Rejects of America. That’s what preps call those who have ‘the audacity’ to wear punky and almost out of style clothing. It’s conspiracy against the world’s youth.

I had an artist vision last night. There is a close up, black and white picture of a teenage girl with her hair down and spread out over the pillow. Her head is turned to the side, with her hand by her face, her nose even with the joint of her wrist. Everything around her is white. Her sheets, her pillow, her top, her blanket, everything is white. Her nails are black, and the only color in the photograph; are cuts on her wrists, which are red.

It’s hard to believe that as a young child, I hated other’s birthdays. They got all the presents, the party, the friends…and I could always be found in the corner, crying and no one would notice. Over the last year I’ve started liking them. I don’t know why…I guess it just developed. I even dislike my own birthday now, because I know no one will even call me anymore.

I hate being called a young lady.

Why are fake stories so much funnier than real, true-to-life stories? You’ll always get a shit load of laughs when a story isn’t true. Have you noticed? If two people told the same story and it happened to one person, the impersonator would get more laughs. I’m not making sense. That’s okay. Bottom line: Liars are supposedly funnier.

I’m so lonely right now. If Ariana wasn’t so hooked on Princess Meri, I’d call her up right now and she’d most likely come over and we’d set-up the camper and sleep out there, no matter how cold it is. I miss Ariana so wretchedly much. I miss Kendall. I miss Joz. I miss Caitlin, Katie, Liz, Bridgett, Sarah, Rachel, Kate, Rissa…. I miss them all. I miss…Merideth. I need them. I hate admitting it.

When everything around you,
Is a sheet of lies and secrets,
She’ll try to be the one who gives you strength,
The one who give you hope.
Keeping your sanity when you think that it’s gone,
And the one who’ll do it,
Is right in front of you,
Reciting her life.