I had a "diary" when I was like 12-17 but I couldn't bring myself to write down everything in my life... I'm too ashamed HAHAHA.

For example.. I had a huge crush on this goth guy in high school for the longest damn time but in front of him, I acted like I didn't give a s*** about him. I wrote about him in my diary never mentioning his name or ANY specific detail about how gorgeous I thought he was, and how my heart would drop when I'd see him waiting outside class to walk with me, and how I secretly begged for him to see through my shield...

I wish I could write specific details, so I can go back and read it...so I can feel those feelings again.

But no, my diary is basically empty.

"September 27th, 2012
He talked to me today :) I don't know why I ever doubted him.. I was starting to think he was like everyone other guy, but he isn't.

Honestly, I don't know why I feel like I need him.. I don't rely on boys to make my life complete. I don't "need" anyone. I'm strong & independent. I'm young.

But oh my god.. his eyes, his jet black hair, his pale skin... I can't help myself.

Anyways, I'm going to my dad's today. I feel like his house is haunted. I feel it when I'm swinging on the front porch at midnight. I enjoy the company although I jump at every little sound. Idk how to explain it, it makes me feel important. It makes me feel. The dead needs the living so they can feed. Unlike most people, I need the dead so I can feed."

I feel like there are no words to describe how beautiful I find some things.. I can't seem to find the perfect words. These things are do beautiful, the very thought of them makes me want to cry. I can't express the infinite amount of Love I have held up inside just wanting to burst. That thought depresses me more than you can imagine. I want everyone to know how BEAUTIFUL life is. I want you to feel it when you read my written art. I want you to forget all the bulls*** around you and just focus on something beautiful. Unfortunately, I just don't know how to do that.. And so my diary remains this mono-toned, unpoetic, basic, empty, pointless book of BULLS***.

I wrote about my sadness better than anything, yet I never explained why or what was happening because I don't want to remember when I'm 80 with old timers.

Every damn day, after school during Junior year, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried while I wrote the same thing under each date that passed by: "I made it through another day..." and other times: "I'm breaking down right now." It was a never-ending repeat, a broken record.

Nobody will ever know why.. nobody will know the things I've seen, the things I've heard, what I went through, and what I lost.. When my mind is decaying at age 80, I don't want my children or grandchildren to go through it and read those terrible memories to me, in hopes of gaining my memory back. It's not worth it. I simply want to forget, it's the only way I can move past it all.

But still, I'll always keep this book, because I, AND ONLY I, know the details and the emotions I felt. I finally have the power to decide when I want to feel a certain way.

My little book of secret, bittersweet bulls***.