The details.

You may have noticed by now I am crazy. I'm not right in the head. I'm cuckoo. Of my rocker. I know this fully. I've accepted it. I understand. Would you like a list of all my problems??? Maybe it will help you get to know me better?

I am anorexic. I did it to myself. I made myself this way. But the irony is I'm horrible at it. See me laughing? I can't even succeed at deprivation. It's funny right? So laugh.

I'm depressed. More than a little. Less than a lot. For maybe four years now? I think that's how long. I fell apart at 13. I stopped functioning like a normal human being and became a shell. I've tried desperately to maybe fill this shell. But no. It's impossible. I am hallow.

I am emotionless. Period.

In some convoluted, tiny, major part of my head I want to die. I think about it all the time. Maybe hanging myself? Or taking a dozen sleeping pills and drifting silently off. But doesn't that rarely work? I hear that rarely works. Maybe I'm just crazy. I am, aren't I?

I have a lot of hatred. All toward myself. To every inch and nook of my body and being. To every thought that crosses my head and every motion my body makes. I hate it. Forever.

I don't fit in. Nowhere. Not in my family. Not with my friends. There is nowhere just for me. Not in this life.

I sometimes believe in a next life. That maybe I'll get another chance at living. To do everything right for a change. Where people love me. Me. I hope.

I was raped.

I write stories. About people with problems living lives I wish I could. Every story is a wish. A wish for a life I could live because it's not filled with the pain mine is. They're all filled with pain. But a lesser pain. And I hope for that. A reprieve.