Talked to Scott today for a bit. Had a nice conversation. He's going to Toronto for Reading Week and I mentioned I had been planning on moving there. He asked why I didn't and I just said it was personal, that not even my best friend knows the entire truth. And that's where my head has been stuck all day. Thinking that, you know what, even though I talk a lot I don't really say a whole lot with meaning. A lot is made up, a lot is just omitted from my stories. Nobody really knows a whole lot about me. Yeah, they know something has happened, both over a year ago and earlier on in my childhood but they don't know what. Or maybe they do, maybe they know every instance that has driven me to this madness. Every time I stepped off the curb too early, every time the teacher had to phone home to remind my parents to pick me up, every time she crossed that line and every time I thought it was for the best, it was what she wanted and what I felt didn't matter. Every time a friend has stopped talking to me for a reason I knew but have tried to erase from memory. I've grown up in a privileged and fucked up house. I can remember clearly the day I came home to find my mother crying because my father had just left. The day I quit ballet, the one thing I loved, and my parents didn't do a damned thing to stop me. They gave me every opportunity and never forced me to stick to one thing. I wonder endlessly what would have happened if I had stayed in ballet, if I had stayed in modeling, if I hadn't quit guitar lessons, if I had stuck with volleyball, if I had shown up for rugby practices, if I had said yes to soccer instead of no thanks. I want to let go of everything from my past and just start new. I want to drive somewhere and never come back. I want to forget her lips on my thighs and the way I wanted to say no but could only say yes to her and even when I did say no she still touched, she still couldn't let go. So much has built up in my head and I know it's all stupid, I know there's nothing I can do now but go forward, that my past isn't that bad, I had it way better than a lot of kids. Nobody ever hit me, nobody screamed at me, or abandoned me at the first opportunity. I'm just a stupid little daddy's girl who has had almost everything shoved at her and I should be fucking grateful but I'm not and I can't understand why. I want to destroy myself because it's what I deserve. Nothing else in this world is meant for me except for my own destruction.