don't read my diary

don't read my diary. (excerpts from my diary)

2.

1 0.

20 I was sitting in Latin and I was crying on and off and on and off and on and off and on and off. I was in the front of the classroom so one noticed. I had gotten good at hiding it so no one noticed. My eyes are kind of watery just naturally so one noticed. Everyone was paying attention to the lesson so one noticed. (no one noticed no one noticed no one noticed.)

“You seem very distracted today.” Magistra says and I laugh and don’t say anything because she knows. She knows, right?

She leaves without me on purpose because that’s what she does now so I have to run to catch up to her. I ask if it was about me.

“It was about a lot of people.”

“Was it about me?”

A pause. A look. She hates me so fucking much. “Yes.” “Come over here. I want to tell you something.”

I start talking and it tastes like vomit. I start telling the truth and I can feel the bile in the back of my throat. I finally get to be mad, I finally get to rant and my voice is shaking from the newness of it all.

“I’m sorry if you’ve been feeling like I’m ignoring you, but I kind of want to kill myself so that might have something to do with it.”

She bites her lip and I walk away before she can get the last word. I walk away and I cry to Clara, I cry to Katrina, I cry to people I really

don’t know and really have no right to cry to.

Katrina looked scared, Katrina acted as if she had never seen this before.

(I didn’t know, I don’t know Katrina. She’s always been somewhere else, somewhere that I couldn’t go to. But she looked at me like she cared.)

“It’s awful. Bridget. It’s fucking awful. But it’s not fatal.”

I’ve repeated her words like my mantra. I’m not sure if it’s true. It is awful. But it doesn’t have to be fatal, does it?

That was the first time I didn’t let her have the last word. The only time I didn’t bite my fucking tongue.

She yelled at me over the phone because she felt guilty about her father being a Trump supporter, as if that was any way her fault, as if that were any way my fault.

I listened to her talk about the boys she wanted to fuck and the boys she didn’t want to fuck, as if I gave a fuck at all.

I held her as she sobbed that New Year’s Eve night, even though my addled mind wanted to scream. I managed to assure her that everything was okay. I noticed I noticed I noticed I noticed.

I noticed when other people were flailing and no one, absolutely noticed or cared when I was ready to go.

It might have been fatal.

but i never that part

told anyone of the story,

3.

6.

2 0 1 7.

wI am delusional. I believe so much shit that isn’t true I am such a liar I am so selfish and such a fuck-up and no one gives a shit. Like I have been in the middle of a room crying, miserable, ready to die and. No one notices.

I go home and I sit on my bed and I scroll through my phone and I think about dying a lot.

Every little bad thing that happens leads to me contemplating my death. I don’t know how I would do it because, like. I won’t. I wouldn’t. I don’t have the balls, first of all, second of all I still do have hope that things might maybe get better and I’ll at least be happy sometimes. I still hope that I can get that feeling of fullness that I swear to God I had once.

Everyone knows how dumb I am. Every single person is going to know. I was at Caroline’s party and I burst into tears and they dragged me into her room to hide me from everyone. They thought I was laughing at first but I was shaking and sob-

bing and yelling I’m stupid I’m stupid I’m so stupid.

I don’t know how to stop feeling this way.

Ruthie was there. Ruthie always sees me crying which i feel bad about. She doesn’t need to see me crying at Caroline’s worst party every, or crying in the third floor Donnelly bathroom for the second, third, millionth time.

The chiropractic said I had naturally high adrenaline and that meant that my eyes were too wide and my heart beats too fast and if you scratch me it’ll last for a very long time. As if I didn’t already know that!

All my hurts are lasting too long. Longer than I every intended to, longer than I expected them too, and I don’t know how to make them fucking stop.

Something’s gonne give soon. I can tell I can tell I can tell.

It really really really has to.

3.

6.

2 0 1 7. literally every person on this earth has let me down and i don’t know what to do with myself ahahahaha why am i unlovable in this certain way i know this is whiny i know this is selfish i know this is stupid but it’s just a bit of my soul and it’s okay it’s okay it’s okay ok!!! i’m ready to start being happy again!!! start happening soon, please and thank you!!!! i think.....i think i just liked that you paid attention to me, when no one ever ever did? but it turned wroooooong she’s learned to make her sadness PRETTY. she makes ART and it makes people want to talk to her and it makes people smile and she can talk about it. i have never made anything pretty. i make things BLEED and i sit in bed and stare at the ceiling. people like her they think she’s funny and they apologize to her and forgive her and they will never give me anything bc i make things UGLY and i don’t know

how to smile in the right way or hold a conversation for longer than a little bit so they’ll ignore me. (i know how self centered this is. i know it doesn’t matter. and no this isn’t about you. cross my heart and hope to die ) // comparison will kill you she just really wants the world to be against her. she wants to think she’s the underdog when she’s gotten everything she’s ever wanted, when she has enough and i have nothing i get so overwhelmed with everything and there’s never anything i can do but i’m the only one who can and i hate hate hate so much about everything in this current moment i used to be a writer, i used to make the most wonderful worlds and i could bring them to life so well buy now all that comes to mind is more blood i miss myself i miss myself and yes i am not in my right mind when i’m writing this. do you understand what i mean by that?