Runaway Love (One Direction Love Story)

Dear Diary,

Did you ever wish you weren't here? I do. I feel living is something I wasn't meant for. I think my presence on this Earth is meaningless. I serve no sole purpose here. I will contribute nothing my time alive. I know that. So why do I keep bothering? I'm not sure. Maybe because I'm afraid it will be even worse on the other side. I think no one would care if I was gone. That use to bother me, but not anymore. It's not like I'd miss anyone when I was gone. I use to not feel this way, to be honest. Can you keep a secret? My mom tells me these things. Every night when I was little. And now it’s burned into my brain. I never believed her. I knew one day, I'd find a way to prove her wrong. But I never did. She swears if I tell anyone that she says these things, she'd hurt me. I believe her. It's not like I have to tell anyone. The expression on my face probably could. I was malnourished and depressed. I was bone skinny, with sunken, lifeless eyes. I looked like the walking dead. But no one cared enough to ask what was wrong. There's a piece of me willing to go on. Not a very large piece, but it's there, telling me to keep going. I usually tell it to shut up. I don't need to be lied to anymore then I possible have been. I use to play guitar quietly up in my room, aka the attic, but my mom said it woke her one day. And she threw it out the window. It smashed into a million pieces like my hopes and dreams. So now I come home and do my work. Then stare blankly, swarmed by my negative thoughts. If that wasn't enough, my mother would come up and yell more bad things at me. Terrible things. I agree to everything she says. That I'm a stupid, no good, loser. But when she leaves, I cry into my hippo pillow pet and go to bed without a meal. Sometimes, if I lick my pillow, it tastes like salt because of how much I cry into it. I tuck myself in and say goodnight. And pray and thank the lord that I have a roof to sleep over and I have blankets to cover me. I try not to self-pity, some people have it way worse than me. But then I, unfortunately, reawaken, and start the nightmare over again.

Love,

Veronica Gabsy

P.S. You can call me Ronnie