First of all, thank you K. For everything. When I need to talk to someone who want fish me compliments to make me smile and just bitch with me and then make light of something, you're always there, and I'll be here for you. I'm trying to figure myself out again. I guess once wasn't enough. It's like spring cleaning, really. I started on a shelf. Cleaned off a bunch of collectable stuff I had on it and just filled the shelf with my favorite books that had been hiding in the closet. It's a nice, thick mixture of literature, I think. The shelf looks strange to me though. I hung my ouji board above it to give it a little more clutter but it still looks weird. I guess I'll get used to it though. That's all life is anyway, isn't it? Getting used to things. All night I keep hearing other people's voices in my head. I'm doubting myself, and I never do that. Self-doubt is not in my character. I am confidence. The guys make fun of me for it. But I feel a lot of doubt now. I feel like a walking contradiction because what I believe doesn't come close to what I do. I feel beaten because it seems like everything I try, I never come out happy in the end. I feel ignored, and yet I feel like there are too many eyes on me. I feel deprived and bloated, empty and full, naked and over-protected. Everyone around me is having such a profound impact on my thinking. And not only do I doubt myself, but I doubt them as well. I'm a paranoid schitz, searching for the lies and the alterior motives, trying to read what it says in their eyes while being blind and deaf to the verbal truth. I've lost myself. No, it's less of that, and more of I've got caught in myself. Not caught-up; I am not so bigheaded and selfish yet that I've been consumed by my own being; I'll laugh when that day comes; but I grew too content for who I was and forgot to make space for change. I'm a hermit too content in my own shell. Someone break me, please. I've protected myself too much to be hurt, built too high of walls to be felt, I've looked too deep to be tricked. More than ever do I want to run away. Just pack my things and leave. I swear I will, but I don't my own words. Sure I will; when? When?? When will I ever do the millions of things I've said I would?? I am so incredibly uncomfortable. I'd look in the mirror but I'm too afraid. I'd wash my face again but I can't handle the roughness. Asperity everywhere; on my face, on my hands, in my voice, in my eyes. I don't trust. I don't feel. I don't want. I'm apathetic; empty to the core, but still armed. I won't let anything come in; not a hope, not a sound, not a love. Why. Jealousy, hatred, annoyance, pity, annoyance again, apathay, hope, determinitation, disappointment, annoyance, annoyance, sarcasm, bitterness, disappointment, annoyance, and then there it is, the bottom of the basin of emotion for the weekend and I'm left dark and blank. Here's my advice to you: Don't ask me how I am unless you don't mind a lie, because you'll only hear me complain here; Unlike other people in the world, I don't wear my problems on my sleeve. Here, you can stop "listening" whenever you want; hell, i'll never know. And I don't even care. if I wanted to talk, I'd ask, which I won't, so don't feel bad. Don't be offended if I don't laugh at your jokes. Believe me, I'm trying, but sometimes it hurts enough to smile. And lastly, don't give this a second thought. Any of it. Because I'm just another stupid teenager who had a bad weekend and decided to make a novel of it. Seriously. Don't care. Carrie "Kilroy Was Here" was painted on the bench in the drama room. I noticed it at the audition and smiled because I knew what it meant. Kilory is also a character in my book who is called Kilroy because of that phrase. Everytime I read his name I have to think back to that room and how excited I was. I should hold on to that moment, that short time of total happiness, and forget that life went on after that.