Gotta Do It Quick Before I Run Out Of Time.

And so,

I have

Another problem.

Started about

3 months

Ago.

Stopped for a bit -

Mum almost caught me -

But I can start again, now.

Secrets,

Lies,

Concealment.

I read up.

Improve my knowledge.

Searching and learning.

Tips,

Tricks,

Help.

But it all

Looks the same

After a while.

The first few pages,

After reading them,

Start into repetition.

Need to work more.

Try harder.

Try more.

Make.

It.

Work.

Because,

If it doesn't work,

I know what will happen:

I will.

Get.

Fat.

No.

No.

No. I can't.

I already hate me.

This might help.

I hope.

Taste bad,

Feel awful,

Smell wretched,

But make me thin,

Nonetheless.

If all goes to plan.

Must not

Let mum

Find out.

Or I will be send

Kicking and screaming,

Essentially -

Back

To the

Psychologist's.

I've already been there

Before

For my...

Other problem.

It is still

Not fixed.

And I hate it there.

I don't want to go back.

It's awful.

But now I have to leave.

Running out of time -

Must hurry.

Love from, Me.

xx

Inscriptions on Marble, joined Broken Glass and Stone.

June already?

Wow.

Just, wow.

The year has gone fast.

Weeks feel slow,

But months have sped.

It's windy outside.

Overcast.

Cold.

My feet are cold.

But I am always cold

These days.

Meant to be doing schoolwork.

Don't particularly

Feel like it.

Home alone:

Mum's at work,

My sister's at school.

It's lonely,

Home alone.

Quiet. Empty.

Heater's on,

But I'm not feeling it.

Forever cold.

Heart of stone?

Skin of marble?

Soul of broken glass.

Carvings in the marble:

"Help"

How long will it stay?

Until it is weathered away

By time. By healing.

By new inscriptions.

I want someone

To love me.

No one does.

It sucks,

Feeling forever unattractive,

Overlooked, rejected.

So what else,

Can I conclude,

Other than,

There must

Be something

Wrong with me.

Perhaps uni,

Next year,

A new start?

I hope so.

It's what I want.

It's what I need.

I thought the same,

At the start of high school.

But it didn't work.

A chance for a new me,

Cause nobody knew me,

But I didn't know how to change me.

I was 12.

I was a geek.

I had no friends.

Forever flitting groups,

Trying to belong.

Never really did.

Not until about

Late year 8.

Finally, friends.

But I don't like me now.

Who would,

If they were me?

Only someone

Stupid.

Very stupid.

I want this change.

Difference this time:

I know how to do it.

Love from, Me.

xx

I'll Give You Fuckin' Perfect.

This morning

My younger sister

Told me about a music video.

Fuckin' Perfect -

By P!nk.

She didn't like it.

She thought it was stupid.

Wasn't a good video.

Just didn't like it.

So tonight

I watched it.

I had to.

You see,

Something she said

Caught my attention.

"She cuts 'perfect'

Into her arm

In the bath."

"Cutting is glamourised

By the media."

I told her.

"When it's not something

To be glamourised."

"What does that mean?"

Does she know my...

Problem?

No.

"Means the media

Shows it as cool.

It's not."

I hope she got the message:

Don't do it.

Just don't.

So on watching

The video,

I realised:

That is my life.

"Skinny bitches."

"They don't get my hair."

S.I.

E.D.

Acronyms are me.

What I don't already do,

I aspire to be.

Not aspire. Out of desperation.

I am artsy.

I feel fat.

I cut.

I'm not bullied,

But people don't like me.

I fight with my family.

What my sister

Didn't realise

At the time,

Was when she watched

That video,

That time,

She watched

A video of

Her big sister.

She just

Didn't know

That girl was me.

Minus a couple

Of things,

For sure.

But mainly.

I have to wonder,

Though:

Will I make the change?

Will I turn out successful?

Will my life end up good?

The weird thing was,

To make the change,

She cut her hair.

I was going to do that.

I am going to do that.

My long hair.

The day before my birthday.

The day before my 18th.

Tell no one.

But I'd decided that

Before the video.

What to make of that?

Maybe,

Perhaps,

It really is me.

Love from,

Me. xx

A life comes to an end, and I cry.

A life lost.
Husband, father, friend,
Grandfather - or good as.

In and out of hospital
Sick with cancer
Catches pneumonia.

This time,
Hope is lost.
Machines unplugged.

Only oxygen.
Left to die,
Because nothing else

Can be done.
No one's fault.
No one can help.

Go to visit.
He's unconscious.
Swollen hands.

Starts stirring,
Sudden, fast movements.
Dreams? Nightmares?

Death?
"I think he's about to go."
My eyes well with tears.

I'm ushered out -
Leave him with family.
I cry out the door.

Lean against the wall.
My mother's not long after me.
We both cry.

His son finds a nurse,
"My dad's just passed."
I cry more. I wish I could stop.

Nurses arrive, doctors called.
My mum and me,
We stay outside.

A nurse comes out from the room.
She confirms: "He's passed.
He's in a better place now."

She rubs my arm.
Tears come again.
I wish they would stop.

I think.
The same number of bodies
Still in the room

From when we left.
However,
One less life.

I try to distract myself.
Must stop crying.
Must appear ok.

A nurse walks by.
I know her.
I used to work with her.

At a different job.
She smiles at me.
She's sorry for me.

I smile back
Best I can.
I continue my distraction game.

Mum's crying again.
I wish she would stop.
Her crying

Makes me cry.
And I can't cry.
I have to be strong.

We leave the hospital.
I drive us home.
I leave my sunglasses on.

My mum tells my sister.
She doesn't cry.
Why?

Maybe she doesn't fully understand.
Maybe she doesn't fully comprehend.
Maybe she wasn't as attached as me.

I go out for a drive.
An hour and a half,
Or so.

I cry as I drive.
My sleeve becomes wet
From mopping my tears.

I must stop.
Can't cry and drive.
Music. Wind. Distract.

But still,
The start of life
Minus an important person.

He'll be cremated.
I don't want that.
Don't burn. Bury.

Not my choice,
Though.
I'm only half family.

But I'll still miss him.
Humour, crude jokes,
Love and care.

Always going.
Always up for it.
Always laughing, joking.

He will be missed.
R.I.P.:
Rest In Peace.

Love To You, Forever and Always,
Me xx

How does Nothing and Change go together so well?

So it's been
About 4 months
Since my last entry.

I guess,
In that time,
I just lost interest.

I do that a lot.
But what have I been doing
Instead?

Nothing, really.
But, I am
Getting a little better.

Not so angry, sad,
Just nothing.
I don't feel much.

I read, in Buddhism,
That they believe,
Life is full of suffering.

And any happiness
is fleeting.
I can relate.

It's funny how words
Develop double meanings.
When someone says something,

The other meaning
Is what first
Springs to mind.

"I cut my hand the other day."
Flinch.
Oh. Right.

"This book's character kills himself."
Flinch.
Oh. Right.

"I need to buy more knives."
Flinch.
Oh. Right.

"I got that scar when I was 5."
Flinch.
Oh. Right.

Some words,
Ring alarm bells.
I wonder,

Will I ever be able
To hear them again,
Without associating them

With what I do now?
It's a change of perception,
In a way.

There's been a lot
Of changes.
My arms, and legs, and hands

Have all been changed.
For good.
Darker skin marks what I've done.

My thoughts, my opinions,
My knowledge on various topics
Have all been changed.

And these are the kinds of changes
You can't undo,
Or change over so they're different.

Love from, Me.
xx

If the worst was to happen, it would be my fault.

And so I was wondering.
What if she did.
Like, did it.


Killed herself.
My best friend.
She writes about it.

But would she do it?
Would she have the guts
To end her life forever?

I'm not mocking her.
No guts for that
Would be a good thing.

It would almost kill me.
I swear we are
Psychologically connected.

I could not eat.
I could not sleep.
I would not go to school.

I bet.
Hypothetical, of course.
But still.

Would my mother
Understand?
Understand the fact

That I can't function
Properly?
Would she leave me alone?

Because I wouldn't want to talk.
If my best friend was killed
By accident

It would be bad
Enough.
If she did it on purpose

It would be so much
Worse.
Because I would know

That I could've done
Something - anything -
To stop it.

Because I knew
Her secrets.
Precious few do.

Most of them
Are overseas.
I see her everyday.

That makes it my fault
If she kills herself,
Because I would be the one

That knew.
And that should
Have done something.

But I hope
It will never come
To that.

I hope
So bad
That it won't.

Love from, Me.
xx

The Trials of My Perfect Sister's Life.

Bloody sister.
She's a fucking bitch.
Stupid comments.

I say something:
"No one cares."
"Shut up."

You shut up,
Bitch.
Slut.

No one fucking cares
About you.
Bitch.

That's a lie.
They do.
Everyone cares

About my goody-two-shoes
Whinging, ass-kissing,
Bitch of a sister.

Not about me.
She thinks she
Is so fucking hard-done-by.

False.
She has no idea
At what it's like to be angry,

To hurt, to feel pain
Like I do.
She lives the sheltered life

Of a favoured princess.
Gets what she wants.
Always defended.

I hurt myself.
An idea
She couldn't fathom,

Not even in her
Scariest nightmares.
Cause she doesn't have nightmares.

Not like me.
She has
Mildly disturbing dreams.

The life of a bitch;
The life of my sister,
Must be a pleasant one.

Her biggest problems
Are me calling her names
And her group of friends fighting.

Ouch. That must hurt,
An awful fucking lot,
Bitch.

Toughen the fuck up.
"This steak is chewy..."
Fucking, spoilt, princess child.

Quit your fucked up singing,
Shut your stupid mouth,
And toughen up, bitch.

Love from, Me.
xx