And now I fear, reader, that I have reached the last pages of this well worn little book. I feel terribly unhappy that I am to part with such a friend so soon, but such is life and there is nothing here which I need say more about. Already I have said more than I believe I should have, and you know more about me than I could possibly have told you in person, whoever you are, my dear reader, and I hope that you and I never have the misfortune of meeting in person. Yes, Quinn Fabray is terrified of you. You know some of my secrets - not all, I'll admit, because knowing that I write in this journal only to put it out in the world for someone to read naturally initiates a kind of censorship and there are things I did not write about.
"What kind of things?" I can almost hear you ask, well, here's a tidbit for you; things like the fact that Jenna and I slept together once. No, I wasn't drunk that time, and neither was she, and yet, we somehow ended up entangled in her bed, our clothes flung about the room, hanging off various pieces of furniture. It was fantastic, reader, but we realised that our hearts weren't in it, and thus did not repeat the performance. Or other things like the fact that my sister Frannie knew I was cutting in middle school and yet did nothing to stop me. I did not mention this out of fear that you might judge her, and while I have no qualms about you judging me, I do have a problem if you begin to judge those whom I care about. I don't blame Frannie; she did not know how to deal with the issue of a younger sister who was so depressed she harmed herself.
You may think that it defeats the purpose of censorship if I tell you these things now and indeed, I agree, but there is something about reaching the end of a difficult journey which simply makes one's inhibitions disappear. I feel that if you were to ask me anything, absolutely anything in this moment, I would answer it, honestly and unabashedly.
The great writer, Charles Dickens, once so aptly observed one of life's paradoxes:
"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way."
This is by far the best summary of my childhood years, and indeed, the journey I undertook writing this journal, that I have ever had the fortune to come across. All at once, I believed I was destined for great things, and yet I could not help but believe during that dark time that I was going to go nowhere. I had hope, but it was tempered by despair. I believed everything, and yet I believed nothing. I possessed the childhood innocence that led me to think that anything was achievable, but my soul had been touched by death, and so I began to think that perhaps I was wrong.
Now, I think that there is nothing I can control in my life, that anything I thought I could control was an illusion. So, I have decided to accept this and follow the flow of life wherever it may take me. I do believe this is something that I should have done a long time ago, and that if I had, I would have spared myself much misery and heartache. And yet, I am grateful for all the things I have been through; without those experiences, I would not be the person I am today - everything happens so that you may reach certain points in your life, from the time in my childhood listening to Madame Scarlet in that little haphazard tent, to my middle school years of self harm, to my more recent experiences of having a baby, and going through some of the difficulties of having a relationship with a boy, or several boys, as it is, over the course of high school.
Forgive me reader, there is more that I could have said, but I have determined with care what I should and should not reveal to you - you are, after all, a stranger to me in this town, who after reading this are less of a stranger, and more a sort of kin - kin because you know much about me which I would share with no other; it's the kind of kinship I felt with Rachel Berry all those years ago in the hospital ward.
As for the people in my life, my mother, Rachel, Finn, Puck, the rest of the Glee club, they will know some of my story, for they were there to experience it with me, but they will not ever know the depth of my feelings as I had gone through all those events. They will not understand my point of view the way you do. That is a shame, in a way, because I feel that I am often typecast as the bitchy cheerleader, when really, there is much more to me than that façade; had anyone taken the time to really learn about me, they might have seen that - the only person who has perhaps truly had a glimpse behind the armour that I carry around, day by day to protect me from the world, is Mercedes Jones, and she has been a fantastic pillar of support.
I don't know what you plan on doing with this journal after you have read through it all, but I ask that you do not look for me. I told you my story because there are some things you cannot hold inside you anymore, which need to be said, so I have said them. I do not need help, I do not need sympathy, I need understanding and for someone to listen; I do not know whether you have given me the former, as much as I hope for it, but I do know that you have granted me the latter, for which I am eternally grateful. So thank you, reader, for sticking through such a piecemeal diary, which tells of my feelings, but does not really tell a coherent story.
Life will be unpleasant again in the future, I am sure of it, but I understand myself enough to know now that I will not deal with it with the immaturity and inability to express myself the way that I had over the years I have already lived. I do not know where I may be in a few years, whether I will have gone to college in some far off state, whether I will have stayed in Lima, whether, in fact, I am still alive at that time. I can only hope for the best and pray that you do too.
So I leave you now, with the hope that you learnt something from the tragedy of my mistakes, and that you understand the mindset of an often misunderstood teenage girl.
A/N: well, that was that. I know it wasn't really a story, but I hope you enjoyed reading it anyway and that you understood Quinn a little more than you did before.