Sorrow

Prologue

Journal Of Sorrow Lockwood

November 11th 2015

Sorrow, a feeling of deep distress caused by loss, disappointment, or other misfortune suffered by oneself or others. Synonyms for sorrow include grief, sadness, woe, pain, regret, distress, dolour.

These were the words the dictionary told me when I was 5 and wanted to know what my name meant.

I was too young to fully understand the insult behind my name, I was too young to think to ask my mother why she called me that. However I was old enough to understand that if my name linked to pain and sadness, that my name wasn't a very nice one.

Afterwards I used to imagine having another name, something normal like the other girls in my class. Something like Julie, or Stacy, or Natalia. I liked Lea, there was a girl in my class with that name, she was really pretty. Perhaps if I had a normal name I'd be pretty like Lea.

But what is there in a name? apparently everything. It can define your life, the name you bare. Perhaps if I had a normal name, things would have been good. At least, I 'd like to think so.

However things have ended this way and there is nothing I can do about it now. There was only one last choice for me and I made that choice. The people I've left behind won't notice my absence because I never had a presence to begin with.

Maybe someone will put my obituary in the local paper, it would be nice to finally be noticed and preserved somewhere. Immortalised by ink. And perhaps someone will notice it as they flick through the pages. If even one person reads that little ink square belonging to my life. Then I will leave happy.

For the person that finds this journal, and bothers to read it from start to finish. You will understand why I had to do this. My reasons will become transparent and the mysterious shadow that was my presence in a room will become clear. I tried my best to be invisible in this life, things were easier that way because then no one asked questions. But I think I almost wanted them to ask questions. I needed their attention I tried to get it by doing little unsuspecting things, but no one gave it to me.

For the people who did look at me for more than a second. You gave me hope. And I'm sorry for giving up rather than ask for help. I suppose my pride got the best of me.

And to my journal. Hello old friend. You have been my pillar these past thirteen years. Thank you. But everything comes to an end, no matter how long you hold on.

Death bring me peace please, love Sorrow.

1994-2015