january 1,2015

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Hey, my name is falyen.

You are my new journal, or a diary.

 I don't really know. or maybe I'm just talking to myself ( assuming no one is snooping ), so that makes me the infinity of crazy.

 At least that's what I think, while my mother thinks its good to write your feelings down,  which I do agree because I have no one to talk to about anything anymore. Even though I know she just wants to read it because I never tell her how I feel, but that's  because she main cause of my problems. Lets just say she is a very prestigeous women. Well she thinks so, but I feel like she's being very pretenchious about the whole thing. Yet who am I to judge the inevitable.

She said she feels like I'm "lost" latley, which I can't say I haven't been feeling a little inferior about myself, but that doesn't mean she has to know that, or even be in my business at all, even if its a "mom's job" to do so.

Yes, I know I should love and care for my mom and talk like she's perfect infectiously.

Then again you don't know my mom, or my family. Let's just say they are the most inhuman people you will ever meet. They are annoying, and crazy, indigent, and inept .

 I don't get it.

 They are formal, while I'm infernal.

 And they just don't have room for mistakes, as for me I'm the mistake. I'm the inquisitive one. Of course no one wants someone who will ask so many questions till there proven wrong.

                                          january 2, 2015

Today, mom is taking my sister, brother, and me to sighn up for school.

I am actually excited because school is my only exscape from the hell hole I call home. Of course my mom decided it would be okay to just scream at us for every move we make.

 We sat silently and negligible. Silence is the key to perfection.


 We start tomarrow and finally I'll be gone away far from the distinked painfull memories waiting to be made.

 I sometimes feel like my heart is this bodomless hole that just holds on to things forever. And most of the memmories are things no one else knows about. All the things I have to hide because that's just something else to add to my long line of being a mistaken person who will never be good enough.

 You should know that I have horrible taste in guys, and sometimes I feel like I'm worthless because they ask me to do things for them, but I'm not ready, so they just make me say things that turnes them on, and sometimes I feel like a real piece of shit.

 Why is that all they see in me? God is that all I'm good for? The pleasure of men? No thanks.

But of course I never stop myself from doing it, because for some reason its like I feel obligated to. Which is a sad inconvineonce because maybe I am. Or maybe that's what I fee I deserve.

                                          january 3, 2015

I'm wearing a short yet slimming black dress with a red rose at the top.

 I walked into the bathroom ( which I have to share with my little sister, mom, and my step dad, even though my older brother gets his own bathroom) and shut the door before everyone comes storming in like a herd of elephants.

 I always ask my mom to wake me up early, I need the break, the room, I need... the space. Every morning ( or when I get the chance ) I secretly look in the mirrior and tell myself I'm beautiful or amazing, because honestly I don't feel as if I am.

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