I'm so sick of this. I'm so sick of peoples' inability to understand me. It's so rare that I hear from someone words like, "I'm sorry" "I'm sorry for making you feel this way." I get this strong impression from everyone i meet that I am merely someone they can talk to but never really strongly appreciate. Every time I'm mad I find myself apologizing and trying to make amends, because I'm being "cranky" and "unreasonable". I don't understand why I can't be given the opportunity for people to understand me. I don't see why it's so hard for someone to apologize to me for hurting my feelings and so on. Why do I constantly feel used by people who are supposed to be my friends? Even my own mother always seems uninterested in what I say, and would never even begin to understand what I felt about certain things.

Why does everything feel like its draining away? My story, cold-blue, I feel everything about it is unraveling, falling apart. These words I sought so hard to construct now feel flimsy and easily broken.

Perhaps it's because I'm lazy, I want a short-cut to success. I don't know why I'm like this. I just want to be somewhere else, I just want to exist at a whole different level. Why are things so hard? Why am I so stagnant?

What is there to appreciate about myself? Once someone told me the most attractive thing about me was my personality. Why does that feel like such bs to me? What personality do I have to keep up in order for you to like me? And the moment I'm not what you expect me to be, suddenly I've gone astray. Why can't I find room for selfishness? Why can't I find room to cry in a world that doesn't seem to care what happens to me either way? Am I really so capable...am I really so independent?

Loneliness, bitter and strong. My whole life I feared being alone, I would even make up imaginary friends. I always felt so distant from everyone, as if the only things that would listen and bare my presence were the trees. But even they can be cruelly silent.

And then these strong feelings come rushing into me, things that could have never been. I sometimes wonder to myself that if Fotula were alive, maybe I could have had someone to confide in. Someone to show me what it meant to be a girl, to hold that certain grace and confidence I see so many females have that I don't. But then in my heart I feel like she would have probably been just like them...just like everyone else in my family. They would chatter and chatter, unaware of the little voices around them, only caring about what they have to say to the world. Even now, they seem to have taken her away from me, not even allowing me to say, "she was my sister, these are my memories of her." Because they hold all those strong memories, all those feelings of missing her and knowing her, and wanting all those things she used to give them. I don't have any of those things. All I have is what that tell me...and again, she is just a person, someone I will never know. Just this ghost whose pictures hang on the wall. None of her was for me. I merely live in her shadow.

In the end I feel empty. Unsure of what to do. In the past I was always so confident with the things I say, always so sure. Now I find myself unable to make decisions; unable to see clearly.

Phone call.