I don't really know what to say tonight. About anything. But I'm compelled to write- write something. But you sort of need something to say in order to write. And I've realized that this has sort of become my diary. And I think, I think I'm ok with it. I think I'm ok with the fact that 16 different strangers are reading my innermost thoughts. That's sort of strange though, don't you think? That I won't tell a single living breathing named soul these thoughts, but I will pour them out online and allow faceless strangers to comment? I don't know the type of people I am allowing to see these thoughts- to hear them, so to speak. And maybe you can really hear them? The voice each and every one of you has made me out to be, ringing and echoing against your skull, maybe they have been heard.

I, I have been heard.

If only every single soul in this lonely world had that luxury.

I am, forever, grateful.

You know, I could really go on and on about how depressing and worthless my life is. How everybody and everything that matters to me, has decided I don't matter to them. But in this one fleeting moment, I won't. I won't complain that my best friend is really just a half-assed acquaintance and that I desperately want a boyfriend, but am too fat to have one. And that my mother hates me and that I hate my mother.Oh, and that I feel like my life is crashing in on me and nobody accepts me and that I look disgusting and that I need help and... This could go on and on. I could make it all perfectly poetic, and maybe, in some sickly way, beautiful. I could deceive you all and make myself look and seem almost god-like.
But I'm not. And my life isn't anywhere near poetic. And so I'm not even going to start- tonight, I've finished before I've started. This little self-pity fest, just for tonight, is done with. Over. Out the door.
And maybe, this one little decision on this one little gloomy night means that everything that went wrong, is finally about to go right.
Hope has shown its pale, adolescent face.