10�29�03 (2:40 pm)

Sometimes all I need is to walk in the rain, forget about my hood, walk straight through puddles, and not blink when the rain gets in my eye. Leave my wet hair plastered to my face, let my clothes soak through. Pray it washes away everything bad.
It's easier being a wallfower that center of attention. WHY do I always try to be center of attention? Wellbutrin made me feel better about myself because I'm able to accept that yeah, I am good at some things. And it might also make me think that everyone likes me. And they don't.
...I can't stand to be there anymore, not if people hate me. Or think I'm full of myself. It's called fucking low self-esteem. The worse I feel, the more I say how great I am. And I never mean it. Never. I hate myself and I want to die, how could I possibly mean it?

Those are the last few pages of my diary (excluding, of course, the details and the names). That's all I have. I need to fucking WRITE. But I can't tell you because that defeats the purpose of a diary. Every page is full of ...losing too much blood... and I hope to be diagnosed with cancer or something soon. and ...the cutting hasn't stopped (I paused my writing moments ago to do so) and I hate being happy, depressed, and in the middle. Fuck it all.

There's nothing else to it. From December 12, 2002 to October 29, 2003, that is what is in my diary. What does it mean?

- Molly{5:18 pm}

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