Sometimes I just want to scream you know? I don’t think I can most of the time but when it starts to come out it’s so hard to put back in. I can’t do this anymore, I just have to be good, and nice, and put together all the time. Why is everything blamed on me? Why can’t for once someone see how much it hurts? My life should be awesome, I’m smart, relatively pretty, and have a good family. But if you look beyond the surface something always is wrong. I have to be smart; I have to be in honors classes. It’s what’s expected, everyone in my family has been a screw up at one point, so they are trying to make sure I don’t. But it’s killing me. I don’t want to die, but I just want someone to let me be me, even if I’m a bitch, or completely dumb, or a mess. Just for me to not have to try so hard all the time. There is no place I can go to get away either. I’m constantly on a leash; even if I’m gone I always have to reachable, never just alone. God I just CAN’T leave the house without telling someone. There is nowhere I can go where no one can find me. I just want quite, and peace, and to be completely alone for just a few hours. Please, I can’t keep going like this or someday I’m going to have a break down in front of everyone and then they’ll treat me like glass, worse than when I was depressed. I’m sitting alone in my room crying while writing this, and I know that any moment I’ll have to be put together and good and perfect. I DON’T WANT TO BE PERFECT!!!!!!! Perfect can go fuck itself because I’m done, no matter how many times I say that I always put the mask right back on. There is this quote by someone that says “when you dawn a mask make sure you don’t become it”, I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this without becoming this little robot. I’m wound so tight that one false pluck and something bad is going to happen, I can tell. I don’t want to be that person the one that everyone secretly hates because she is always right, always on. But I don’t know how to be any different, I don’t even know if I can be different. I could tell someone everything about me and they still wouldn’t understand. Because of my grandma, I’m not sure I know how to love. When I read about it, it seems so wonderful. Giving yourself completely to another person, but I… I just can’t. When I think about losing my family, sure I wouldn’t want it to happen, but I know I could get through it and move on. That’s just not right; you’re supposed to want to never let them go, to die without them. But I don’t feel that way and I feel so horrible for thinking that but it’s true. I can’t even imagine what my parents would feel if they ever saw this. I think I’m broken, so fucked up that I can’t get right again. You want to know why I cling to Paris so much. Because it’s one of the only things I have that I can do if I really want to. Not something that depends on someone else. Not something that can’t happen, something that is good that I can want without hurting. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through this is knowing, hoping, that someday it has to get better. Someday I will be somewhere where I can scream as loud as I want, to swear up a storm, to love somebody so much that I would literally die of a broken heart without them, somewhere I don’t need to be perfect all the time. Somewhere I belong… is that really too much to ask for?