A/n: So, this is more like a diary. Today was a bad day. I've had better writings. Much better writings. Some days, my journal entries will be better. For now, this is what I have. I will update when I write another journal entry. I'll make chapters. Some will have titles; some won't. Enjoy or reject. Whatever you do, it's still my life. This is more of a journal then something I am expecting to get reviews on but if you want to read, be my guest. Just please don't complain. This is kind of my venting time that I don't get. It's the closest thing I get to screaming.

Trapped 4/7/07

As I sat on the swing for the first time in years, memories flooded my mind. The area I was in was just like the place of my childhood. The swings my hands grasped were a symbol of my past; my old escape. And even though on them I felt free, I was trapped within a gate. Another supervised visit with my "mother". The mother that I am lucky to have—apparently. One that I'd rather have lived without. I sit here close to tears. It reminds me of court care (the place that I was sent to instead of regular child care places). It reminds me of being watched. Surrounding by adults. Not allowed to have a life. Not allowed to have friends. Forced to stay at home absorbed in my books and be satisfied with life in a box. But I am not. I am sick of the censorship and being supervised. So sick of it. I am sick of covering my scream with a sassy attitude. I am sick of covering up my tears with a clenched jaw. I am sick of being trapped. Will you be my escape? I need one. I need one so badly.

I belted my song. I belted it loud. It felt good. It was the first time that I was able to breathe in days. And then my family came home. It was back to drawing my smile and mopping up floors. I took my pain out on the house. It needed to be cleaned. Yes, it needed to be cleaned desperately. Very desperately. So I did. For once in my life, I made my anger into something productive and not destructive. Progress? Hardly. Coping? Maybe. But it only worked to a point. I am still bottling my scream. Yeah, the sad truth is tomorrow's Easter. I hate the holidays. They are the hardest time for me. I really need to have a break. An escape. I am trapped inside my house and my school. I am trapped behind my scream. My frozen scream is suffocating me. But behind these censors, it can't be released. So I am frozen and broken. I am trying to get by. I need to find a way to get out of this box and the walls that have been built. Someone please save me…

For the first time in my entire life, I wish I were normal. I want to have a together life. I want to be free. I want to look pretty instead of looking like a freak. An act I did only to cover my fear of being rejected. I figured that if people rejected me because I couldn't match, it wouldn't hurt because they were rejecting my disguise and not me. But now, when I try to look nice but perfection isn't good enough, it hurts. Yet, I still try to blend. I take away my imperfections. I make my eyebrows perfectly straight. I wear pants that show my curves. I let the world know that I developed early in a modest way. I make my curly brown locks fall the right way and I make my doe brown eyes shine with a little bit of eye shadow and mascara. I accent my rosy cheeks with blush. I put light gloss on my large lips that are identical to Julia Roberts according to my grandfather. I make myself look like perfection. And perfection is suffocating me even more. It's pushing me closer into the wall. It's digging my grave even quicker. I never wanted to be the same. I never wanted to fit in with the rest of conformity. I'm an individual! But the pressure has trapped me and taken away my oxygen. I'm breathing in a poison and it's filling my lungs and polluting my brain. Perfection. Perfection. Perfection…

But perfection's not going to make anything better. Even if I attain perfection on the inside and out, what's it really going to do? I am still not going to be good enough. They already made up their mind and I will never be what they want me to be. Everything in my life right now is making me trapped. Especially my dramatic parents…

You do nothing and all of a sudden, everything's your fault. It's your fault that their first marriage never worked. It's your fault that they are not happy. It was you that took away their fun; you that interrupted their life. It's your fault that they can't go to the movies every week and your fault they don't have a life. Everything is your fault…

And this is why perfection is necessary. And this is why I am trapped. This is the reason I hide. When the ones that are supposed to love you don't, your whole world is different. When those that love you are the ones that are creating you hell, your whole world collapses. And yes, this is the story of my life.