I awoke this morning with smeared bLoOd on my palm. My bandaged arm was quite itchy, and uncomfortable. Memories instantaneously flooded my empty mind... and brought me back to last night. I cried. I cried more. I cried more than imaginable. I was �--hurt--> so much. HE hurt me. again. It's not his fault. It wasn't just him. My mind is a ramble. I don't know why I cut. School. I must go in a week to school for a test. I cannot face the people. I am too afraid. I am not allowed to feel the way I feel. I have friends, but they reside within the internet. They are not near me. No, I have not any of those kind. I have had a best friend of 13 years. We were so close. We had everything in common, except she was beautiful and not depressed. She hurt me, though. She broke my promises, she broke my trust, and she broke my heart. Time and time again. She did not stop. She knew that I would never hurt her, and that I would be the perfect victim to take all of her rage in and not bat an eye. She knew. I am no longer her friend. lifelong, but damn gone. Never again. I refuse to have friendships anymore. They never keep my secrets. What's the point? My "friends" get angry at me when I write in my journal about how ugly I am. Shouldn't I be allowed to write such things? Is it not my journal? Which is worse, if the bad thoughts go in a journal, or stay in my head? I could leave them in my head for a while and keep my mouth shut and my hands away from the keyboard. It wouldn't take very long before I'd be found dead. Or maybe I wouldn't be found. I don't know. But I need my diaries and journals. If I want to live, I need them. They are my counsellors, and the place to spill my guts. I am not supposed to feel shame... I refuse to feel it. I'm allowed to write what I wish to...

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