The Walls Have Eyes (Diary)

This is a very, very bad idea

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10. May 14th, 2015

10:20pm

I've just become comfortable writing at this time. And, also, my internet is cutting in and out - so I would have spent some more time on Movellas talking about PewDiePie, Puss in Boots and Amnesia.

But what can you do when your internet is being a little b*tch?

 

#FirstWorldProblems

 

Nothing interesting really happened today.

I'm still chickening-out of doing things that will move my life forward - haven't called Sam, haven't called the social service, I'm just ignoring everything. And, for anyone that's in a similar situation, that's a terrible thing to do. We're probably thinking the same things: “If I ignore it for long enough, it'll probably straighten itself out”.

It's what we think, and in a sense it pushes us to be “patient” - but if we're honest, it's not the truth. If anything, if we actually stuck our necks out a little the problem would probably straighten out quicker.

 

I'm such a f*cking coward.

 

You know, I'm not like this with anything else. I say what needs to be said and do what needs to be done in most cases - even at a high cost. True life, I fell victim to attempted murder early last year because I got in a fight with someone. Billy Ledger thought that I “deserved” to be a slave and he expressed that he was suffering oh so much more (I still fail to see in what way). So I stuck it to his gut, screamed and yelled at him - all that Billy does is sit up in his room and watch YouTube videos or type on his PC. Long story short, the fighting escalated and Billy tried to snap my neck - three times. And after each time, I couldn't shut up.

I didn't stop talking, I didn't stop fighting.

 

But the issue with Torbaf?

 

It's different. It's just different. By this point, most of you probably already know who I'm referring to - but I can't bring myself to admit it in words. I can't remove the alias. It's hard-wired in my mind, in my DNA, in my soul - I can't disgrace him, no matter how much of a f*cking animal he is. I can't. It hurts me, in an almost physical way, to even think it. The alias just makes it less... real, I guess. Less true.

And therefore more comfortable to say/write.

 

I don't know what the f*ck I'm going to do with my life.

 

The more time I spend here, the less likely it seems I'll get out.

He wouldn't? Would he? He wouldn't dare. But then again... he's done all this.

What is there to say that he wouldn't?

I've gotten a mixture of advice.

She says fight the war, he says flee into exile.

They all say to get an expert adviser to help me decide.

But it's so much easier to say than do.

Leaving the house for ten minutes is a hassle. Catching some me-time is considered irresponsible and selfish. F*ck, I haven't worn make-up in God knows how long. It's such a small thing, but it has an impact on you when you think about it. It's the tiniest things I can do for myself and I just don't find the time to do it. F*ck cosmetics, sometimes I don't even eat because I just... can't... be bothered. It feels like such a waste of time for me. I have breakfast most days, but I often pass up lunch and dinner.

Food fails to cheer me up.

 

Do you have any f*cking idea how f*cking sad that is?

 

...

 

I didn't admit that until now.

 

...

 

When am I going to stop filling my mum's shoes?

She never even liked me. Why? Why have I been selected for this then?

When am I going to live my own life?

I'm already f*cking twenty!

And I'm a f*cking mother of five kids that aren't even my kids. And I feel like some people don't really get it - these aren't some stranger's kids, these aren't my own kids. They're my siblings. My siblings. They see me as an equal, always have. And what happens when an equal suddenly asserts a form of authority as a replacement for a missing form of authority? Rebellion, is what happens! What does that mean? They don't respect me now.

And they never will.

Two birds with a single stone - damaged my relationship with all my siblings and damaged my love for children.

 

(My God, I'm listening to the most appropriate song for this entry. Lies Greed Misery, by Linkin Park)

 

...

 

This was going to be a nice, calm, nothing entry and now look what f*cking happened!

 

Urgh...

Maybe it's what I need. I've pent-up so much bullsh*t over the years in my head that it just floods when I let a little out. Am I going too far? I don't know. I'm at a point in my life where I don't really care either. I'm just sick of hiding. I wish I could put that verbal sentiment into action in real-life though...

 

In other news... um...

 

...

 

I was thinking of reposting one of my old stories for the Battle of the Fandoms, the Classics category. It's called Fures Misericordiam. It is one of my best works. Best. And you would love it if you're into Assassin's Creed - especially Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag - and/or Les Misérables. But, the thing is, it's only a Les Mis fanfic because I rehashed the songs to fit the story - and I'm not sure if that counts at all. I've put it to GeorgiaT, but I haven't got a response yet, so.

Eh.

I was really hoping a Video Games category was part of it. But, apparently, we're getting the category either way - so I guess I'm not completely sad about that.

 

Uh...

 

I have nothing else to say. This became a lot deeper than I thought it would. Sorry, for the intensity. I wish, for once, I could have a light-hearted diary entry that we can laugh about rather than cry because of... If it makes any of you feel better, if you're finding this obscure or unsettling - trust me, my actual real diary is way more obscure. I'm constantly afraid that someone will find it and read it, so I use aliases and vague references there too. Though, it also has a lot more sketches and doodles and failed poetry...

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