Friday, July 22, 2011


  I thought maybe writing would make me feel better. I don't think so anymore. I don't even see why I'm still doing it. Tim does it too, though. He told me he does. He said he started a while ago because it made him feel a little bit happier. I guess he felt really sad when I was gone. I still hate myself.
  I'm crying again now. I was watching a video of some people on a big train that did loops on a track in the air, called a roller coaster I think, and I really want to go on one. I said, "Ronald, will you take me here?"

  Ronald's gone now. I keep forgetting.
I keep crying, too, and the keys get all blurry. I hate that...I'm always afraid I'l spell something wrong.

  You know, at first I didn't believe that it was him that did all those bad things. But now that I think about it, Ronald wouldn't lie to me. I hate me life, you know.
  I got so angry I went outside and killed a squirrel. Was that a bad thing to do? I've never hurt anyone, really, but myself...I wondered what it felt like to make myself bleed, so I tried it. It wasn't really like the lashes, because I could stop if it hurt, but I didn't want to make myself stop.

I owe it to Ron

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