I can't believe that Gina is dead. My mind will not accept it. Last night I just thought over and over that I would go through all the pain of losing my mom again if I could take away Nick's pain. And going into it you feel like it will never be okay again and to a point it isn't but not being okay becomes normal. It's weird that three weeks ago I was truly suicidal. More than I've ever been and then this happens and I think I can't do this to my family now. But I don't think I could do it ever. Death has a way of breaking into your life and staying there. Forever haunting memories. And I don't want to leave a legacy of pain behind. Today my grandmother was in court sueing a doctor for malpractice (she broke her arm and he butchered her) and my whole family was there to show our support. Except that we weren't really being supportive at all. It's all backstabbing and gossip and I'm in on it too. And I'm wondering why I do that. Why I am so suseptable to peer pressure. I cannot just be Val. Val is an identity that I don't even own anymore. I'm a shell of the person I used to be. And I'm a broken record. This is something that I type about often. I have no sense of self and that's why I'm a horrible writer. How can I write about the world when I'm not living in it? I can't. What do I produce? Bird cage filler. And I should be writing about death. I can smell the rotton stench of it on a person a mile away. But this time I didn't see it coming. Or I saw it but didn't want to face it. Some days I wake up wanting to grab the world by the balls and I feel like I can do anything. And in theory I can. But logically I know I won't make a difference. I am too much of a wallflower, a non-issue, a pushover. Will I change? No. Hope is something that is like a fairytale to me.