Wello! :D

Thanks for reviews and stuffs!

Since it's such a beautiful Friday 13 and Rose Day, you's gets an update! :D

Dear Diary

Yeah, I know I haven't written you since I was what? 5? But I can't do this anymore. People, they're always telling me to smile, like smiling will take away all the pain and anguish. But I've tried it. I've tried hiding my sorrows, covering up the sadness in my smiles, my laughs and I've learned it hurts more to deny what you truly feel in your heart, masks are good for keeping those on the outside from knowing the truth but no matter how hard you try to deny it, you know inside how much you are hurting.

Diary, I don't want to be everything to everyone; I just want to be something to someone because I don't feel loved, diary, I go through each day believing no one loves me, it's pathetic and cliché, I know but then… so am I.

Diary, I have that feeling where I just I don't want to talk to anyone; I don't want to smile, to fake being happy. But I don't know what is wrong, there's no way to explain this to someone who doesn't already understand that if you could want anything in the world it's to be alone. People, they're not comforting anymore, they just ask because they feel like they have to. When you're alone there's no one to ask what's wrong and there's no one to insist on a proper answer when they feel 'I don't know' is not an adequate one. They don't understand that you feel the way you do just because that's the way you feel. You hope that feeling will pass and you'll go back to being happy and normal and yourself again but until then all you can do is wait and somewhere you stop waiting because who you become is what you have been waiting to stop being.

This is all so dreadfully depressing but that's who I am now, diary, I'm depressed, I know I am, I need help, I know I do, I just… seeking help means admitting to everyone that something's wrong, seeking help means I've screwed things up again, seeking help means having to listen to people tell me what to do to make things better when I know, somehow, this pain I feel, it's never going to go away.

As much as I hate smiling and pretending I prefer that to having to try to explain why I'm sad, when I explain it, no one understands and they don't get that the pain is the only thing telling me I'm still alive when I so wish I was dead, but then, I guess I am, I'm dead on the inside, my body just needs to catch up, maybe someday it will, and maybe by then I'll have found something that truly matters just so it can be taken from me or I from it or... anyway, diary. I have to get going now, I'll write more later, maybe, but then, what's the point in this diary thing anyway? The only one reading this will be me and I already know how I feel so maybe I won't write you later, diary, this may well be the last entry I ever make but whatever, I'm still going now, ciao!

A/N: R&R And like Donna, I must be going. So Ciao!