I have no safe zone.
I can't fucking write anywhere without someone reading it and making some wild assumptions. I write for myself, I write so I understand, I write so I remember, I write for me. Selfish? Maybe.

Just please, don't ask me what my entries are about. Everyone asks me. Always. Which is normal, if I don't know, I also ask. But please do me the favor and just wonder, because I don't want to lie.

I'd rather write in my paper journal. I like the looks of it, I like the little lock on the side, I like the art, I like how it's my actual writing, how I choose for it to look.. but it's not comfortable. It doesn't take up enough time. I guess it's not me.

I'm rambling. Because. I'm so messed up inside. I didn't realize it until a few minutes ago. I was reading through someones journal and I felt their pain. I felt their frustration, hurt.. something that resembled me. The hate. How they just hate. Everything. That visits me repeatedly. Just the overwhelming amounts of anger. I'm glad I don't own a gun because at some of those times I was ready to shoot a best friend enough to kill them.

Stacy is so emo.
I am so emo.
She needs to chill out.
I need to chill out.
It's true.

Life for me right now: pretty close to perfect.
Ignoring the facts that I went behind one of my best friends backs and now everything is messed up, my ex boyfriend hates me, I feel like I stole something from another person, she is never happy and does things I'd hate a person for doing, my dad is an asshole, my mom won't get off my case, my life isn't going anywhere.. why am I writing this? Who cares.

I'm not sad, at all. I feel like I should be falling apart because my insides are so tangled. But I'm not. It's teenage life. No one is ever satisfyed.

Everyone needs a reason to bitch. Everyone needs to be mad at someone. Someone has to be a liar, someone has to be the bitch, all I know is someone told someone else something and now their secret is out.

Bla bla bla.

I'm ok, it's ok.

I want to keep writing, just never stop.. fill pages upon pages of words that no one cares to read. I feel like I could define myself in a million words and you wouldn't begin to understand a second of my life. Everyone thinks their life is worse than someone elses. Everyone thinks their parents are more unfair than anyone elses. Everyone puts their own problems before anyone elses.

I can tell you now. The times I feel the most pain is when I'm thinking about someone else. Not myself.

Rambling once more..

Let me repeat. I'm content. I'm not sad, I'm not angry. I'm just.. me. My emotions are mine, my strengths are mine, my weaknesses are mine, my secrets are mine, my thoughts are mine. My life, it's mine.

I'm in control, and I choose to watch. Everything and everyone.

Load my gun