I have found that when I am alone I do some of my best(or worst depending on how you look at it) thinking. I can come up with things that would blow your mind, I just never share them with anyone. I think of myself mostly. I desperately try to figure out why I am here. I contemplate the religion I have chosen to be a part of. christianity. do I truly believe in this or am i just playing a part for the people around me. An even better question is... Who the hell am I? I know that My name is Kayla Marie Florence. I know that my mother's name is Karen and that the man who fathered me has the name John(although that is all i know about him) But is a person defined solely by their name and/or social security number? Is each person really a unique individual or are we all the same? I look and I see the same basic characteristics in every person I meet. So maybe our individuality comes from how we use these basic characteristics. maybe, we are just i dunno a different version of the same basic model. SO what makes me me? What is my defining feature, or characteristic? because when I think about it, I am not unique at all. I am a bulimic, yes but sadly there are thousands of others who are as well. I am a self mutilator, again there are others. I am incredibly depressed, yes but again i am not the only one. I have had a lot of drama in my life, but everyone has faced things that are huge. SO what makes me different? I am a christian but there are so many of us that i am just another number, so what the hell am I doing here? Am i just another carbon copy? Another little thought to chew on, are we really in control over what we do and do not do. i know that we like to think that we are but are we really? I mean if we were really able to control what we did and didn't do, then why can't i eat a meal without feeling an overwhelming need to vomit? Why can i not find a way to cope with pain and stess without cutting my skin or punching a wall or hitting my head against a wall over and over and over? I tell people that I throw up my food because I am fat and ugly, and while these things may be true, that is not the true reason I do it, I realize now that I do it so that I can feel like I am in control of something in my mediocre life. But do I control MIA or does MIA control me? I haven't worked up the courage to find the answer. Maybe I never will. I want to know why it seems to be impossible for me to be happy without something going terribly wrong. I want to know what makes me so horrible that my own mother cannot bear to say I love you to me. I want to know why the only father I knew for 7 years said you're not my child i want nothing to do with you. I want to know why I feel like I am worthless everyday I wake up. I want to know why I wake up in the first place. I want to know why I was singled out to carry this burden, This angelic demon. Why must I be the one to hurt all the time? And why doesn't the pain ever go away, it dulls at times, but it is always there. Why is it so easy for me to love other people but impossible for me to love myself. Why am i stuck in this cycle of self loathing? I feel lost. I once described myself as being in the ocean with millions of people swimming right next to me and no one noticed I was dying no one cared that I was drowning. I have always felt there was something seriously wrong with me. Even when I was a young child. no one ever wanted to be around me, not other children at school, not even my own family. It was like I was i dunno a virus that would infect you if you got to close. Sometimes I feel as though I don't even exist at all. Like maybe I am just part of someone's elaborate nightmare. I looked through some old pictures the other day. I found so many pictures of myself from when i was born til I was about 3 or 4 years old, and it is like i just dissapeared after that. I thought that i was imagining things so I pulled out photo album after photo album looking at every picture, there weren't any of me after the age of 4. The only other one i could find was my last school picture. I am not even in any of the family portraits they had done. Am I that detestable that I am unwanted even by my own family that they would go through such lengths to make it seem as if I didn't exist. And if I do exist, would any one miss me if I just dissapeared? I have contemplated killing myself every single day for the past month and a half. Would it really make that much of a difference if I actually did it? I know of a few people who may pass by and say oh how unfortunate, but there would be no one who would truly miss me. So why can't I bring myself to do it? Why is it that everytime I drag the razor across the flesh of my wrists, I can't muster up the courage to force the blade down to the vein?Why can I never swallow the pills? Why can't I let myself drown in the bath? What stops me?What stops me? Am I that addicted to the pain? am i that much a glutton for punishment? or is it I have not yet been pushed over the edge? And if that is true, then what is coming that will? But as it stands, I cannot bring myself to commit suicide. There must be something I have missed. There must be something I haven't seen-but what is it? I will not sleep tonight, I don't want to be trapped in a world of torturous nightmares. So I will continue to live out this miserable life until something forces me to change. Until my next brilliant episode.... Kayla