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So I spent the day with Pat. Got home at about 11:30 p.m. Tomorrow [the 21st] is our five-month. We're going to see Juno [which is fitting]. I was in the best mood of my life when I was with him... until I got home. All my previous feelings came back. I wanted to scream, cry, punch. Kill. My hair turned out like s**t - it's pink instead of purple. But whatever. I have two more bottles - one colour darker than the one I used. So I'll just put that in. I only dyed my tips, though. My hair goes past the middle of my back, so I would have needed about six boxes [no exaggeration] of hair-dye just to dye all of it. One box barely covered my tips. That's okay, though. Pat loves my long hair, and that's all that matters for me.
So. When I first cut myself, I felt so guilty about it. But the last time I did, I didn't feel anything. No pain, no guilt, no remorse. Nothing. But whatever. I guess things are how they are for a reason, and I'm just going to have to realize that no matter what I do, it's always going to be like that. No matter how nice I am to my mom or to my brother, I never get noticed for it. I never get any "Thanks!" from my mom when I clean this ******** apartment, or for when I do something nice for her. I never get any respect, and it's just pissing me off. I know that when I move in with Pat, I'll get a "Thanks, babe!" when I clean or cook or something, you know? But right now, nobody appreciates a thing I do for them. I'm sick of being the person getting shat on all the time. I'm done.
Also, I'm done being everybody's rock that they depend on for support. I need some support for once in my ******** life! God! Is that too much to ask? Somebody that I can cry to? Somebody I can pour my soul to? I know I can talk to Pat about everything, but I always cry to him about everything, and I feel really bad. I just... I wish I wasn't so weak. I wish I didn't cry like I do. I wish I was emotionally stronger. I hate what I've become. I'm this cold-hearted b***h who nobody likes. No wonder I can't even walk into the ******** gas-station without people whispering about how ugly I am, or how pathetic I look with my shoulders hunched over because I have no self-confidence about who I am.
James called me today. I didn't answer because I was in the shower, but I called him back right when I got out. And he told me something that got me thinking. He said, "You know who you are, and you don't need somebody to tell you who you are." I was thinking about that all day, and I came to this conclusion - I don't know who I am. Who am I? Yes, I know I'm Sophia. But there has to be more to this empty shell then just a name. There has to be. I just don't know who the missing person to this shell is quite yet. Is it the girl who I think I am? The girl with the piercings, dyed hair, who's cocky because she hates herself? Or am I the quiet girl who sits in the back of class, never saying a word, never being acknowledged by the teacher or her fellow peers? I don't know. This empty shell is awaiting for her spirit to come join her on Earth.
I hope I snap out of this funk soon, because I miss the Sophia I used to be. The Sophia before I was raped of my virginity and life. The Sophia that everybody used to love and laugh with and joke with. The Sophia that will never be back. That version of me is gone. When Jack raped me, he raped me of my very being as well. I'm not that bubbly girl that everybody used to know and talk about. I'm not that "teacher's favourite." I'm not that popular girl who everybody wanted to be best friends with. That's not going to happen again. I mean, look at me. I'm ugly. I have piercings. My teachers are afraid of me. I hardly have any friends [six tops]. I have rumors being spread about me everywhere I turn. The popular kids won't even spit in my general direction. I have the light of the shadows cast upon me, and I think that's what my whole high-school life is going to be like. I know I'm only a Sophomore, but still. You can't even count this year as a whole school-year, what with like, five months of it left. Two and a half years more of my life are going to be pure torment.
I don't think I'm going to write in my journal for a while. I need to clear my head. Purify my thoughts. I've become extremely morbid, and it's scaring me. I get the most... demonic thoughts in my head. I think my passed-on friends are haunting me. Either that, or Satan/Lucifer is following me, always being my shadow, causing chaos around me wherever I go. Maybe I should run away for a while, until Satan/Lucifer gets bored of tormenting me and can finally go find some other girl. Some other pretty girl who everybody loves to ******** up her life, just like he did with mine. Seriously. He needs to find some other person to mess with; somebody I will never meet. Somebody in China or something.
 CaRto0nz · Mon Jan 21, 2008 @ 08:38am · 0 Comments |
