Searching (Book 1-IAWICTB)

I am nothing. I am just a cardboard cut out. I am worthless. This is my story. The story of someone proving me just how wrong I was.

I
AM
WHO
I
CHOOSE
TO
BE.


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3. January 3

Dear Diary,                                                                                                            January 3rd

 

                  Another day has gone by. Another day at the "dump" or "prison"  that I call this boarding school. Why did my parents even send me here, or do they join the long Que of people who hate me? Of people who don't care. That guy, who was nice to me, was nice again. How long will he keep it up? I have to say he acts like he doesn't believe the stories, the rumors  the gossip about me.  I guess that's just because he hasn't heard about them yet. But he will. He will soon. Everyone does.

 

                In time, everyone leaves me. In time, i'm left to live this world alone. By everyone. No matter if they say there going to stay or not. It always ends the same. They all leave me, it's almost like someone compels them away.  Then again if I wasn't me and I didn't know the truth once I had heard the made up information about me, i'd leave too.  

 

                The things they say couldn't be any further from the truth: 

 

"I heard she slept with any teacher that didn't give her an A, any Teacher."

 

"Is it true that she kill her boyfriend when he forgot to get her a bunch of flowers for their month anniversary?"

 

"I thought tortured and killed men for looking at her because they looked at her the wrong way, and then her boyfriend did the same." 

"I  got told that she was taking drugs because shes mental"

 

"I heard it was illegal drug she was taking and that shes addicted to heroin and that she cuts herself"

 

              Well maybe the last one was partly true. I do cut myself but only because of what they say. I cut to let the sadness out, the pain out, the suffering out. Every cut, every slash, every one stands for a tear I should have cried but was to scared to. I don't need to be called a crybaby as well. It hurts, not the cutting, but what they say about me. It hurts. I wish it would stop, I wish it would all just end.

 

From Rebbaka

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