Um, Hello?!
So, Erin came up with this brilliant idea of expressing our feelings in an online journal. She said to write it like we’re talking to a complete stranger. I said okay, but I am really beginning to question the brilliance of it. Oh well, I promised I’d try. She said she heard somewhere that writing is cathartic. Well, we’ll see exactly how cathartic this is going to be for me. Hell, who knows, it may actually help if I express my feelings to you, whoever you are. I just don’t know what to say. This is so pointless, but here goes nothing. . . .
Hi, I’m Angie. You don’t know me, you only know the story of what happened to me. So chances are you already have opinions made. I’m a horrible person. I should’ve died. I don’t deserve to have a second chance. Trust me, I’ve said these thing and some much harsher about myself for the past two months. My friends are all trying so hard to pretend nothing happened. They look at me with these damn pitiful glances like I’m going to crack at any moment. Freaking hell, people! I AM NOT GOING TO BREAK, but I swear I am going to go crazy and start beating the hell outta people if they don’t start treating me like a . . . human.
There’s that word again: human. It keeps creeping up on me. The people I killed were human. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know . . . IT wasn’t ME that killed. IT was that Ira bitch. I know I told everyone I didn’t remember what happened, but I lied. I remember every moment of it, and the sickening part of it was . . . at that time . . . I enjoyed it. That man I killed in the alley. . . . He had a daughter. Granted, he wasn’t a fantastic specimen of the human species, but now that little girl has to go through life without him, and I have to live the rest of my life knowing what I did to him and to her.
Blaze has been amazing though. He’s trying so hard to make me feel normal again. I never realized how much that boy meant to me until I saw him again, alive and kicking and still loving the Hell out of me—literally. I’m pretty sure these past few months would have been unbearable without him, but still, there’s something missing.
Forget it. I don’t talk to my friends, so why in the hell would I want to talk to perfect strangers? I don’t know if I can do this.
I feel so . . . lost. . . .
Hi, I’m Angie. You don’t know me, you only know the story of what happened to me. So chances are you already have opinions made. I’m a horrible person. I should’ve died. I don’t deserve to have a second chance. Trust me, I’ve said these thing and some much harsher about myself for the past two months. My friends are all trying so hard to pretend nothing happened. They look at me with these damn pitiful glances like I’m going to crack at any moment. Freaking hell, people! I AM NOT GOING TO BREAK, but I swear I am going to go crazy and start beating the hell outta people if they don’t start treating me like a . . . human.
There’s that word again: human. It keeps creeping up on me. The people I killed were human. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know . . . IT wasn’t ME that killed. IT was that Ira bitch. I know I told everyone I didn’t remember what happened, but I lied. I remember every moment of it, and the sickening part of it was . . . at that time . . . I enjoyed it. That man I killed in the alley. . . . He had a daughter. Granted, he wasn’t a fantastic specimen of the human species, but now that little girl has to go through life without him, and I have to live the rest of my life knowing what I did to him and to her.
Blaze has been amazing though. He’s trying so hard to make me feel normal again. I never realized how much that boy meant to me until I saw him again, alive and kicking and still loving the Hell out of me—literally. I’m pretty sure these past few months would have been unbearable without him, but still, there’s something missing.
Forget it. I don’t talk to my friends, so why in the hell would I want to talk to perfect strangers? I don’t know if I can do this.
I feel so . . . lost. . . .
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