Dear Diary, I'm broken into pieces

Dear Diary,

I am broken in a million little pieces. It sounds stupid, I know, but in a way it is completely and utterly true. I found you, a stupid tattered little book, in the dumpster and ripped out all of the pages that were already written on. I only showed you to my friend Amber, who said maybe it would help me to write in you.

So I guess that's what I'll do. But what am I supposed to write about? Stuff that is wrong with my life? Because I don't know if you have enough pages to write all this stuff in, but I guess I might as well try because I have nothing better to do in my life. So, what should I start on?

I guess I'll start on guys. See, the first time I liked a guy was in seventh grade. He was such a nice boy, and all of my friends thought he was a sweetheart. But then "the thing" happened. On the way out of school, I saw him kissing my enemy, the girl who had made most of my elementary school years complete hell. I cried in my room later that night, but pretended to be fine the next day. It took a while to get over him before I fell in total love with a new boy. I know, I know, I shouldn't call it love. But if I can't call it love, what can I call it? Obsession. Well, he was amazing, and very cute, and sometimes he even talked to me. But when he found out I liked him, well, he turned into a not so pleasant person. It was horrible! I went to camp thinking maybe I'd get over him, but the two guys at camp I liked suffered the same grim end. After they found out I liked them, they turned on me, cursing me and telling me I was ugly and gross. But then, then I was sure I found the perfect boy when I came back to highschool. I had written a 22-sentence list of what I like in a guy, and he covered 18 of them. Besides that, if I ever needed to cry or whatever, he'd be there for me. One day, my friend, as a joke, told him I wanted to kiss him and make out with him, and he still isn't talking to me.

Wow, that was long! See what I mean, dearest Diary, you aren't going to have enough room for me to write all my troubles down. But I guess I can fit in a few more things, like my friends. Some of my friends have been horrible to me lately. One of them invited me to a party as a joke, and told all of the guys at the party that I wanted to date them. Now everybody calls me "slut" around school. Another friend has been telling people that I am a gross person, I'm ugly, and I don't deserve to live. I just feel so shelled up in my own little life! No point in living, is there?

And finally, my family. They say they love me, but I guess I've never truly felt that. I feel more comfortable at camp than I do at home, if that says anything. But I guess it's been a lifelong thing. My parents hate losers, they hate people who get bad grades and people that don't try hard enough. But sometimes, even if I try hard enough, I can't do it. I just can't. A few nights ago, after a bitter fight, I ran out of the house with the words, "You aren't good enough, you've never been good enough!" trailing behind me. I didn't know where I was going, but I just ran until I reached the lake. I collapsed onto the sand, tears dripping down my face, and held my cellphone in my hand. An hour passed and nobody called. Nobody even left to look for me. But I got afraid and I went back.

See, Diary, I'm nearly finished with you after one entry and I didn't even cover all of the details! I guess maybe I'll find another diary some day and I'll put all of the extra information in there. Until then, hopefully my life will look up. But right now, I'm just broken into a million little pieces, scarred for life.

Love,
Jessica


(Authors Note: the content of this diary is real, as is the girl Jessica. for more information, send me a message)