Dear diary,
As you might have noticed, I've been missing in action for quite a while. I hope you noticed. You're the only book I get to talk toe without people staring and whispering.
I've been so tired lately. Like I'm barely alive, breathing, walking, but not really living. Yet, I'm alive enough to think, to worry, to stress.
I've been paging around on wattpad a while, and you know what hit me? How many people there are on here who are most likely desperately hurting. I know how they feel, at least, I know how pain feels.
How many suicide poems have there been on here? How many people might have pleaded for help on here and, not finding what they needed, took their lives.
I feel so weak when I think about this. So terribly mortal. I feel the mortality that I try to ignore with the use of writing, reading and day dreams. Why? Because we really can only do so much. We are so very human.
Speaking of human, I'm living on Berocca and various forms of caffeine. I just don't know how long I can take it. Yet, I can't speak up, everyone is tired, why should it matter that I am.
I just want to get past this, to the part where I matter.... and maybe to a part where people love me for who I am.
Why can't we make the difference we want to make, and why is it so hard to be truly happy? Can you be truly, unconditionally happy without stress wrecking you?
Your faithful Havoc child
YOU ARE READING
Havoc diaries
RandomThis is the diary of a Havoc Child. A child caught up in fights and pain. A child with too much to say, too much to feel, and nowhere to turn.
