2004-10-28 - 8:02 p.m.
Let's forget about speaking in tongues for once. Maybe I'm too distraught to even pretend that I can mix it up like that - like I can confuse you with my abstract thoughts and cryptic sentences. For now, we'll deal with complete, uncensored, callous writing.
What the hell am I supposed to write? You like it, and you don't. You're always so fascinated with everyone else's lives that you have to spy and pry and try to get some sort of insight. Reality TV. Public online journals. We're all so consumed with what other people are doing with their lives that we forget to live. We live vicariously through others, or we sit around and just talk about it. It's sick. Maybe Emily Dickinson rarely left her cabin, but she was prolific and productive, to say the least.
Do you know what I go through on my other journals? People comment stupid crap on 'em, whether they read carefully or not. At least they took the time to look at it, right? Before every other journal entry, I sit there staring at the screen, wondering whether I should let the onslaught of words come out, or if I should be boring and pleasant. People seem to like boring, b/c that's normal. What's abnormal is something like this, where I get to write about being suicidal and cutting, and eating disorders, and loneliness, and being in a house that is absolute torture. You know what's really funny, though? Other (pretty, well-liked) people can write about it and get encouraging responses. If I write about it, though, I get almost no response, or you guys think I'm crazy. Maybe that's what I get for often wearing black, being quiet and angry, and not always trying to be like you. Or maybe I'm too brutally honest and you can't handle the fact that you know you've felt this crappy before, too.
What am I supposed to write about? Do I write about how I used to dream about meat tenderizers smashing my head in? Do I write about how I'm so happy I'm getting A's? Should I write about how it feels to not be accepted by my supposed friends, or even by outcasts like myself? Wait, that's harsh. There are some people who get me and love me, but the vast majority don't, or don't even care to try.
"Thanks for treating me like dirt when I was just like dirt, and giving me no value when I had no self-worth, and in repayment for the lessons on the courses you never had to live, you're welcome for my pride when I had nothing else to give." - American Steel, "Three Cheers"
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