What is this?

Writing

It is getting harder to write in this every day.

I forgot to write on my mirror when I got out of the shower. It was 10 at night and I was needing to get in and out fast. 

It sucks. I would never wish this on even my worst enemies. You know that thing parents tell you? About how it you make a face for too long, it will get stuck. Thoughts are like that. Too much negative or positive, it sticks. I started out just negative, then I hit suicidal. Now, any time I unload a dishwasher and see the knives, I want to take them and cut my entire forearm. A pair of scissors? I imagine using them, pulling them like a bow on a violin over my shoulder. 

They never go away. Pills remind me of death. Good is a huge mistake. If I eat, I feel like a fat pig, wasting money and food on binge eats. Today it was the French toast my dad made. I had already eaten a bowl of cereal, but it wasn't as if I couldn't eat it. My dad would become suspicious if I changed my habits. After that, I had an apple. Too many chips at dinner, though. 

Gods, i feel like I'm acting my age and gender for once, stereotypically insecure about my weight and size. It's so stupid, and yet I can't make it go away. 

How do you feel about death? I'm asking because my uncle came over today. His wife, my aunt by marriage, was murdered. She and her sister and nephew. He was really broken up about it. I just found it weird to wear a birthday dress to a funeral. It was the only black dress I owned. 

I don't feel death the same way as others. Sure it is sad, but I don't grieve. I wasn't super close to her, or my great grandmother. I just was bored often. Funeral homes smell really bad. They have the scent of death, but then they try to hide underneath a smothering haze of incense. I had to go outside frequently because it made me feel like I was suffocating. This was last june. A year ago. 

I still wish I was dead. Why can't I just die? Oh. Right. Because I have to wait, and I haven't written my note. It rather, notes. It will be in code. I taught it to Keith years earlier. It has become twisted and changed, though. I might write it on the back of one of the pages. Nobody will translate it before my death. It would take too long.

I said notes because I will write more than one. 

I will need one to give to parents, one to each of my friends, one to my grandparents, and one that will be my will. 

Please do not report this. If I am caught, they will try to find a psych ward near me. It would be pointless and annoying if I was stuck in there. I am not very social. I can't deal with having no privacy, and they would take my tabet and eat buds. No books, no music. I need these things. When put in new spots, it takes me weeks to find good friends. Add that to my complete paranoia and knowing everyone else there has problems like me would be unbearable.

So, if you will, respect my true form and know that I don't care about getting fixed. Dying would actually be best for me. My ears, eyes, nose, sense of touch, and mind don t work correctly, so what is the point? Almost got caught. Night.