April 25, 2001: Messy closet

I hate waking up! The moods are many…so I sit here and try to be all of them only to realize how extremely lonesome I am. It’s a cold feeling of emptiness, something I try to push away. I lie to myself in order to get by. What I desire most is to become someone again. I have incredible ability but who’s noticing? My voice is invisible—it seems only I can hear the expressions. Looking toward my left arm, three scars bask in the morning sunshine reminding me of the knife that put them there. I’m invisible until someone needs me—what kind of life is this? Look at my arms and tell me!