Confession #47

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Confession #48: I hate struggling.

Sometimes, it is all too much. Sometimes the pain and guilt and battles come out of nowhere and destroy your shelter. That is me. I am trying so hard not to cry and not to look like I'm crying it's so fucking hard.

We all have battles. Some have physical battles, other mental, and some both. For me, it's just mental. 

I should be fucking happy. I really should. Why the hell. AM. I. NOT. FUCKING. HAPPY?

I am alone. I don't belong in my own family. I don't want to talk to anyone. GUESS WHAT EVERYONE? I JUST WANT IT TO END. Everyone wants to end the pain. But the problem about that, is that  after a rainstorm comes the beautiful rainbow. After the journey, comes the destination. After every freakin thing in the world you have to freakin deal with pain.

So I'm forced to live and see the outcome.

I'm forced to live through my flaws, my regrets, my failures. I hate it.

My question is, why are we cursed to a short life, which can end in any minute, and still have pain?

I envy the people who can hang out and be free with their friends. I hardly have any friends. Even if I did, my parents wouldn't dare let me out of the house. Because of my flaws.

Flaws. Eww. They are everywhere. They lurk in the mirror, in the mind, in the past, present and future.

I HATE THEM.

I HATE MY PAST.

MY PAST HAS TOLD ME TO HATE MYSELF RIGHT NOW.

I hate being open with my parents, or my brother (who says "come to me" yeah right). My thoughts are often considered as stupid. 

WHAT THE HELL? WHO DOES THAT?

When I have a problem, you LISTEN. When people go to therapists, what do therapists do? They LISTEN. They don't judge upon the thought. They don't call it stupid. They help you get through the realization. THAT'S when the person in pain judges their thoughts and THAT'S when you can say yeah it was pretty stupid.

But if you say it in the beginning, it's not inviting me to be open. It's closing me off. It makes me want to be scared of asking anything.

You see, in The Fault In Our Stars, the book, in the part where Hazel and Gus are in the Anne Frank House, Otto Frank says something that sticks to my brain.

He says: "You realize, parents don't really know their children. With Anne, her diary made me feel like I didn't know my own daughter."

My parents and the rest of my family are probably never going to be able to read this. This is my secret place. They know that I write. They know that I have 1,625 reads on a book. But they don't know anything else.

I hate that being happy for me, means just leaving my family's thoughts and decisions. Sometimes, I wish someone in my family reads this diary and knows the thoughts of my life. Maybe this is the only way where my parents can realize that I am not a horrible daughter. That indeed, I am a great kid. I'm just a lonely one who desperately wants to have some fun.

I understand that I screwed up my life more than my brother. Why use that against me? The past is the past. I wish everyone in my family forgave and forgot.

You see, that's what I do to everyone but myself. If someone apologizes and they mean it, I will be okay and embrace them with open arms. I just can't forgive and forget my flaws.

Why? Well I can't because my family can't. That's why I wish I died, before I screw my life up so much it can't be fixed, and my family will remind me every minute.

I want to sleep. I desperately want to just sleep. My head hurts, I feel like puking.

The best part is, No one knows.

Even if I tried telling them this, they would think I am acting. Just like when I told them that I might have a mental illness.

What's their answer? "Pray to God and he will answer."

Well I was religious. I am trying to be religious. But what's the point in praying to a God who never answers your prayers anymore?

Someday, when I'm ready to share with the world, I will tell all of you my flaws. You deserve to hear them since 1,625 of you have been reading this with silent eyes and warm hearts.

I might talk to you about my flaws this New Year. This book will be about a year old by then. Strange.

Isn't it strange how many memories can change in a course of a year?

For now, I think I'm okay. I hope my mom doesn't make me read the Qu'ran. I don't mind it, but I want to sleep. I want to let go of my emotions. I have a vocab test on Tuesday. I might fail.

After all, I am always a failure.

But how can you blame one ugly teenage girl who has such a big mental battle weighing down her shoulders?

But then again, I should be blamed.

After all, I took actions that resulted in counsequences like these.

I just don't know.

AND THAT PISSES ME OFF MORE THAN ANYTHING ELSE.

Goodbye. Have a nice night. I hope everyone of you are having an amazing life. And If you don't well talk to me.

I don't know.

How to end this.

But I love you.

I just want love back.

Internet hug?

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