08.21.04 | 4:14 p.m.
One
He and I were fighting again. I was going to put an end to the friendship. It didn't work out so well, though, as seen in Two.
Three
It's about my theater teacher. I found her rather attractive and developed a bit of a crush on her... anyway, that day in class, she had begun telling us about how when she was a teenager, she lost some friends to drunk driving. She teared up a little and sniffled, acting like it was a cold. I wanted to hug her right there, but it was in the middle of class, so I waited until the bell rang and I embraced her. Then I left.
Four
I dreamt about chunks of my eyes falling out. I talked to my parents about it [in the dream] and they told me I was hallucinating. I waled out to the kitchen to find The Ultimate Evil [shut up, I was dreaming] eating cereal [...] and I screamed. I "woke up" but I was still dreaming. I "woke up" three or four more times and it got me thinking.
Five
It's about some childhood friends of mine. I'd gotten close to one of them again and she would tell me about things they had done together. I missed those days a little, until I remembered that I didn't ever really fit in, and that I had no right to miss them.
Seven
The day after we make up, he is almost never at school. It was simple commentary on that.
Eight
He drew a picture of himself and gave it to me. I was angry at him and wanted to destroy it, but I didn't. Being your typical, run-of-the-mill angsty teenaged girl, I cut instead. Hurray.
Nine
"Run over it with a bulldozer as if it were the little sister" refers to something that happened in drama class. It was an improv between one of our classmates and the janitor [he's a really cool janitor...] and at some point our classmate decided that his little sister had been run over with a bulldozer. I suppose it's one of those things that really only makes sense if you were there...
Ten
I don't like being touched. This guy had the nerve to put his hand on my thigh while we were watching drama performances one day. I moved his hand and didn't say anything, and the asshole did it again. Not cool. You don't fucking touch Amanda unless you have her goddamn permission.
Fourteen
It's about a boy I sit with in the mornings. I've known him for almost two years now. He's rather quiet. Shy, in his own way. I like him. "Her approval" refers to my drama teacher, and "his love and affection" refers to... you guessed it... the best friend.
Fifteen
I was pissed off at the adults that run my school. Exactly how do they get off on believing that teenagers should be rational?
Sixteen
It's about my ex-girlfriend.
Seventeen
It's about my other best friend [the female one]. We had been drifting and hadn't spoken much in the last few months.
Eighteen
The boy I sit with in the morning sometimes and I were having a discussion about my "SARS" [I had a simple head cold and, for comedic purposes, told people I had SARS whenever they asked if I was okay.] and how I was going to die in three days or so. A girl that decided she hated me after we had been quite close sat down and, when I said that I had two people to tell off, one of them was her... but she did not realize it. Aaaha.
Nineteen
What can I say? I periodically isolate myself from everyone, no matter how much I love them.
Twenty One
He and I were talking about what people see in his eyes [...] and I told him I saw vulnerability. He doesn't like being told he's weak, so he snapped at me.
Twenty Two
It's a sarcastic entry. Anyone who refuses to feel is weaker than someone who chooses it. I choose to feel, and he sees me as weak because of that, but he's wrong. "I'm just filling inthe blanks" means that I have to care because he doesn't. So maybe I'm weaker after all.
Twenty Five
Negative inner dialogue taken to entirely new heights. The normal text is me. Italics is self-loathing, bitchy me. Bold is [ha ha] compassionate, insecure [and MIA] me. Bold is turned into Italics by the two of us because she is useless.
Twenty Nine
Another one about the infamous ex girlfriend. We were on a field trip for English class. We went to an outdoors theater to watch a performance of Shakespeare's Caesar. Afterwards, I spent the night at her house, because her parents believed [and sttill believe, to the best of my knowledge] that we were "just friends". I think they were in denial. They walked in on us making out quite a few times. A...ha... yeah.
Thirty
My best friend and I were fighting again. Didn't see that coming. He accused me of "always having some hidden agenda", and this entry was a response to said accusation. For the last six months I had been trying to help him and make him happy, and in the "end", all it got me was heartache. Awesome.
Thirty Two
I was quite upset and really didn't want to live anymore. I ended up talking to my childhood best friend, and he said that if I killed myself, he would shave his head. He would look awful with a shaved head.
Thirty Three
We were still fighting. I was bitter and angry towards him. When I'm upset, I really don't like thinking about it [even though I know it rarely looks like that] and everything reminded me of what had happened.
Thirty Four
A few days prior to this, we had a conversation in which he proclaimed us "strangers". He had my favorite book and a pencil I had loaned him in his possession at this point in time. I requested both of them back, and he called me a "drama queen" for wanting my pencil. And then he gave me back my pencil.
Thirty Seven
We were still fighting here, and he had accused me of "putting on a performance for anyone who happens to be watching what's going on inside your head".
Thiry Nine
I wanted to write about what happened, but I was too upset to be able to do so well.
Forty One
The first part is about how perhaps this fight was best for both of us after all. The second part is about a fake trial we had in English class. The boy who was questioning me is the one I sit with in the mornings before school; the one I've kissed. I was playing the psychiatrist for the prosecution and he was playing the other defense attorney. He had to come up and question me because the first attorey became too frustruated with me to continue [heh.] and I drew circles around him, too. I'm the best.
Forty Four
An entry about kissing the boy I sit with in the mornings. The only boy I've ever kissed.
Forty Five
My best friend made a new screenname, "broken glass boy" [that's not it exactly, of course]. We began talking again in theater class, for reasons that are still unknown to me.
Forty Six
No one needs me. If I left, people closest to me would be a little upset, and nothing more. I am not necessary, I just make things a little more interesting from time to time.
Forty Eight
I was speaking to my English teacher at break as I sometimes do when my best friend came in with some mutual friends. I did not notice because I was, as I said, speaking to my teacher. He had a toy plastic gun and he pressed it up against my left shoulder blade [where one's heart is] and said "Don't move." I turned and saw him, then smiled, and he pulled the trigger. Then we spent the rest of break chatting.
Forty Nine
I was talking to my English teacher because the class was having a party and I hate parties. They were being quite loud, so I said to her, "Why are people so loud when they don't have anything to say?" She smiled a little.
Fifty
It's about both myself and my best friend. Actually, I think it's about everybody. but when I wrote it I felt it applied only to me and him.
Fifty One
Another one about the boy I sit with in the morning. He'll kiss me, but he won't give me a hug. Asshole. I love it.
Fifty Four
It was about the best friend. I was playing psychiatrist again and he was being sort of a dick, so I decided [briefly] that I didn't care.
Fifty Five
I was sleeping over at my other best friend [the female]'s house with another close friend of ours. I meant to tell them that I had stopped cutting myself, but we were all giggly and happy and I didn't want to ruin the mood.
Fifty Eight
I had baked cookies that day in an attempt to get along with and contribute to my family. My dad ended up yelling at me and pointing out everything that I had done wrong.
Fifty Nine
I was angry at the best friend [again... haa]. When he gets upset because he's hurt me, he'll often say something like "come on, tell me I'm a fuck up" or something to that effect. I never do so. He isn't. Anyway, that's what "I did turn down the opportunity to destroy everything" means. I was pretending it made me an okay person or something.
Sixty Three
It's... well... I can't really explain this one. So I will show you a piece from earlier on in the conversation. We were talking about the end of the world, and what each of us would do should it come in our lifetimes. Shut up. It was four in the morning, he was tipsy, and I was tired. We're allowed to talk about whatever we want to, dammit.
Me: No one wants to believe that in the end we really are all just dust.
Him: I don't mind. That's why if it comes in my lifetime I'm going sit in my backyard sipping from an opened coconut watching the sky burn...
Him: It gets so I almost look forward to it.
Me: Maybe. I think you would find your reaction would be different should that day come.
Him: No Amanda. I'm pretty sure were that day to come I'd be in the same position I've been in most of my short little life. And if that is the case should such an event occur I really don't think I'd care.
Him: Or maybe I'd kill myself before fallout set in. Before the bombs fell. Screaming agitates me.
Him: And where would you be?
Me: Doing my best to stop it. Comforting my few loved ones. Wishing I had accomplished more.
Me: While I may dislike humanity, even hate it at some points, I disagree with senseless killing.
Him: Do you honestly think it would affect me all that much?
Me: Watching everybody die, you mean?
Him: Haha, yes. That and the whole concept of my own demise. Life ceasing and whatnot.
Me: You have people that you love. The idea of your own death may not scare you, but I know you fear losing the people you care about. We all do.
Me: I am not certain how that would affect your reaction, though.
Him: Hm.
Me: Tell me what you are thinking.
Him: I'd kill the people I love.
Him: Because I don't want them to see what they know and love end.
Him: And then I'd recline in my backyard. In case you were wondering...
Me: You'd be willing to take that chance?
Me: What if things don't end?
Me: You just killed off everyone dear to you.
Him: Amanda. Once news of the launch cleared I'm pretty sure it would be curtains for us all. We are talking about weapons of mass destruction dear. Not just cruise missiles.
Me: I'm perfectly aware of that, but you're not factoring in luck and the ability of humans to get things wrong.
Him: You have such a perky attitude and your optimistic outlook leads you to contemplate highly unlikely occurences.
Him: Yeah. I'd take the chance. Because I couldn't stand to see them suffer.
Him: Because I don't want them to know this ugliness.
Him: And because it's late and I'm somewhat drunk.
Him: Capable of comprehensive thought but very tired and I had just a bit of bicardi.
Me: -shakes head-
We talked about other things for a while, and then we had the conversation excerpt in this entry.
Sixty Five
Dad finally figured out about my self-injury and felt the need to get involved with my life again. I was pissed off at how conceited he was... thinking he could ignore me for my entire life and then just come waltzing back in like it was nothing.
Sixty Six
My parents had guests over for dinner and they began exchanging stories about kids [not necessarily their own kids, either, mind you] and such. One of these stories was about how a boy skipped school to go to the creek. The guests started exclaiming [rather loudly] how stupid it was. I disagree. And I was not evesdropping for any of this, I was just trying to play my video game... it became incredibly difficult to ignore them, though, since they were only one room away from us and they were all very... vocal [read: obnoxious].
Seventy Two
It was two in the morning and no less than three and a half million people felt the burning desire to tell me all of their fucking problems. I wasn't listening. I don't think any of them noticed, though. Awesome.
Seventy Four
A short piece about how/why humanity is disgusting. The conversation excerpt there is from my best friend and I on the phone earlier that day. He is the first voice, I am the second. It's terribly ironic, because both of us hate lying and won't tolerate it in anyone other than ourselves.
Seventy Seven
He promised to call. He didn't. I'm a drama queen. End of story.
Eighty One
An entry on a conversation my best friend and I had. He found out his girlfriend was cheating on him. This outlines my feelings during and after the entire thing.
Eighty Three
Flowers are beautiful and unnecessary. Flowers = people.
Eighty six
Yeah. Summer school will help one realize these things.
Eighty Seven
Ane entry about how my diary gives an incomplete picture of who I am because I use it for purging myself of negativity more than anything else.
Eighty Eight
I stabbed myself with a toothbrush. This entry underlines just how fucking graceful I am. Tuesday's child my ass...
Eighty Nine
My childhood best friend [male] and my best friend now [also male] were fighting and talking crap about eachother. I thought it was hilarious.
Ninety
Another entry about the boy I sit with in the mornings.
Ninety Four
Ants, like humans, do not flock to help eachother when one of them is injured. They flock to feed off of the remains.
Ninety Five
I am your typical, angst-ridden teenager. Overdosing on mediocrity means quitting, because that's the normal thing to do. I was thinking about leaving my diary to write elsewhere.
Ninety Nine
An entry about a classmate of mine. She pisses me off. It grows to include a large chunk of my peers.
One Hundred
An entry about the best friend. But you didn't see that coming at all.
One Hundred and Three
It's about the ex-girlfriend. I think I tainted her.
One Hundred and Five
For a solid five days or so, I had been trying to help my best friend work through his girlfriend problems. I foud out that my guinea pig was dying and he happened to IM me while I was crying... so I told him what was going on, and he told me I was stupid for crying over it, and that needed to grow up. He later apologized, but it took him a couple of days.
One Hundred and Six
I was still angry at him for the guinea pig comments, and did not want to forgive him.
One Hundred and Seven
An entry about how I was going to end the friendship... sort of... not really. I'm not so good at this leaving thing.
One Hundred and Eleven
An entry about my relationship with my best friend, sort of. I later realized it described my friendship with almost everybody.
One Hundred and Twelve
A realization I came to. I am awful to the people around me, especially my best friend. I'd get pissed off with me, too. I constantly yo yo back and forth between hating people and loving them.
One Hundred and Fourteen
About the boy I talk to in the mornings. It was maze day at school and we saw eachother a lot while walking around with our seperate groups of friends.
One Hundred and Seventeen
I kind of pierced my own ear, and the next morning while we were driving to school, I showed my mom and started laughing. Don't look at me like that, it was funny.
One Hundred and Nineteen
My best friend, my other close friend, and I spent that Saturday together walking around. My best friend acted like he cared about me for once. He never does that.
One Hundred and Twenty Two
Sleeping to escape my problems again. At the end, I imply that death would solve everything.
One Hundred and Twenty Three
Some things happened with a close friend and me... but I don't think she realized it, and I didn't say anything.
One Hundred and Twenty Five
Heh heh. An excerpt pulled from my psychology textbook. The [check]s I stuck in there are the things that apply to me. Which is, you know, almost all of them. Awesome. Meant to be sort of funny and eye-opening at the same time, but I accomplish neither.
One Hundred and Twenty Eight
It was my birthday. A grand total of NO ONE remembered. Awesome.
One Hundred and Thirty Two
That's precisely why I love being cryptic.
One Hundred and Thirty Nine
My best friend and I were talking and he accused me of not believing that he loves me.
One Hundred and Forty
I was sitting behind the portable rooms at school because there is no one there, and I wrote that letter.
One Hundred and Forty Two
The girl is me. Written in third person limited, but for no real reason. I should be kicking my own ass for that move.
One Hundred and Forty Three
The point: I don't need anyone, and therefore will not speak to anyone.
One Hundred and Forty Six
The room is a friend's bedroom. We were at his house celebrating his birthday (or National Bus Safety week; depends on who you ask). We had just gotten back from wandering around outside. We were wandering around outside because I became upset and left, but that's beside the point.
Anyway, there were six of us in total. The friend who's birthday it was (male), his cousin (male), the friend's friend who I suspect does drugs (male), another good friend of mine (female), me (female), and my best friend (male). We were sitting in the front room and everyone was eating cake, except for the friend who's having the birthday. He was in his bedroom. So I followed him back to his room to talk to him. He had a green lightbulb turned on and the normal light off. My friend was sitting up in his bunk bed, and his cousin climbed up to join him. They invited me up, and I accepted. We sat there for a while in his bed; the "tree house" (not my name, don't give me shit), and my friend's friend (the druggie?) and my good friend (the chick) came in and joined us. My best friend was still in the front room. I became worried about him, So I untangled myself from all the people in the bed and found my best friend and sat down with him to watch Monty Python's The Meaning of Life. We sat and joked around, he seemed a little angry at first (because I stormed off earlier?), but I guess he got over it. When the movie was over, he decided he wanted to visit the bedroom to see what the others were up to. I did not really want to leave because I was having a good time in the front with him, so I grabbed one of his arms as he passed by. He ended up dragging me along with him, and I fell over, and he grabbed one wrist and then the other and proceeded to drag me all the way to the bedroom (save one short break for me to pull up my pants, because I wear really baggy pants and they had started to fall down).
After we got there, we stood around for a while and the five of us talked, and we watched my friend who's birthday it was basically destroy a record. I don't know what it is with him and destroying records... anyway, people started to get up, and it was decided that we were all going to go to the liquor store, except we couldn't because my good friend (the chick)'s parents were supposed to come pick her up at ten and it was ten thirty. So my friend turned off the green light and turned on the normal light, and he and his friend (the druggie) went to convince his parents to let them go to the liquor store, and my friend (the chick) went to call her parents and see what the hell was going on, and my best friend and I sat on the floor of his room, because I had to stay (it was ten thirty and my mother was going to be there to pick me up at eleven. If she had found me out that late at night she would have freaked and I would have been in trouble), and he decided he was going to stay with me ("You really think I would leave my only friend here alone?"). So my friend (the chick) got picked up by her step-mom, and my friend (with the birthday) and his friend (the druggie) went to the computer room to fuck around with music equipment, and my best friend and I spent the rest of the time while I was there on the floor drawing on ourselves in red Sharpie. It was a good night.
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