Written Tuesday night:

Well I just cried and in the shower too, how very emo of me. Yes I’m in one of "those" moods so expect bitter cursing and self-hatred thoughts. I just want to break down. I want to let it all just pour out of me in hope that I will either be healed or dead. Either seems fine to me. But even when I break down and think I have it all out, I find out that it’s all still there. I swear my mind is going to kill me. Why can’t I just let things be? Why does my mind insist on remembering everything or at least the bad things and the things I have done that I think regard me badly. Oh man, my mind won’t shut up. I swear I’m going to lose it one of these days and kill myself, the thought is scary yet comforting which also scares me. All these years I have been scared to death of a few things and of those things one is having mental problem like sitzophrenia like my aunt and I’m not all too sure I don’t have one. There is something wrong with my head but I don’t think it’s something serious like that though serious. And when I say something is wrong with my head, I mean it. I’m not just saying that jokingly and lightly, I mean that I think something is wrong with my head. Actually I know something is wrong with me. The attachment to sorrow is not natural. I also think I have an eating problem (that was another fear I had m whole life), which I don’t mind, like I said I’m screwed up. Don’t think I’m making this up. Like thinking, "Oh if she really had an eating problem she wouldn’t tell anyone," or whatever but like I said, I’m not going to really keep anything back in here and plus these are my thoughts. All my thoughts have double standards. I know part of me wants the attention from my pain, part of me loves the pain and another wants to be rid of it all. I think of the last part as the good part. The fairly reasonable one that knows all these things are bad and wants them gone. With the eating problem with is much like anorexia goes hand and hand with my self-worth, self-esteem problem. On Friday when it was all sunny, I was at Mel’s with her, Monica and Josh and we were going to the beach and Monica started taking my coat off and stuff. She had made me change earlier into a tight red top and well I sorta broke down after loosing my coat. I started crying and telling them how I thought I was ugly and fat and all this stuff. I wear loose clothing for a reason and when I’m at home I always have a blanket around me whether I’m cold or not. It will be 80 degrees outside and I’ll still have my blanket on. Monica tried cheering me up by saying that looks didn’t matter and who cares what people think and stuff but it really didn’t help though I lead her to believe it did. I know she told Ben to tell me I looked pretty when we saw him later, she kinda made it obvious, her sly code talk didn’t hide anything and I don’t think he wanted to but he did tell me later which I just blew off. I found out today I guess I’m a 6 on normal days but today because I was wearing a gray coat instead of a black one, I was a 8. See I’m a 6. And all that I have just said wasn’t the reason I cried imagine that, though all of those issues have made me cry many of times. What did? My dad. Honestly, I’m going to try a lot fucking harder and I’m going to get a job and I’m moving out as soon as I can. I can’t handle this anymore. If anything, I’m gonna live with my mom the whole summer so I don’t have to be in this hell hole and then as soon as I’m 18 I’m on my own. My mom may have problems but she accepts me. She understands me unlike everyone in this damn household and well almost everyone in my damned life. I was talking to my dad on the phone and he was pissed. He was saying how the computer was causing problems though I never really go on anymore and how I have these problems and I need to try harder and fix these things about myself and like how my music has corrupted me and how it’s "evil." And I’m fucking crying again. I thought I was going to start crying at the beginning of this but I felt nothing. I was saying my problems yet I felt nothing. Fucking A, I’m a fucking mess up. I’m just screwed up. You know what? I hope he takes everything away from me like he threatens then I’ll go into a deep depression and maybe gather the fucking courage to pull a trigger or stab myself and kill whatever is left of my pathetic soul. But of course here is my other side talking. I don’t want that to really happen and I know it never will as much as my mind dreams it. Actually I haven’t had any real suicidal thoughts in awhile. A lot of my pain is made up, I think. I like the comfort of it and honestly I don’t think I know how to survive and work without it. Keep in mind this is all the 3rd part talking, the good part. The other parts want the pain, embrace it and cause it. See how I’m torn? The logic in my mind tells me that I need to stop doing this but it really is only thoughts that are over powered by the others that have more control. I’m sure it’s one of those parts, probably the second that keeps these thoughts in my head about the things Monica does and the things people do to criticize me and gives me bad thoughts of them and bad things I would like to say to them. I try t keep them down so I don’t dwell on fights and such but they always pop back up when everything is hunky dory…AFI reference, sorry couldn’t contain myself…technically it’s a David Bowie reference but AFI used it…long story. Anyway, the tears stopped. I’m cold. This blanket is doing nothing for me. I’m slightly tired though I doubt I’ll get sleep and I have a feeling this will be a hard week and I hope I can escape this weekend. I hope I have a nightmare but I know I shouldn’t hope that yet this is all the good side says, it has no feeling.