I'm listening to a happy song and all I want to do is cry. I keep trying to cry. But nothing is working. I need to cry.

Thanks, Mom and Dad. I thought I was okay, finally. Thought I was basically cured. But hey, what's it to you? Your perfect (or not) little girl is just a polite robot who occasionally acts out and sometimes smiles. Either way, it's just a malfunction. Kick the machine and it'll start working again. Right?

Sometimes I still get the temptation to drive into the other lane...just to see what would happen. But I don't want anybody else to get hurt.
Hey, I'm not suicidal.
Just experimental.

I collect experiences. I guess that's why I'm a slightly strange person.
I put my little glowing experiences in clear glass jars with the lids shut tight, and I save them all on a shelf. Sometimes I take them down and just look at them. A few are ugly. A few are beautiful. All are fascinating.

Blood is cool. I've never been a fan of slasher movies. Natural blood, calm, clean blood...now that's beautiful.

Funny how I make such binding promises.

Dresses are my new favorite thing.

Sometimes I hate the telephone.

I need somebody to hold my hand. I need a beating heart to listen to at night. I need kisses on the back of my neck and whispers in my ear.
Technically I have these...they're just not easily accessible.


Bummer.