I've gotten good at hiding myself. I used to practice facial responses and gestures to myself to make sure I had them right. I was so worried I didn't smile right, or didn't react to things properly. I used to never be able to laugh for fear my laugh was stupid.

I had a fake laugh.

I learned how to tell perfect lies, lies so good I believed them too. Building castles for myself, you know? Castles of uncertanties turned to fact, of experiences that never happened. Everything from movies I'd never seen to poems I'd never written.

And then one day I grew the fuck up.

No one from back then understands how much I used to hate myself. How often I'd stare into my closet at the age of thirteen with a belt in my hand, thinking that the only thing stopping me from killing myself was how lame it'd probably seem someday to hang myself to Linkin Park



 I was better by the end of my seinor year. Mostly so anyways. I got better in school.

Weed wasn't the cause of that. But it helped.

I laughed for the first time in forever after I smoked. My real laugh

and I loved it

I believed in hope again. I believed in the chance of God, perhaps.

I don't know.

My mother lashed out at me again today. Even with all the distance, she can still make my life hellish over the phone.

Penny is such a good support though. Even though she's so sick, she talked me through the worst of it.

I'm sorry to take this in such a dark direction, friends.