October the Eleventh of Two Thousand and Ten

When I got home from college, I cried. I don't know, I must do that a lot. Actually, I know I do it a lot. However, it is better than a lot of things I have done before. Terribly, I wished I could have relapsed today. I wish I could have fallen apart and watched pieces of myself fall to the floor. I wanted to hurt. I wanted to feel something, anything, other than anger. Yet, I stayed normal. I cried until it hurt. It's all I have left.

I'm terribly suicidal. You want to know why world? (And I figured this out as I was yelling at my mother in a tangent)... I'm going to end up in community college. Not so bad? IT'S TERRIBLE. When I was younger, I dreamed of going to Harvard, the most amazing school in the United States. I still envy anyone who goes there. So, all my days, I've tried my best. Knowing that I could never get into Harvard, yes, but always secretly wishing. Ever since I can remember, half of my money has gone to college. Now, it's all thrown away. I did not even want to stay in state. I WORKED HARD SO I COULD BE BETTER THAN THAT. ...Now, I can't be better than that. I don't have the money. I'm left with the the people who never tried. Who didn't care. Who could have slept through class. The D students. All the people I hated. Everything I never wanted. I worked all my life, sacrificing friendship, food, and hours of sleep (and growth) to work. To study. To dream. It was sacrificed.

If I were to die, all my troubles would fade away...

'Dream without me,
take a few steps back.
We'll meet again.
I would never play the game you did,
attempting to twist the fates of others.
Now, I see only a tumbleweed.
It lives.'