In letting go, I am so proud of what I've done

So, this is where I'm meant to use my blog for therapeutic purposes, for when I feel like killing things. It's not normal, you know, to be so inwardly violent. Or at least, that's what the books tell me. Then again, most books follow the line of "be normal, be happy". What if being a psychopath is happy? If I stopped concentrating on being functional for a day, maybe I'd snap and kill someone in a gruesome, gory way. And maybe, just maybe, I'd feel a little bit better about the world.

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I hate you.

People think I'm joking when I say that I don't hate very many people. But it's true. I hate a minority, I love a minority, and I strongly dislike a lot of people, and I'm indifferent to the rest.

So congratulations, you've made the list of people I hate, my own personal Burn Book. They tried to get me to think about what I'd say to you if I ever got the chance, but really... I probably wouldn't say anything. Back in the day, I might've screamed, yelled profanities at you at the top of my lungs, but now... I don't think I have it in me. Knowing myself now, I think I'd probably either run, or curl up in the fetal position and wait for things to be over.

That's the real reason I hate you. Everything you did, everything you went through and dragged me through with you, I can get over. I might even have been able to forgive you. But you couldn't leave it at that, you couldn't just walk away.

I can't watch horror movies or read scary stories without being reminded that real monsters exist in the world.

I can't walk into a dark room without being scared shitless that something's gonna jump me from behind.

I can't even look in the fucking mirror without noticing how much I've changed because of you.

My life has changed so much since then, and it's entirely your fault. Or maybe it was a little bit my fault too, for being naiive enough to trust you. I've lost my faith in humanity, and I'll never get it back, because for each amazing, beautiful person in the world, there are two monsters like you.

Wake Me Up When September Ends

Living in a democratic society, the majority rules, right?

The number of times completely unrelated people say the same thing is directly proportionate with the truth of it. This time, it was just a couple of eight year old kids. Logically, it really shouldn't be affecting me as much as it is. But hearing something like that from the mouth of a child is surreal. Children give off this automatic air of innocence. Even this kid would be pretty adorable if she kept her bloody mouth shut.

"I wish she was dead."

Brings back a whole lot of memories, of other people saying exactly the same thing. More important people arguably, people who used to mean the world to me. But they're all gone now, and they've taken a sizeable part of me with them.

I could totally be a female Neil McCormick. Aside from not being a prostitute. Although, would it really be that bad? I've already been told that it would be a good career choice for me, with my questionable morals and cynical outlook. It even fits in with the type of job I wanted to get, i.e. something that involves helping people. Prostitutes help people, albeit in a very different way than what I was thinking of.

People always say that hookers have no self-respect. But really, does that even matter? At the end of the day, whether I wake up in an alley in a pool of my own blood, or in hospital, will never matter. No matter how many lives I touch, I'll still just be "that girl".

Forever seen, but never noticed. Forever screaming, but never heard.