"The Lonely"

( 1:35 AM )

Her thought on suicide is exetremely sensitive, meaning she feels that the only way to stop the pain is through suicide, which makes sense saying as no one (myself) has ever told her differently. I know that I don't need to die to stop the pain, I don't need to hurt myself but sometimes the thought lingers by and suddenly the feeling arises once more. Though I know that no one would understand this because "I have people who love me and want to help me"--Not saying I don't but when I am put in the position of remembering past and feeling how Dani feel at the time, I am not thinking of the people I have. I'm thinking more along the lines of how badly I want to die because it is only then that I realize that those things...

I see her bleeding arms and I don't feel the need to do it as well, which is good, but I fear that when I accept these things I will because right now these aren't my memories or moments, their Dani's. I like it that way but then again everytime I see that trembling structure or see the blood being soaked up by hardwood flooring... I am one hundred percent guilty.

I want to die.

The voice startled me, I shouldn't have heard it because I had my headphones on blaring something to get thoughts out, but I took my headphones off so I could hear her better, to watch her dig her nails into her already cut arms. I imagine how sick I'd feel if I just happened to look down and see that I had identical cuts on my arms, to see the glissening pink flesh shining through the blood. My handwriting looks like shit so it's almost impossible to read it at first glance, I'm trying my best to retype it all.

"Why do you want to die Dani?" My voice was monotone, I've become used to her glaring and the sickly smell of blood that wafts up into my head when she's around, used to the obsession of death she has.

I want the pain to stop.

I want the pain to stop. What a sad sentence for a twelve year old girl to be crying while scratching at her wrist, wanting to die so badly. I really messed up this time, creating this suicidal little girl who harbors all of the darkest feelings and thoughts, every painful memory so I don't have to. That makes me selfish, doesn't it? Though those aren't my memories, they don't belong to me, not anymore.

"It will." I replied from behind my notebook as I was writing everything as it happened so I could revise and publish later, for all the unknown people to see and read, to kow my life, not like they care anyhow.

You don't believe that...

She got me. She was right, I didn't believe that at all. When I said that I knew I hadn't meant it, I knew that I didn't really believe that anything would get better thanks to my pessimist views on life.  How strange that the voice in my head can actually hear what I'm thinking too! Even though I know this is a serious matter, on the terms of where my mind is and how my heart is so close to breaking, I find it entertaining to laugh at myself and see the offended look Dani gets because she thinks that I'm making fun of her, which in a way I am--then again I'm more making fun of myself. I can feel that she is a mouthful of words that I'm still afraid to say, even if they aren't my words to begin with.

"Yes I do." I was lying again, something I only do to myself which is weird because she isn't me, right? She's just that girl that hallucinate sometimes, that girl who takes over my body sometimes, that girl who cries and hurts herself all the time. The pathedic one.

Stop lying to me...

"I'm not lying." The guilt swept over me like the hurricane as I tried to sound truthful, the shame of lying to a twelve year old made me shake with fear that I would become like my mother, my mother who lied to me and told me that I had a good childhood and blamed my dad for the abuse, I felt regret for lying, I shouldn't have lied to her, I would just make things worse.

Stop yelling at me...

I was confused at first because I had only raised my voice a tad bit higher but then remembered what Annie had said about her being jumpy and how she can hear the slightest raising of a tone. Just like me when I was younger, when I was--

"I wasn't?"

I'm sorry...

"What for?"

Wanting to die of course--Do you like me?

"Of course." I smiled because I was telling the truth somewhat, I did like her because she was the one who held my memories for me, she was the one with the pain, with the sorrow, with the suicide.

Liar.

( 2:00 AM )

( 4:15 AM )

After promising my mother that I'd go to bed instead of sitting up until 4am trying to get ahold of my torn away, dissociative personality, I find myself sitting up at 4am trying to get ahold of my torn away, dissociative personality. Oh, what I rebel I've turned into. Sometimes I feel as though talking to her makes no difference and it doesn't matter what I try and say but end up failing, like I do everything in this fucked up world, only because I know that I don't really want to talk to her--who would? She's frustrating but I want her to know that I love her, which she obviously either doesn't know or ignores completely.

I want to die. All the time.

"I understand how you feel, Dani."


No! You don't. You really, really don't--no one does.

"Why?"

I... Just want the pain to... Stop. Is that so bad?

I sighed and looked away from the girl, away from the sickingly sad look in her eyes, the blood streaming down her arms as she plundged her nail into her open wounds.

"No. I guess not."