.

I should be writing. Getting things out of my mind and onto a computer screen, hoping it'll smoothen things out a bit. Lately my evenings have consisted of : Homework. Elephant by Damien Rice. Spider Solitaire games. Crying. Ranting. Crying. Repeat.
I don't know how people will react. I'm still having doubts whether or not it's worth making such a big deal about. But this has effected me, no one can deny that. My panic attacks are back and random and frequent as ever. I can't eat. I'm sort of losing appetite. I feel no desire to eat, not even comfort foods...that's scaring the crap out of me. I'm overly-sensitive, overly-aggressive. Violent at times. Can't concentrate in class and in constant stress..
I just wish it would all just go away. But it can't. And everything worsens when you learn that, after a whole weekend of not looking you straight in the eye, your father yells at you that it's your own fucking fault, like you put this on yourself. Hooray for support.
Gah. there I go complaining again. Would it be therapeutic to write an imaginary letter to the fucker who did this to me? Let's hope so...

Dear J.R.
You probably think you didn't do anything wrong. Just fooling around. Acting on impulse, accomplishing a desire. I don't know. I don't know if you ever thought things through beforehand..I just know that you lead me to think that if anyone found out, Felix would hate me and break up with me, and your girlfriend would break up with you as well and break your heart. But tell me, how can you love someone and fuck around behind her back? I think you're sick. You manipulated me; I believed you because you were some sort of best friend for me, and I was scared for myself and felt pity towards you. So I kept it all to myself. And kept it going. I was absent. You came to me every time I felt down, every time I was weak and didn't know right from wrong. And you abused me; told me I wanted this too; took advantage of my confusion and distress to soothe your perverted needs. I was just absent. I put this at the back of my mind. It happened at least every week; you wouldn't waste a minute alone with me..For three months, you made me feel vile and disgusting, for three months you convinced me I was cheating on my boyfriend, for three months I was put in the place of the accomplice, and not the victim...I never said no; but I never said yes. You made me not think, you dominated me, I was your toy and too scared to fight back. (what happened to the strong-willed, bold, straight-forward, quick-thinking Justine?) Now, a month or so after this is all over, I finally realize what you made me go through. Why I'm so fucked up in my mind, and my body. I hate your smell, I hate your hands. Just looking at you when we're in class sends shivers running down my spine. When our eyes meet I want to scream and hit something hard. And I have to put up with this every day at school...And you still think you're innocent.
It hurts having to admit it to the people I love. That I've been living a masquerade all this time. Do you know what it feels like to see the sadness in their eyes, to hear their useless "I'm so sorry"s and to answer their heart-wrenching questions?
I just wish you knew the hell you put me through, and are still putting me through.
Don't answer. I don't think an apology would do much to me. Just count yourself lucky that my boyfriend and my friends didn't beat you to death.

do you even realize how much you hurt me? how it fucks with my mind that its not reciprocal; really i feel like this is a one way thing. i love you so much. so much. that's why i won't let you go. i just can't. i need you..and you give me the distinct impression that you don't give a damn anymore

& when they robbed her of her infinite smile,

she said "maybe I'll just play dead for a while."

Dear Father,

This is possibly the thousandth draft of an imaginary goodbye letter I'm writing you.
Maybe I'm being over dramatic and maybe it's the fumes from my freshly painted walls, but
Please understand why I'm cutting ties when I leave. It's not (only) that you were never present enough in my childhood -notice how you never encouraged me to take up any activities, to discover a passion, to get out of the house and discover things with you- , but also because, instead of opening up to me, being an understanding dad in front of whom I would never cower to ask for help to, you shut me up behind a wall of taboos and closed dialogue. Because you were never there to help me cope with my anxiety problems ; because you never said 'i love you' or showed any form of affection after i turned eleven ; because you never took my beliefs seriously or took the time to listen to what I have to say and show your support ; because we share nothing more than a last name in common ; all of this leads up to what I was crafted into today.
So it's no use screaming at me every time I close all the doors downstairs because of my OCD (which I've been trying to cope with for the last three years and which you think is a joke), or acting all exasperated and disappointed 'once again' because your darling daughter can't stand spending over thirty minutes in the same room as you and has to go back to her room for fear that she'll go mad and slap you because she can't stand your hurtful little jokes that show you take nothing she says into consideration.
I'm through. Maybe you gave us financial support. But the moral wasn't there, and it's reflected in my everyday life. In the way I work in school, in the way I treat my friends and boyfriend, in the way I do stupid things and waste my life away, in the way I talk, in the way I look, in the way I go out of my way just to make sure I won't turn into you.
I'm sorry. It's hard to realize that you've made me who I am in a negative way.
I don't remember the last time we touched.

my room right now smells of :
sex dirt salty tears and the citrus perfume i've splurged my sheets with to cover it all.
i'm kind of loving it.
*

ally's suicide note=

another freaking heart attack. i wanna go back to obsessing over music & books with you. how long has it been? three years? i remember being a boardie, the p33n jokes, ciwwaf, sid & ricky, cyanide&happiness,etc etc. we were both fucked up kids, but we were fucked up together, and that's what counted the most..ally, you mean so much to me. SO much to me. please, let's get back to obsessing. It's what kept us holding on, just a little bit longer, remember? i love you, i always will. thank god i had felix there with me, catching my tears in his chest. fucking idiot is not good at consoling. but hes the best thing i have. i love him so so much ally, i feel so fucking vulnerable. please stay. they're just barbiturated decisions.
dont go.

i feel like i just fell back into the same shithole i had such a hard time getting out of, two years ago. and i went to french class and i started crying. and i read pete's blog again and i started crying.
'its funny how people get nostalgic for the worst times in your life. people sometimes seem to miss the person i was when i was just in a self hating haze or fantasize that i miss or should miss someone who made me feel as worthwhile as a pile of dirt and spent their entire life decieving me.'
cause its so fucking true its not even funny. god knows how many times i pictured you wandering out in the streets of Chicago at night or getting back for the umpteenth time with jeanae.
and i just worry cause i feel that he deserves better, and anyway he doesnt seem as crazy about me as i am about him..maybe i was just trying to convince myself this was perfect all along. no matter how hard i dont want this to end, maybe its just meant to.