get out.

          "“I start to feel like I can’t maintain the facade any longer, that I may just start to show through. And I wish I knew what was wrong. Maybe something about how stupid my whole life is. I don’t know. Why does the rest of the world put up with the hypocrisy, the need to put a happy face on sorrow, the need to keep on keeping on?... I don’t know the answer, I know only that I can’t. I don't want any more vicissitudes, I don't want any more of this try, try again stuff. I just want out. I’ve had it. I am exhausted."

  What do you want? I can only do so much.


       Inaequate rest, they tell me. A lot of stress, she says. "Overexertion" we'll call it. Shut up, all of you. If it were up to me, I'd be physically worse off. Good thing its winter. But no, noo no. Meaghan can't decide anything for herself. Shes (and i quote) "childish... You don't know the difference."


            I have some minor anxiety problems. I also have major depression issues. Genetics. I mean no one knows about these bad things, other than you-know-who-dare-I-say-his-name-on-my-blog. If you MUST know, self mutilation & I had a fling a while back as well. I hate to admit it. He-who-must-not-be-named (oh Lord!) doesn't allow me to go there anymore.
Anyway. It hurts to speak of it. And yet, here I am, staring at my computer screen on the first night of Christmas break, (due to Has No Life Disorder) thinking of what sort of thing I can type next.

I am pathetic. I pity myself; for I know I am worthless and stuck forever in the dark.
Thats right, certified. It even asked me if i wanted to print my results.