2004-09-16 - 9:01 p.m.
Hi. It's a new journal. It's online journal #5. Isn't that sick? It seems that every time I make a new journal just to keep the anonymity high, one of my friends finds me, and then the privacy is gone.
It's really funny how you're not really friends with some of your friends. They offer smiles and a few laughs, but they don't really know you. You're afraid to show them the bad side of yourself. Maybe you don't want them to know that you hate your life and you're going through so much shit and you just want to get away from it all.
I have best friends, not acquaintances or people with which to hang out. The justification? Your friends are people who know and understand you - ones who try to be empathetic. They accept you for who you are, and try to help you out. You, of course, reciprocate. Would you take a bullet for a casual acquaintance? I'd take a bullet for one of my best friends any day. That's how deep the friendship goes, and who knows? Maybe their lives are worth more than mine. They're such awesome people.
Country music in the background. For the past week, it's been nothing but hardcore and country. Stress from too many coincidal midterms. Stress from a bad home life, from the screaming, the verbal and physical abuse that never seems to cease.
He cuts himself. This brings me back to early high school days. Maybe I did the same. She did, too. We wear rubber bands on our wrists, ready to snap as a corrective mechanism. You wouldn't notice. Most of the scars have faded by now. It's been almost five years since either of us cut. Plus, the scar treatment ointment works like a charm.
I still have raccoon eyes. My charcoal black eyeliner blurs around the edges. Why even bother? It's inconsistent with the way I wanted to live my life. You ever feel so ugly that you want to erase your face and start over? You ever worry that you're only ugly because you see past your features and see the corrosion within?
�
�
