I don't really know what this is. I'm just feeling pissed off and sad at the moment. So instead of binging on chocolate or going for my life I'm sitting here...typing. Typing what?

Well I guess I don't know. That's just it, I don't know anything. Well, actually I do. Random little bits of information gleaned in the first 11 years of my life and never added to from then. Little things I kept to impress people. But now I just hate that.

Well, that's no biggie. I pretty much hate everything right now. I don't know if it's just a faze, a passing period that'll fade away or if it's real, and will stay with me for the rest of my life.

I have a terrible feeling that it's the second.

I have so many hopes and dreams for the future. I keep on telling myself it's going to get better. Do you know I want to be a rock star? Yes. Go on. Laugh at me. I don't care....much. I love music. I can sing. Oh man can I sing. I can also play the cello, although that's not exactly MCR material....and I bash around on the piano, creating tunes that pop into my head, forgetting them immediately afterwards.

I also want to act. I can act rather well. Now that'll sound really egoistical but that's because I'm talking about my good points. I'm not talking about my bad points. The stubbornness. The laziness. The selfishness.

My daemon is cat-formed, I'm sure of it.

Anyway, I don't really expect those dreams to come true. My parents expect to me to go to Oxford to graduate with High Honors in Law. Then become a barrister and finally a judge, of course.

I think the future will get better, though. When I go to Uni and get away from my mother's claws. I'll be free then.

But at the moment I just don't believe it.

I'm petrified it won't be like that. It'll just be as terrible as everything else has been. That I'll screw up yet again.

You see, I'm tired of always being an emotional wreck. I'm tired of screaming and screaming and screaming at myself. And I'm sick of the smell of blood in my clothes. I'm sick of always having to act lighthearted for my parents. I'm sick of all the people who just want to hurt me. I'm sick of the way they do.

Most of all I'm sick of the person I see in the mirror.

Such an ugly face, with my big nose and bloated cheeks. My bushy hair of a nondescript colour, not curly, not straight....just nothing.

But most of all I hate the person behind the face.

I know myself better than anyone else will. That's why I hate myself even more than anyone else does. That'll seem a little hard to believe for all of them, but it's true.

I'm not sure, when I slice my skin again and again if it's to punish myself or not. Actually I don't think so. It's more like laughing at myself. Like when I'm watching the blood trickle down I'm going "ha, ha, look what I did to you."

It makes me feel better, anyway. So does binge eating. That's why I'm so fat. I try and try to loose weight but I just go and do the same thing again. That's me all over. No grit. No determination. Once I went without food for two days then I fell over when I was climbing the stairs and fell to the bottom. I was lucky I didn't break one of the windows, my parents would have killed me.

Anyway, this is beside the point. Well the whole damn thing is beside the point. This is nothing. Nothing at all. The kind of weirdo ramble that'll just make people feel sickened with me. I just wanted to get it out. Get what out? I don't know. I guess I'll never know. Just I guess this'll make things clearer if I finally do decide to die. Well, I bet my parents would never think of looking at my "stupid, childish scribblings".

You know, if I do decide to live, it'll be from anger. I want to rise up and defy them all, the ones who said I was no good. I want to show them the blazing passion that is me.

But I'm scared. No, petrified. That I won't be able to. That I'll fail once again.

You could say I don't know.