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I had a friends only journal for a while. A lot of things were going on and I tried to cover them by keeping them a secret. Everyone knows all my secrets anyways. My mom reads my journal. My real journal- the one I really tell all in- and she read it.
I was cutting so much. It was nearly everyday. I wrote about it and all my friends read about it and told me how worried they were and to stop because they were scared. You think I'm not fucking scared? I'm terrified by this world. So full of people and so empty at the same time. I wander around in this darkness looking for something to satisfy me. I feel like something is missing. I wonder how many times I have to say that before I find that thing to fill in this gap.
Maybe I'm just a fucked up kid. Why isn't that a good enough excuse? I wish I could just go to a mental institute with padded white walls and watch TV all day. I could watch Dane Cook on comedy central. then, I just might never cut again. But since I just can't seem to do that, I remain a fucked up kid. My cuts and burns would fucking scare Lucifer.
My parents aren't making matters any better. They must be either insane or simply idiotic to try to raise me the way they do. I sit upstairs in my bathroom carving the word DARK into my leg with a razor while my mom yells up the stairs to me that it's my fault. I don't know what's my fault. Everything, I assume, because in this household, I'm here to take the fault.
Maybe after reading this, if you weren't scared you feel sypmathetic and want to help. Here's what you can do:
Anyone interested in saving a troubled, fifteen year old girl from her parents by means of adoption, contact me via e-mail.
xokskissbear143x@yahoo.com
Thank you for your help.
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