Side effects of sadness

Sunday may 15: I'm going to start writing in a journal I've decided. This will be it. I have so many thoughts and feelings that I feel like I should write them down. My name is Kate, and this is my story.
Monday may 16:
Sometimes I feel so much, that I don't feel anything at all
I'm sick of being yelled at, and always being told what is wrong rather than what is right. I'm tired of living the same life every day, when there is so much more. I could be so much more. I need something exciting. Someone exciting. Someone else to care. Im not sad, I'm empty, not crazy, not completely broken,maybe just a little bent out of shape.

Tuesday may 17: sometimes I can't handle life anymore. I'm not suicidal or anything but I just need to put life on hold for a while. Just take a break. Dancing makes me happy, and I'm learning to use the storm in my head go my advantage in my dancing, but when I'm not, I just have a hurricane brewing in my mind that won't go away. My life is a chaotic thunderstorm, and every time one of my demons is silenced, two more come screaming out. One step forward two steps back. The problem is, every once in a while, I get a little taste of hope, and i keep going until I realize it won't do any good, but then hope tricks me one more time. This is the ongoing cycle of my life.

Wednesday may 18:
sometimes I'm too strong for my own good. No more tears is tell my self. If I'm upset others get upset. I keep to myself because if other people know about the pain I'm in, it just passes the pain to them. They don't need to know. They've never asked, so I've never told this to Anyone. I'm not even sure I've told myself until now. My pain is mine and mine alone. I see people in the world that can turn their pain into something beautiful. Something that changes people. But I can't do that. Maybe it will only change me. Every day my writings get longer, but the truth is, I hate writing. It just bottles up my feelings even more. I would just say it out loud if I could but I don't. I won't, I just have so much I don't know I want to say, and I seem to figure it out when I wright it down. People can hear me speak, but they see me write. What means more? Someday I will put this pain to good use. The problem is, I don't want people to know it was my pain to start with. As I write here, I wonder if all kids my age feel this way. Today my friend tried to commit suicide. I thought she was happy. People think I'm happy too though. The issue is, as I said before, it's not that I can't be happy, or laugh, it's that when I do, underneath it I'm still missing something. I might be depressed. I don't feel depressed I don't think. I have so many reasons to be happy, but I also have so many reasons not to be. People think I'm just a shallow girl with ballet shoes and lipstick, but maybe, one day, when the pain is over they will read this. What does it mean to have the pain be over? I don't know yet, it could be as small as graduating from school, or as big as moving away to see the world. I need adventure. I'm sick of stability and safety. I think one reason I may still be in pain is because I'm not doing anything to change it. Maybe someday I will.

Thursday may 19:
Yesterday I told you that my friend tried to commit suicide, and today I found out she had been cutting herself too. Today, I got so stressed out, that I looked down at my hands and realized I was pinching myself. I didn't even know I was doing it, I swear. I think I finally realized why people self harm. It took me so long, but I figured out that for their own sanity, they feel they should match the pain they feel on the inside to pain on the outside. I think suicide isn't about death, but it's about ending the pain. I read a quote that said, suicide doesn't end the pain, it just passes it on to someone else. I think that's true. It's kind of funny how a couple months ago I was normal and happy, completely oblivious to the world around me, and I think some of my pain comes from my eyes opening to how cruel people really are, myself included. Now I feel damaged. Like a piece of me is missing and my heart is too young to understand the world when my brain already does. I think brains move faster than hearts, because they always seem to see when your heart is about to be broken, before your heart even realizes it was never fixed in the first place. I've been drawing a story while I write this journal, and I think it helps me because in this journal I write my feelings, and in the book I show them. The difference is, the book isn't about me. It's about all the stories I've heard of people. My friends, my family, people I know, and I turn my thoughts into art. I'm not a van gough or anything, but my stories are meaningful to me. I just hope no one ever sees them until I'm older and ready to show them to people. Maybe this is how I will turn my pain into something that changes people. Sometimes I wish people knew how damaged I really am, but then I remember, that if they know I'm damaged, they will think I'm broken. I'm not broken. Broken people have nothing left in the world, and I still have so many things to write in this journal before I die. Now I'm in tears, just writing in this diary makes me realize how many feelings I have that I refuse to acknowledge during the day. Someday I'll learn I hope.

Author's Note

Please don't pay attention to grammar, I didn't have time to edit.