According To Those Who Live For Me

the real title is My Life... According to Those Who Live It For Me. just some old angst-y story i wrote when i was pissed off... this was going to be a book, but I'm actually not planning on finishing it. this is just for all you peeps who have nothing better to read. and no, I am NOT a cutter.




Hey! What are you doing? Why are you reading this? You know it’s just the diary of some stupid 14-year-old girl, right? Well, you know now. Still want to read on? Ok, but it was your choice. So, you know that this is a diary, you know that it’s my diary. But you still don’t know me. How could you? Nobody knows me.
I’ll give you the basics, but the rest you’ll have to figure out on your own.

My name is Tawna. Original name, that’s what everybody says. A bit too original for me though. Tell me, how many ‘Tawna’s where there in your junior-high classes? How about high school? Not too many, huh? Personally, I’d be fine with being and ‘Emily’ or a ‘Jane’ or even an ‘Anna’. But no. My parents had to deem me Tawna, had to make me stick out. They had to give me a name that commands attention, one that most certainly doesn’t fit me, the unnoticed little nobody, the wallflower. You see, I’m the girl who sits in the corner, unseen but all-seeing, unwatched but always watching. I know everything that happens, I just don’t participate. As if anyone even gives me a chance to.
Anyway, now for the appearance. I have these weird eyes that are a mix of slate blue and dark gray, with little flecks of silver. “…The colors of a sparkling sea covered with foam,” in my mom’s words. They look more to me like the colors of a hurricane. They’re definitely my best feature, if I had to pick one. My hair is chin length and blond, and pretty much straight. I have a decent figure, nothing cheerleader-esque though. Do I care? No. Only stuck up preps and posers really care about their looks. I guess though that this is a stupid time to tell you that I want to dye my hair that weird burgundy color. Alas, it is but one more decision that is completely not mine. Oh well, whatever. I won’t be a kid forever. The second I turn 21, I’m outta here. I’m gonna move out, rent an apartment, and go about doing whatever I wish: dye my hair, get some more peircings, maybe a tattoo, and do a bunch of other things that require an I.D.

Assuming I live to 21 of course.

So now you know what I look like, why I hate my name, and that last sentence up there should’ve given you a pretty good idea of my outlook on life (if you catch the meaning). Pretty bleak, huh? Well, I can’t help it. That’s just who I am. Who I am now at any rate. Believe it or not, I wasn’t always like this. I wasn’t always a punk/Goth hybrid with bad grades and an attitude to match. I wasn’t always a failure.

I wasn’t always a cutter.

But that doesn’t matter anymore. At the risk of sounding cliché, that was then, this is now. This is who I am, or who I’ve become. And that’s not likely to change.

Still want to keep reading? Fine. Suit yourself. Actually, you’re lucky. The events of the next few weeks, the things you’re about to read, well… I’ll have experience them first hand. Unlike you, I won’t be able to close this book and forget about Tawna’s whole miserable existence. I won’t be able to turn a couple of pages ahead to make sure things turn out OK. No, I have to wait. I have to deal with it.
This is your last chance. I can almost guarantee this is going to get very sad, very angst-ish, very fast. You can put this book down right now and not be haunted by the strange happenings of my life.

So, which is it?







Well, that's it.