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Mon Histoire
Murmures de mon cœur.
In the stillness of tonight, I find myself laying on my bed, unable to sleep. I can barely think straight. In trying to work past this depression, I've begun to overwork my body. I've been growing paler; whatever shine my eyes once had continues to fade. There is a certain tiredness that even sleep can't fix, and I believe I am there.

It's so quiet. This house is practically dead. Everyone has gone to sleep. We've all had a long day. I accompanied Father to a few of his meetings. Will I ever get the heart to tell him that I'm unsure I'll be a good fit as the successor? I know that he wouldn't have wanted a woman to be his heir, but what choice does he have? What choice do I have? It's a cross I'll have to bear. Maybe someday I'll find purpose in working for Grand Tonnerre, and eventually running it. Right now, though, I think I'm just scared of growing up. What you perceive as the truth isn't always the truth. I'm barely even an adult. How will I know if I can handle this? I wish I could just run away from all these demands. There's only so much I can take.

The worst part is that I can't make mention of this to anyone. I always have to be calm and poised and the picture of perfection. I'm trying to learn about who I am. It's so difficult when there's only so much to go on. I have an awful temper, I don't like a lot of people, and most things bore me; this is fact. I'm going to have to live with this. There's no easy fix. That's who I am as a person. Is that wrong? Maybe I'm not as collected as I appear to be. Maybe I'm a weakling. Just because of these stupid expectations, I'm forced to keep this senseless charade up. I find it so hard to approach anyone for fear of them judging me. Inanities. This is nonsense. My life will be a continuing cycle of playing pretend, hating myself for that fact, hurting other people because I'm so selfish, and hating myself again. I feel like I'm drowning. I can't even find it in me to cry anymore. I want to be free of everything tying me down. I want to know who I am. I want to be who I am. Spending everyday in constant doubt and worry is going to kill me. I feel like I'm already dead. Call me melodramatic all you want. I might make things out to sound more tragic than they are, but who are you to invalidate my feelings? I have them too. Unless all you can see is a heartless b***h who only thinks about herself. Then go ahead and think whatever you'd like to think. I'm sick of everything. Sick. So, so sick.

I'm blacking out.

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