Gals... I've been so depressed today. v_v Here are my two previous journal entries:
First
So... I have quite a bit to say right now. I don't know if I should say it all and keep my mouth shut and my anger pent-up, to build up and strike out at any moment, or if I should write it all down here in my journal... I think I'm going to write it all down.
So lately, I've been feeling really stressed, and that's because I hear... voices. Of all my dead/passed-on friends. It's really creepy, and what they're saying is bothering the Hell out of me. It's taking its toll on me, and I don't know what to do. You may be thinking, "She's just blowing smoke from her a**." But I'm not. This is all real. I've been hearing the voice of my dead fiance, Tyler Maverick. I'll be sitting in class, and his voice will come up, whispering in a gruff whisper, "You're so ugly. Nobody likes you. Pat is only with you because he pities you." Then it will go away. And all the voices of my dead friends - Faith, Kenny, Peter, all of them. I'll just hear their voices... and it's awful! I even hear the voice of Jack; the guy who raped me. His words are the only slightly kind ones, though. His voice will be saying, "Believe in yourself, even if others don't believe in you." Or some s**t like that. It's scaring me, but I can't tell my mum because she won't believe me. v_v So, that's part of what's been going on with me lately.
Another thing. I'll be talking to one of my ex's, and they'll be saying something and it'll bring me back to the time that I remember being with them, and those were some happy times. I'll admit it. But if I even think about being with them again, a severe sadness takes over me. I would never leave Pat, believe me. But my mind will imagine me without him [though that's hard to do], and I can't imagine being with anyone else. I'll see myself with John, and we'll be married, but we don't look happy. Or I'll see myself with James, but we don't look like we're truly happy. We look like, "Yeah. Okay. Now what?" kind of happy. Then it'll be with Corey, and all I can imagine is some sex-crazed husband. I don't even imagine myself with Kyle because I dated him out of pity. And with Mike... I don't know what I see with him. But when I imagine myself married to Pat, an extreme happiness comes to our faces. It's the face of a lover, who's so excited to be with that special someone, and I couldn't imagine myself without that special light...
So... I'm in a poetic mood today. Can you tell? Yeah. Probably. I'm dying my hair today, and possibly going over to Pat's house. But, before I get into all that, I need to tell a story. Once upon a time, there was an ex who gets jealous of whenever her ex's talk about their girlfriends/ex's. She was reading something one of her ex's wrote about his ex, and she starts biting the inside of her lip until it starts to bleed. She feels like screaming out, screaming at him, saying, "YOU WROTE THE EXACT SAME THING ABOUT ME IF YOU DON'T RECALL." but she can't. She can't get the courage to do anything about it. She never will be. This girl will always be a jealous b***h who will never speak-up for herself, or speak-out to what she believes in. She may in her mind, but never will the words in her thoughts be written down. I tell you this story because I was reading something that somebody wrote, and he wrote the EXACT thing about me. It kinda pissed me off, but whatever. Like I said, I'll never be able to speak out. Even if I act like I'm cocky and tough, the truth is, I'm not. I just cover up my terrified self.
Here are some confessions I have to make: James, I get jealous when you talk about Heather. I have no self-confidence. I hate myself. Everytime I see Pat, I think to myself, "You can do so much better than me." I know people talk about me behind my back. I don't really care. I used to cut myself. I have cut myself recently. I'm a weak b***h. I can't wait to move out. I miss the time where I was the happiest girl alive - the time before I was raped. Every night, I secretly wish that I was pretty. I always wish that people liked me for who I am and not the piercings I have. I wish people didn't judge me. I hate writing my confessions. I'm agnostic. I honestly thought I was pregnant last month. When I got the first signs of period blood, I thought it was pregnancy spotting and I broke down crying, punching myself. I told Pat, and he freaked out, and we almost got the Plan B pill. I've never told anybody that last part.
Please, don't tell anybody any of my confessions. Thanks. Comment me on my awful life, how ugly I am, how much you hate me, whatever. It will make me feel better about myself. If you haven't noticed, I'm in a really pissy mood. I feel light-headed constantly, and I just want to cry. I haven't cried in about a month, and if I don't cry for a while, I'll randomly break down and cry in the middle of class. It's one of those... awful things about me nobody knows. So sometimes I'll come home, collapse on my bed, and just sob myself to sleep. The world is a cruel, cruel place that jokes about everything, and I'm the butt of all jokes. I hear people talking s**t about me constantly, and I really don't care. And it's because some b***h started saying that I was spreading s**t about her when I wasn't. So now, almost everybody who doesn't know me thinks I'm a dumb bimbo-slut who will spread rumors about everybody. Thanks, b***h. You know who you are.
So, now you know more about me. Right now is one of those times where I just feel like sobbing, but I can't. I'm going over to Pat's house in a few hours, and I need to dye my hair and wash it all out before he gets here. But I told him I'd text him when I'm done, because he has to do some laundry and stuff. So I'm not the only one. But today... I dunno. Today is one of those days where I wish I could just lay in bed and sob all day. Maybe I'll cry in the shower. I don't know. I really don't care what you all think of me [if anybody's reading this]. I don't care if you talk s**t about me. I don't care if you think I'm the most beautiful thing or the most ugly thing alive. I honestly don't. And honestly... deep down inside... I do care. That's the thing I care about the most. What other people think of me. Isn't this such twisted irony? So twisted, that you feel like it's traveling up your spinal cord, twisting it, ripping it to shreds, then tearing it out of you? That's what I feel right now. Along with being at a loss for breath and a loss for words that can describe my mood right now. I'm in a state of unbelievable morbidity right now. So if anything I write in this right now frightens you, it's okay. I understand, but I don't care yet I do. So contradictory. So beautiful, yet frightening. So majestic, yet clumsy. You know that look... that look... that look that the evil, twisted maniac in the horror movies gets when he's about to kill somebody? That look that he gives the victim right before he gauges out their eyes, their heart, their very soul, searching for what he truly wants to do? That's the look my eyes are giving right at this moment. I want to gauge out my eyes. I want to gauge out my heart, to try to find my soul and reason for existing right now. But that's not going to happen, because I don't think anybody wants to know my reason for existing, but I think I have an idea. I think that I was put on this twisted, cruel world because I was needed to be God's play-thing. I needed to be that... thing... that everybody made fun of. That... thing that everybody needs to look at to feel better about themselves. Well you know what? Here I am. I'm the mistake of the century. My parents have disowned me. Everyday, my mum tells me how she can't wait until I graduate so I can move out with somebody and she can move away from me. My dad almost forgot my name today on the phone, and he thought I was turning twelve when I was turning fifteen. He thought my birthday was April 13th when it's May 16th. My whole family hates me, and I'm the ******** mistake of it all. I was never wanted here, and I can't wait until I can leave so they can finally be happy. It's my fault my parents fight constantly, and I know it. I get told that almost on a daily basis. I'm going to end this entry before I write something I'll regret.
So lately, I've been feeling really stressed, and that's because I hear... voices. Of all my dead/passed-on friends. It's really creepy, and what they're saying is bothering the Hell out of me. It's taking its toll on me, and I don't know what to do. You may be thinking, "She's just blowing smoke from her a**." But I'm not. This is all real. I've been hearing the voice of my dead fiance, Tyler Maverick. I'll be sitting in class, and his voice will come up, whispering in a gruff whisper, "You're so ugly. Nobody likes you. Pat is only with you because he pities you." Then it will go away. And all the voices of my dead friends - Faith, Kenny, Peter, all of them. I'll just hear their voices... and it's awful! I even hear the voice of Jack; the guy who raped me. His words are the only slightly kind ones, though. His voice will be saying, "Believe in yourself, even if others don't believe in you." Or some s**t like that. It's scaring me, but I can't tell my mum because she won't believe me. v_v So, that's part of what's been going on with me lately.
Another thing. I'll be talking to one of my ex's, and they'll be saying something and it'll bring me back to the time that I remember being with them, and those were some happy times. I'll admit it. But if I even think about being with them again, a severe sadness takes over me. I would never leave Pat, believe me. But my mind will imagine me without him [though that's hard to do], and I can't imagine being with anyone else. I'll see myself with John, and we'll be married, but we don't look happy. Or I'll see myself with James, but we don't look like we're truly happy. We look like, "Yeah. Okay. Now what?" kind of happy. Then it'll be with Corey, and all I can imagine is some sex-crazed husband. I don't even imagine myself with Kyle because I dated him out of pity. And with Mike... I don't know what I see with him. But when I imagine myself married to Pat, an extreme happiness comes to our faces. It's the face of a lover, who's so excited to be with that special someone, and I couldn't imagine myself without that special light...
So... I'm in a poetic mood today. Can you tell? Yeah. Probably. I'm dying my hair today, and possibly going over to Pat's house. But, before I get into all that, I need to tell a story. Once upon a time, there was an ex who gets jealous of whenever her ex's talk about their girlfriends/ex's. She was reading something one of her ex's wrote about his ex, and she starts biting the inside of her lip until it starts to bleed. She feels like screaming out, screaming at him, saying, "YOU WROTE THE EXACT SAME THING ABOUT ME IF YOU DON'T RECALL." but she can't. She can't get the courage to do anything about it. She never will be. This girl will always be a jealous b***h who will never speak-up for herself, or speak-out to what she believes in. She may in her mind, but never will the words in her thoughts be written down. I tell you this story because I was reading something that somebody wrote, and he wrote the EXACT thing about me. It kinda pissed me off, but whatever. Like I said, I'll never be able to speak out. Even if I act like I'm cocky and tough, the truth is, I'm not. I just cover up my terrified self.
Here are some confessions I have to make: James, I get jealous when you talk about Heather. I have no self-confidence. I hate myself. Everytime I see Pat, I think to myself, "You can do so much better than me." I know people talk about me behind my back. I don't really care. I used to cut myself. I have cut myself recently. I'm a weak b***h. I can't wait to move out. I miss the time where I was the happiest girl alive - the time before I was raped. Every night, I secretly wish that I was pretty. I always wish that people liked me for who I am and not the piercings I have. I wish people didn't judge me. I hate writing my confessions. I'm agnostic. I honestly thought I was pregnant last month. When I got the first signs of period blood, I thought it was pregnancy spotting and I broke down crying, punching myself. I told Pat, and he freaked out, and we almost got the Plan B pill. I've never told anybody that last part.
Please, don't tell anybody any of my confessions. Thanks. Comment me on my awful life, how ugly I am, how much you hate me, whatever. It will make me feel better about myself. If you haven't noticed, I'm in a really pissy mood. I feel light-headed constantly, and I just want to cry. I haven't cried in about a month, and if I don't cry for a while, I'll randomly break down and cry in the middle of class. It's one of those... awful things about me nobody knows. So sometimes I'll come home, collapse on my bed, and just sob myself to sleep. The world is a cruel, cruel place that jokes about everything, and I'm the butt of all jokes. I hear people talking s**t about me constantly, and I really don't care. And it's because some b***h started saying that I was spreading s**t about her when I wasn't. So now, almost everybody who doesn't know me thinks I'm a dumb bimbo-slut who will spread rumors about everybody. Thanks, b***h. You know who you are.
So, now you know more about me. Right now is one of those times where I just feel like sobbing, but I can't. I'm going over to Pat's house in a few hours, and I need to dye my hair and wash it all out before he gets here. But I told him I'd text him when I'm done, because he has to do some laundry and stuff. So I'm not the only one. But today... I dunno. Today is one of those days where I wish I could just lay in bed and sob all day. Maybe I'll cry in the shower. I don't know. I really don't care what you all think of me [if anybody's reading this]. I don't care if you talk s**t about me. I don't care if you think I'm the most beautiful thing or the most ugly thing alive. I honestly don't. And honestly... deep down inside... I do care. That's the thing I care about the most. What other people think of me. Isn't this such twisted irony? So twisted, that you feel like it's traveling up your spinal cord, twisting it, ripping it to shreds, then tearing it out of you? That's what I feel right now. Along with being at a loss for breath and a loss for words that can describe my mood right now. I'm in a state of unbelievable morbidity right now. So if anything I write in this right now frightens you, it's okay. I understand, but I don't care yet I do. So contradictory. So beautiful, yet frightening. So majestic, yet clumsy. You know that look... that look... that look that the evil, twisted maniac in the horror movies gets when he's about to kill somebody? That look that he gives the victim right before he gauges out their eyes, their heart, their very soul, searching for what he truly wants to do? That's the look my eyes are giving right at this moment. I want to gauge out my eyes. I want to gauge out my heart, to try to find my soul and reason for existing right now. But that's not going to happen, because I don't think anybody wants to know my reason for existing, but I think I have an idea. I think that I was put on this twisted, cruel world because I was needed to be God's play-thing. I needed to be that... thing... that everybody made fun of. That... thing that everybody needs to look at to feel better about themselves. Well you know what? Here I am. I'm the mistake of the century. My parents have disowned me. Everyday, my mum tells me how she can't wait until I graduate so I can move out with somebody and she can move away from me. My dad almost forgot my name today on the phone, and he thought I was turning twelve when I was turning fifteen. He thought my birthday was April 13th when it's May 16th. My whole family hates me, and I'm the ******** mistake of it all. I was never wanted here, and I can't wait until I can leave so they can finally be happy. It's my fault my parents fight constantly, and I know it. I get told that almost on a daily basis. I'm going to end this entry before I write something I'll regret.
Second
So I spent the day with Pat. Got home at about 11:30 p.m. Tomorrow [the 21st] is our five-month. We're going to see Juno [which is fitting]. I was in the best mood of my life when I was with him... until I got home. All my previous feelings came back. I wanted to scream, cry, punch. Kill. My hair turned out like s**t - it's pink instead of purple. But whatever. I have two more bottles - one colour darker than the one I used. So I'll just put that in. I only dyed my tips, though. My hair goes past the middle of my back, so I would have needed about six boxes [no exaggeration] of hair-dye just to dye all of it. One box barely covered my tips. That's okay, though. Pat loves my long hair, and that's all that matters for me.
So. When I first cut myself, I felt so guilty about it. But the last time I did, I didn't feel anything. No pain, no guilt, no remorse. Nothing. But whatever. I guess things are how they are for a reason, and I'm just going to have to realize that no matter what I do, it's always going to be like that. No matter how nice I am to my mom or to my brother, I never get noticed for it. I never get any "Thanks!" from my mom when I clean this ******** apartment, or for when I do something nice for her. I never get any respect, and it's just pissing me off. I know that when I move in with Pat, I'll get a "Thanks, babe!" when I clean or cook or something, you know? But right now, nobody appreciates a thing I do for them. I'm sick of being the person getting shat on all the time. I'm done.
Also, I'm done being everybody's rock that they depend on for support. I need some support for once in my ******** life! God! Is that too much to ask? Somebody that I can cry to? Somebody I can pour my soul to? I know I can talk to Pat about everything, but I always cry to him about everything, and I feel really bad. I just... I wish I wasn't so weak. I wish I didn't cry like I do. I wish I was emotionally stronger. I hate what I've become. I'm this cold-hearted b***h who nobody likes. No wonder I can't even walk into the ******** gas-station without people whispering about how ugly I am, or how pathetic I look with my shoulders hunched over because I have no self-confidence about who I am.
James called me today. I didn't answer because I was in the shower, but I called him back right when I got out. And he told me something that got me thinking. He said, "You know who you are, and you don't need somebody to tell you who you are." I was thinking about that all day, and I came to this conclusion - I don't know who I am. Who am I? Yes, I know I'm Sophia. But there has to be more to this empty shell then just a name. There has to be. I just don't know who the missing person to this shell is quite yet. Is it the girl who I think I am? The girl with the piercings, dyed hair, who's cocky because she hates herself? Or am I the quiet girl who sits in the back of class, never saying a word, never being acknowledged by the teacher or her fellow peers? I don't know. This empty shell is awaiting for her spirit to come join her on Earth.
I hope I snap out of this funk soon, because I miss the Sophia I used to be. The Sophia before I was raped of my virginity and life. The Sophia that everybody used to love and laugh with and joke with. The Sophia that will never be back. That version of me is gone. When Jack raped me, he raped me of my very being as well. I'm not that bubbly girl that everybody used to know and talk about. I'm not that "teacher's favourite." I'm not that popular girl who everybody wanted to be best friends with. That's not going to happen again. I mean, look at me. I'm ugly. I have piercings. My teachers are afraid of me. I hardly have any friends [six tops]. I have rumors being spread about me everywhere I turn. The popular kids won't even spit in my general direction. I have the light of the shadows cast upon me, and I think that's what my whole high-school life is going to be like. I know I'm only a Sophomore, but still. You can't even count this year as a whole school-year, what with like, five months of it left. Two and a half years more of my life are going to be pure torment.
I don't think I'm going to write in my journal for a while. I need to clear my head. Purify my thoughts. I've become extremely morbid, and it's scaring me. I get the most... demonic thoughts in my head. I think my passed-on friends are haunting me. Either that, or Satan/Lucifer is following me, always being my shadow, causing chaos around me wherever I go. Maybe I should run away for a while, until Satan/Lucifer gets bored of tormenting me and can finally go find some other girl. Some other pretty girl who everybody loves to ******** up her life, just like he did with mine. Seriously. He needs to find some other person to mess with; somebody I will never meet. Somebody in China or something.
So. When I first cut myself, I felt so guilty about it. But the last time I did, I didn't feel anything. No pain, no guilt, no remorse. Nothing. But whatever. I guess things are how they are for a reason, and I'm just going to have to realize that no matter what I do, it's always going to be like that. No matter how nice I am to my mom or to my brother, I never get noticed for it. I never get any "Thanks!" from my mom when I clean this ******** apartment, or for when I do something nice for her. I never get any respect, and it's just pissing me off. I know that when I move in with Pat, I'll get a "Thanks, babe!" when I clean or cook or something, you know? But right now, nobody appreciates a thing I do for them. I'm sick of being the person getting shat on all the time. I'm done.
Also, I'm done being everybody's rock that they depend on for support. I need some support for once in my ******** life! God! Is that too much to ask? Somebody that I can cry to? Somebody I can pour my soul to? I know I can talk to Pat about everything, but I always cry to him about everything, and I feel really bad. I just... I wish I wasn't so weak. I wish I didn't cry like I do. I wish I was emotionally stronger. I hate what I've become. I'm this cold-hearted b***h who nobody likes. No wonder I can't even walk into the ******** gas-station without people whispering about how ugly I am, or how pathetic I look with my shoulders hunched over because I have no self-confidence about who I am.
James called me today. I didn't answer because I was in the shower, but I called him back right when I got out. And he told me something that got me thinking. He said, "You know who you are, and you don't need somebody to tell you who you are." I was thinking about that all day, and I came to this conclusion - I don't know who I am. Who am I? Yes, I know I'm Sophia. But there has to be more to this empty shell then just a name. There has to be. I just don't know who the missing person to this shell is quite yet. Is it the girl who I think I am? The girl with the piercings, dyed hair, who's cocky because she hates herself? Or am I the quiet girl who sits in the back of class, never saying a word, never being acknowledged by the teacher or her fellow peers? I don't know. This empty shell is awaiting for her spirit to come join her on Earth.
I hope I snap out of this funk soon, because I miss the Sophia I used to be. The Sophia before I was raped of my virginity and life. The Sophia that everybody used to love and laugh with and joke with. The Sophia that will never be back. That version of me is gone. When Jack raped me, he raped me of my very being as well. I'm not that bubbly girl that everybody used to know and talk about. I'm not that "teacher's favourite." I'm not that popular girl who everybody wanted to be best friends with. That's not going to happen again. I mean, look at me. I'm ugly. I have piercings. My teachers are afraid of me. I hardly have any friends [six tops]. I have rumors being spread about me everywhere I turn. The popular kids won't even spit in my general direction. I have the light of the shadows cast upon me, and I think that's what my whole high-school life is going to be like. I know I'm only a Sophomore, but still. You can't even count this year as a whole school-year, what with like, five months of it left. Two and a half years more of my life are going to be pure torment.
I don't think I'm going to write in my journal for a while. I need to clear my head. Purify my thoughts. I've become extremely morbid, and it's scaring me. I get the most... demonic thoughts in my head. I think my passed-on friends are haunting me. Either that, or Satan/Lucifer is following me, always being my shadow, causing chaos around me wherever I go. Maybe I should run away for a while, until Satan/Lucifer gets bored of tormenting me and can finally go find some other girl. Some other pretty girl who everybody loves to ******** up her life, just like he did with mine. Seriously. He needs to find some other person to mess with; somebody I will never meet. Somebody in China or something.
You don't have to comment if you don't want to, I'm just really sad/morbid right now and need to get all this out of my system since nobody reads my journal.
