"This is awful. At least alive there were nice people mixed in with the social maggots. Oooh! Bagels!!"
"Without fail!! EVERY time I leave my house, it's as if I've given up my every right to be left alone, or treated with respect!!! You flies with your unyielding little minds!!! You think my difference from you is an excuse to Comment on me, as if I were on DISPLAY for you!!!"
"I wonder if I'm still crazy. Go find a cheerleader and saw her legs off. OKAY, that answers that "
"These hands!! I can't get them off my wrists!!"
"Mommy's ignoring you honey. Go bother your father, he's in his study."
"I am wiggling my leg! Witness my leg!"
Dear Diary,
Today I stuffed some dolls full of dead rats I put in the blender. I'm wondering if, maybe, there really is something wrong with me.
Dear Die-ary,
I stared, motionless, before the mirror. As always, I stayed until I'm convinced that there is no glass, nothing, separating me from the room I see on the other side.
I imagine that everything is different. Over there. Better. There are people, in that world, who I would like.
But, like always, my hand hits the glass.
I know that if I'd only waited one more second...
s**t.
I'm gonna go kill a party clown.
Dear Diary,
I know better than to simply assume a complete justification for my actions, but....
What a week.
What a great ********' week.
Dear Diary,
I seem to be dead.
Sometimes...
You can cry until there is nothing wet in you.
You can scream and curse until your throat rebels and ruptures.
You can pray, all you want, to whatever god you think will listen.
And, still, it makes NO difference.
It goes on, with no sign as to when it might release you.
And you never know that if it ever did relent...
It would not be because it cared.
-written in blood before
everything went black
Dear Die-ary,
I've been to heaven and hell...
And I still don't know if there is a god or a devil.
Still... It's something to write about.
Dear Die-ary,
The passions that drive us should be the ones we respect and admire. To feel contempt for one's own motivations is a vulgar thing.
Too often, it seems, I've succumbed to less than admirable compulsions driven by this furiously reprehensible machine of mine.
So many things inside that I can do without - desires and urges and whatnot.
So extraneous.
By the time I write in this book again, I hope to be as cold as the moon that lights this page.
Dear Die-ary,
There's nothing terribly wrong with feeling lost, so long as that feeling precedes some plan on your part to actually do something about it.
Too often a person grows complacent with their disillusionment, perpetually wearing their "discomfort" like a favorite shirt.
I can't say I'm very pleased with where my life is just now...
But I can't help but look forward to where it's going.
Community Member
gotta love the classics - OH MY GOD! SOMEBODY PUT s**t IN MY PANTS!!!!!!!
~box~