D1 20/01/08

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Diary 1, Front Cover

20/01/08

Note to self: Change bedsheets.

Goddamnit, why must EVERYTHING remind me of Texan Pig? Naturally enough Manson does, espesh. User Friendly, but so does the smell of my own sweat, which makes for a rather nauseating school holidays, since i never shower. But really, what’s the point? I don’t see anyone, go anywhere or do ANYTHING which requires me to leave the house. Fuck staying at dads is depressing. Now that Clostar’s not here, i have no friends i can hang out with. She really was the only one who would full on go out of their way to make company. At least JJ invited me over, and Jess R and i are hopefully going to see Sweeny Todd, but Sarah and Filthy? Filth? Well i don’t really get him. But Sarah? Fuck. Over dramatic selfish dumbshit. Christ. Ringing Chloe’s dad, sobbing at him to not let her die. Well, that could only cement him mind to keep her alive as a faceless novelty. Are these people that ignorant that they can’t see that being a quadriplegic braindead is the last thing she would want to be? Or are they so blinded by their selfishness that they want to her just to keep their little bubbles. Clostar was my best friend but they think that because i hope she dies that i have no faith. Are they seriously that fucking stupid?! She’s fucked! Ted said he couldn’t “kill her” by turning off the machines. You can’t kill what’s already dead. My poor Clostar. Despite the scars she gave me, she was always there for me and i gave her shit back. No wonder why i’m always the last person people want to talk to. I mean, Jess, Jess and Sarah always have meetups every school holidays. I can’t even get someone to send a fucking text. I can’t really be that bad, can i? These days, the only time people talk to me is if i talk to them first, and i’m really not the talker. Why was i meant to spend my life alone? It’s so sad. The second i get a message my heart lifts and i actually get excited over the prospect that someone cares enough to waste 25c on me, but no. It’s always just my balance, which i always forget i had sent for earlier.

Sarah reminds me of Texas. Both constantly saying how much they “love” me, to my face, but both with hidden agendas. Texas did it til i lowered my guard enough to be complacent enough to let him hold me down, and force me to do stuff while he fucked me. So, what’s Sarah’s agenda? I truly doubt she’s intelligent enough (although, no doubt as desperate) to come up with something as sinister as that. Perhaps it’s her last desperate attempt at keeping a hold of whatever shreds of her childhood she is able to still grasp at? Fuck, i don’t know. As if she cares of days of innocence. She’s let more of the ’emo’ stereotype embed itself into her than she’d care to admit. Perhaps that’s why she doesn’t actually let herself be victimised, but just plays the victim. And, of course, EVERYONE has to know. Why else would you hide under a desk and sulk where everyone knows you’re there? To get everyone to ask “what’s wrong, are you alright?”, of course. And if you ever comment on her dramatic, attention seeking, highly inappropriate behaviour all you will get is more sulking, followed by shit like “oh i know, i’m such a selfish fake. Oh i’m so useless. My mum hates me. I didn’t get to go anywhere, except to the movies and into town with anyone i want, except you, oh woe is me”. Jesus Christ. Grow the fuck up! Everyone has problems at home in childhood and teen years! Ah, fuck it. I’m too lonely, tired and depressed. I’m going to sleep.

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So, for a first entry i guess it wasn’t the worst. It was actually written as a two page wall of text, but it drove me nuts typing it out, so i split it down. Now, introductions, since everything mentioned here is going to pop up quite a lot. I’ll probably explain all of this in entries further down the track, but it’s always nice to know what’s going on before the big reveal. I mean, who didn’t skip to the middle and end of their Harry Potter books when they first got them, just to see if you could figure out what the characters were doing, just a little faster?

This was written at the end of the school Summer holidays, which from memory, was about five weeks. Friends tended to disappear every school holidays, and as my mum couldn’t put up with me, i spent the majority of it staying at my dads house. Despite the fact that when i was at my mums we’d fight every day, i actually preferred staying there for the sole fact she had a phone line, which meant she had the internet, albeit rather slow. My dad didn’t like me using the phone or internet, so he disconnected the line, and wouldn’t reconnect it until about three weeks after i’d moved out of home. Because of this, my isolation got the better of me pretty quickly, and so i would spend 22 hours in bed every day, and usually wouldn’t shower for weeks. 

It was during this time i was still mentally recovering from being sexually assaulted by a boy, my age, who called himself Texas, a name which he adopted after living there for a few years. This currently stands as the biggest mess i have put myself in, which will hopefully continue to stay that way until i am well and truly buried. I was pretty messed up mentally at the time, and was dissociating and blacking out for increasingly large amounts of time. Unfortunately for me, this was when i met and conversed with this young man, and through a series of mental blunders on my behalf, ended up a little more damaged from the effort. I still have no idea when it happened, and how long we’d talked to each other prior. All really know is that it managed to ruin Christmas, and had me writing “whore” and “liar” over and over on some scrap paper, as it hit midnight on New Years Eve. There’s nothing quite like having your latest musical acquisition,  Emilie Autumn, blasting through your ipod, and screaming about lost innocence, if only to cover up the bangs and cheers of your family outside as they watch the fireworks. 

The only good thing about being a suicidal cutter girl, is that people don’t notice any change in mood when you’ve been raped. I already wore all black and had panda eyes- how could i possibly look any sadder?

Chloe, or Clostar, was a friend i’d had since i was eight or nine. Just prior to the New Year she’d lived with myself and my mum for nine weeks, until she’d found herself a job and a flat of her own. She moved into her own place perhaps a month or so before Christmas, and she’d started to get her life together. Then, on New Years Eve, she was drunk and like most seventeen year olds, assumed she was invincible. A fall from the roof of a two story building proved her quite wrong. 

I was in Sydney at the time of her accident, so i was the only one of her friends able to visit her in hospital a few days after her fall- both legs and her arm were in casts, she had broken her neck and fractured her skull and she was very bruised and swollen. There were tubes sticking out of pretty much everywhere- including the top of her skull, which had a piece removed to alleviate the pressure due to the swelling of her brain. At the time, the doctors prognosis was that she would probably be severely brain damaged and quadriplegic if she managed to survive once the ventilator was switched off. The girl i knew at the time, would have begged to have the machines turned off and for that to be that. And i would have agreed.

I suppose, on a happy note, she did survive. She is now confined to a wheelchair for the rest of her life, but is able to move her arms and fingers. She is also now blind in one eye, and did become partially brain damaged. We no longer talk, but she seems happy enough in her own flat, painting canvases and then gluing buttons to them.

On a related note, i was able to tell my mother that if i was ever in the same situation, i want her to turn off the machines, because this is not a life i would ever want to lead.

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Chloe and Myself, late ’07

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