Dear Journal.

I went to the doctor today. They took and MRI of my head. It turns out they didn't get all of the tumor. Isn't it silly? I lose myself because of the silly tumor. I forget the last few years of my life because of the silly tumor. I bleed to remember because of the silly tumor. This damn tumor is so silly, isn't it? And it isn't even gone! It's still here. Still a part of me. After so many hours of surgery, they couldn't even get it all. I feel like a part of me wishes I had died that night. Maybe then I wouldn't be like this. No one likes me anymore. Everyone thinks I'm needy or whiny. I can't help it though, journal. Brrr. I just realized how cold it is. I just tried to put a sweatshirt on. In the process, my long sleeves slid up. I got a look at my arms and wrists. Silly. So damn silly. "Erin, Hayley, Mikey" cut cut cut cut cut. Scar upon scar. Why can't I be normal, journal? I got in a fight with David today. He asked me if I was eating. I lied and said I was.

Was that wrong of me, Journal?