You.

While I'm at it, this whole blogging thing. I'll take a minute to write about you. You, the one person who I thought I could trust, you, who I never, ever, EVER thought would or could hurt me, twisted me in ways I didn't even know I could feel.

This would be longer, but I'm just tired of thinking about you to be perfectly honest.

I don't hate you, but if you fell off the face of the planet, my life could be easier. I'm just saying.

I guard myself, I'm not like the Berlin wall, I'm not meant to be broken down. I've learned my lesson.

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I really wasn't kidding when I said I knew I wouldn't update this thing often. Maybe all that will change now. I have an iPhone now, finally. Should make blogging a little easier. I've decided I think blogging might be a good idea. I want to be famous one day, I want to be able to remember what I had to go through to get there. So maybe I'll start updating this thing a little more. Hopefully my phone will help that.

I've been in interesting moods lately. Somewhat similar to that of someone who is bipolar, except I'm definitely not bipolar. I'm just a girl. A girl stuck in the same situation she's been in for her entire life and doesn't know how to get out of it, and is too stubborn to ask for help, and worse, admit that she even has a problem. Because that is legitimately what I have, a problem. Except I don't know how to handle that problem, I have no idea who to talk to about that problem. Nobody understands. Nobody. Understands. I don't care how much you want to admit you understand, because you don't. You can't understand what I'm going through, nobody can. 20 years of this, I can't take it anymore. I can't even cry myself to sleep anymore.

I wish this was a happier post, but I just can't seem to write about something happy right now. I am semi greatful for the fact that my roommates really don't know how to clean - I find cleaning rather therapeutic. Normal people would be angry at the fact that worked for a week just to come home and clean up a mess that wasn't theirs, but ironically, not me, most days. It's therapeutic, it's easing.. I wish I could find therapy in a gym or something.

I want to be somebody different. I want to be me, but different. I want to be the me I know I can be. Problem with that is it's going to take a lot of work. Problem with that is I am not used to 'working hard' for the things I want. Things come easy to me. That's the most conceited, snobby thing I could possibly say, but it's the truth. Things just come easy to me, so working hard for something isn't something I am used to. The thought makes me sick to my stomach and makes me give up before I've even started.

But I've got to try. I can't take this anymore.