index | archives | notes Friday, Jun. 18, 2004 8:53 a.m. << [ You're Not Really Alone Unless You Fit Specific Criteria ] >> Today I will meet him on the Bridge of Death. Why is it the Bridge of Death, you ask? I'm really not sure. We named it last night. I have been looking at the diaries of the pretty girls, the thin girls with the gashes on their arms, the "empty" girls with the diaries full of poetry and broken dreams. I am not the right kind of empty. I do not belong here. I am not the thin girl, the girl with gashes and fishnets, I am not "empty", and my diary is not full of poetry. I'm not the one with the beautiful writing in which words pulled out of a thesaurus are used over and over, I'm not the one writing things so cryptic that not even I know what they mean. I'm not so wrapped up in my "depression" that I fail to notice that I have people who care about me, or that I fail to understand the importance of doing the right thing. I guess that means I am ugly. Oh well. << | x | >> whatiscopyright.org