January

Dear Diary,

I know for a fact that on my desk in my room, there is a half eaten cookie, half a burnt out candle, and a few scattered papers and trash. My computer too, with half finished stories. And if I were listening to music, I knew that I would skip the last few seconds of that song.

I have half finished notebooks, drawings, and painting. Unfinished bracelets and necklaces.

If you knew me, you wouldn’t see anything that would suggest I’m insane. But then I’m a very good actor. I can tell lies as easily as the truth, and no one notices. It’s most when I tell the truth, that people call them lies. Oh the bitter irony.

Thing is my life is incomplete. Everything I ever do is only half finished–Half done. Its weird, but life lost meaning when I couldn’t feel anymore. I could still feel the physical stuff, but emotions just seamed. . . obsolete. And the one day they stopped at all. No fear, no courage, no anger, no love. Just nothing.

Do you know what it is like to feel nothing? It’s empty, it’s hollow. It’s horrible.

And not a single person I knew understood me. And as for friends, you can forget about those. Oh, sure I had friends, but hardly any of them knew the real me. With out walls, and lies, and the preamble. It’s sad how I just glide right into their stupid molds. I go right along with what they want me to be, I'm never me.

Anything I wrote, or said, I would edit it. Even as I write to you Diary, I am editing. Changing it so it sounds the way it does. But it’s as close to me as any one will ever get.

In my entire life, the only thing I wanted was for someone to know me. One person to understand, so that they would know what my life is like.

I never came closer than T (I’m not saying his name). I told him things I never told anyone–even my “best friend”. And in return he told me things he told no one else.

Though one day I’m sure I’ll find out that was all just a stupid lie too. That seams to happen a lot to me. People will tell me one thing, just to go back and deny it.

I even had my two “best friends” over for a sleep over, and found out they feel ‘obligated’ to like me, that they feel like I’m their ‘responsibility’.

I’m alone so utterly alone. It hurts deep down in me. It’s a hollowing emptiness that goes deep into my bones.

And that my friend sounds cheesy even to me. But whatever, it’s not like anyone but you listens to me. Sure people can sometimes hear me, but they never really listen.

An actress is all I am. Well. . . I guess thats what I am, but I don’t really know. I don’t seam to have a purpose, no reason to be. I’m obsolete. No longer needed-last years model.

I guess thats goodbye for now. I have to hide you, if Mom ever found you, she would find me a therapist, or worse, she’d try to talk to me.

So goodbye for now, until its safe to talk again.



–Keira