A Journal Entry

I wrote this yesterday, the book I'm talking about is "I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings" By Maya Angelou, enjoy

I am one of many names.

I am unidentified, or at least, that’s one of my names.

I am female as people would like to call me.

But, I feel as if gender should not matter to me anymore.

I am but caught in the middle of the stereotypical world of gender.

Of course, I would label myself with so many of the titles I wish to strip myself of.

I have so many names because I feel as if my name is a curse to me, so I recreate myself.

“You shouldn’t speak, your words are pointless, meaningless” one of the many bullies of my past would say, with a slap to the face or a rough bump to the shoulder.

Many adults wouldn’t think of those as much, they’d blame it on the victim.

And at this point, I agree.

“You’re so ugly, how is it even possible?” Another would say, a few hours later I would look in the mirror and cry at why I was given these features.

“And god loves each and every one of you…” many people at church would preach, but there would be me sitting in the crowd, doubting every single word.

I am trying to free myself of these labels, but find that there is no way, because I am bound to them.

I feel as if they are joined to my being. These cursed labels ripping me apart piece by piece.

I like to think I am strong, and by that I’ve grown a bit of an ego. I don’t like to fail. Anything lower than perfect is unacceptable.

I have weekly questions I answer to my therapist in a journal that are supposed to help me, but really, it’s just something to do to ignore the void in my chest where a deep darkness dwells, reminding me of my many imperfections and idiotic moves.

I find myself, at night, replaying scenarios in my mind that have happened wishing I could go back in time and say what I really meant and felt.

I often give up my own happiness to feed someone else’s. I feel as if I need to make others happy because they deserve more than I do.

I keep telling myself to grow a backbone.

I started cutting in November because I wanted a permanent reminder that I can never be perfect and that I should try not to be, It went further than that to the extent that I cannot give you a true reason I did that.

I often think myself into bad moods, or at least, that’s what the depression quotes tell you. What they don’t say is that sometimes you feel you have no choice but surrender.

I started writing this because I thought I could write a book as good as Maya Angelou’s, I now realize that I was wrong and that I’m going to get in trouble for not really doing schoolwork.

I feel close to Maya in the book I’m assigned to read in chapters thirteen and fourteen because she went mute because she felt as if she was as bad as the devil and hated by god. I can understand where she’s coming from.

I stop my sentences in the middle of saying them because I feel like no one will feel like they matter, a friend pointed that out today.

I am writing right now like this because I feel like I need to get this out.

I feel cried out. From the days I was caused pain.

I try my best in school because I don’t want to be the failure everyone said I would be.

I get lost in my fantasies because I feel like any world other than here is better.

I just realized this writing is kind of poetic and dark, yet random.

I love it when my friends give me compliments, because I only believe it when others say it, and I know them well.

I hate that I can’t hang out with my guy friends cause I feel less fake around them and I feel more safe and “at home” as one would say.

I found my number one reason to live and I feel happy about it, though I doubt I can ever get any closer than I am now to him.

I hate that I can’t have more freedom, though I also feel spoiled because others don’t have as much freedom as me.

I love chocolate.

I love my hair when it’s dyed.

I feel like being emo would help others realize that I’m my own person, and that being free and okay within yourself is me.

I know that last sentence sounded weird but it makes sense to me.

I feel sad that I can’t go to the mall with my friends without an adult practically holding our hands.

I hate that adults don’t understand us teens.

I wish I could go to skating without the drama of having my mom bug me on what happened and if I’m emotionally stressed.

I wish I had a job so I had money so I could move out and live a little bit more.

I hate that no one really tries to get to know me.

I love those simple moments when I know It’s going to be alright and that my cutie can protect me.

I do realize my cutie isn’t mine.

That makes me sad.

I feel as if being dead would be easier, but then I realize I’d be leaving my cutie and my friends and family.

I wish I had a family of my own.

I want to have a bright place in this world.

I want to keep others safe in this world.

I realize that I’m only fifteen and can’t do anything at this age. It’s a cold and painful realization.

I smile softly when I see those cute couples and know how they’re so in love, but then I frown because I’m not sure I’ll ever have that.

I’m scared to start a relationship because I could get hurt.

I am angry at myself that now that I notice my friends annoying habits that I can’t ignore them.

I love how my cutie laughs and smiles when I say the stupidest thing.

I love the way the sun shines in the morning and reminds you that it’s a brand new day.

I love fire.

Fire is a beauty all on it’s own.

The sense of smell is magic.

I love how one little scent can be a real big pick me up.

I love how Niall Horan’s accent is so beautiful and his laugh is so infectious.

I hate how people are so judgmental and hurtful.