I can't believe that I changed so little. I expected to look old and hollow and gray, but I guess it's only me on the inside that has shriveled and deteriorated.

The complete bottom has fallen out of my life.

I'm not really sure which parts of myself are real and which parts are things I've gotten from books.

Maybe the new me will be different.

Alone. The saddest word in the world.

Sometimes fantasies are better than life.

I’ve got to sleep. Sleep is my only way to escape.

Lying - remembering beauty in truth.

They have accepted me as an individual, as a personality, as an entity. I belong! I am important! I am somebody!

Why is life so difficult? Why can't we be just ourselves and have everyone accept us the way we are?

They don’t think “I care,” “I hurt,” or “I have feelings.” It just seems like I’m always “wrong,” always “selfish,” always “self-centered” and everything else that’s negative and destructive.

I wouldn't intentionally hurt anyone in this whole world. I wouldn't hurt them physically or emotionally, how then can people so consistently do it to me? Even my parents treat me like I'm stupid and inferior and ever short. I guess I'll never measure up to anyone's expectations. I surely don't measure up to what I'd like to be.

It's a good thing most people bleed on the inside or this would be a gory, blood-smeared earth.

This morning when I left Mom's parting words were, Come straight home after school. Wow! Like I'm going to get stoned at 3:30—it doesn't sound so bad at that.

How can thoughts hurt so much when they aren't even physical?

My biggest mistake: not wanting to help myself into thinking I am happy, that change would come about without really trying to change, or wanting to change. Procrastinating about changing. I do want to change.