walton. He stated that, "The person that loses their conscience has nothing left worth keeping." I have lost my conscience, my pride, my innocence, and my faith. Izaak would probably consider me a nobody. I consider myself a person who doesn't deserve to even have existence. There are so many people out there who are good people, who deserve to live. What I have done that is good? Give men a hell of a night? The gates to heaven are just going to be wide open for me!
The bible says that pre-marridal sex is a sin. Okay, so I'm having sex before marriage, with guys I don't even know. Interesting, wouldn't you say? A person once said that "If Jupiter hurled his thunderbolt as often as men sinned, he would soon be out of thunderbolts." I'm the cause for the meager supply of thunderbolts, now-a-days. So you know, let's take the next decade to look at all my sins. But since we don't have a decade to look at all my sins, we can just name a few.
I'm a prostitute
I'm addicted to drugs
I technically broke the rules of friendship with Ashley
I lied to mom more than just on a few occasions
I have lowered myself down, to levels no man has ever reached
So, we all know how much my life sucks. I've notice I repeat that thought in every diary entry, but I can't seem to stress it enough. Nothing has ever been worse than this. Hard to believe? I know abuse, cutting, drug addiction, and prostitution sounds pretty sucky, but it isn't as bad as this.
You know when the holidays come around, everyone seems so joyful and happy, but it turns out that the suicide rate goes up during this time. Of course, it could be an urban myth, but I firmly agree with it. So here's an "oh-so cheery" Christmas tale.
It was cold, winters night. It was snowing; just what everyone had wished for. I mean who doesn't want a white Christmas, except for me? It was a hard night on the streets. It's difficult to survive when the only warmth you can find is from drugs. It may seem unbelievable, but standing on a corner in the night, to sell your body, it gets a little frigid. But after my body became too cold to function, I headed into a nearby bar. I had a couple drinks and slipped a couple of guys my card. I headed to the bathroom, but a guy seemed to be following me. I turned around, but then I blacked out.
I awoke the next morning outside the bar near a dumpster. I knew what had happened. I quivered as I rose to my feet. I slowly walked back into the bar, stumbling over nothing. I walked to the bathroom, cautious if anybody was following me. I headed into a stall and threw up. I crawled over to a sink and washed my face. I looked in the mirror at my reflection. My eyeliner was smudged from the water and my tears. My vision was blurry. I couldn't do anything. I mean a drug addicted prostitute wasn't the typical rape victim. Merry fucking Christmas, Nash, I whispered to myself, Merry fucking Christmas.
