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The Girl
My name is Morgan and I'm going to be 18 this year. I live in Portage, PA, a dismal drug town. I'm a vegetarian, animal lover, and an athlete. I play volleyball and run distance in track. Plan on attending community college for my general studies and attending Mount Aloysius to study Criminal Justice/Forensic Accounting and hopefully go into the FBI or CIA.
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Disclaimer
My diary, my space, my rights. Don't like what you see? Feel free to hit that little X up there. Thanks.
Come little children, I'll take thee away...Into a land of enchantment...Come little children, the times come to play...Here in my garden of magic
...written on 2004-03-10, @ 5:20 p.m.
My life has been filled with nothing. No excitement, no drama, tears, sweat, laughter...blood...nothing. I sat down at the computer, wanting to give everyone a meaningful entry...how meaningful can I get? I'm tired. Tired of work, cleaning, and trying to feel and look like something in my mother's eyes, in my friends, and in anyone...tired of the charades that I have to pull to get notice. I've tried to listen to myself...and now I realize that...attention is not what I want. It's solitude...I'm relinquishing the act. Time to step back into the shadows of the last ten years...
I sat last night in my room with the lights off. I looked into my dark mirror, and I touched the cool surface...and for some reason, anger ripped through me and I started to scratch and punch that fucking mirror. I tried to get to the person on the other side. I've tried to face reality but for some reason I've been so numb to it...I thought reality would be on the other side...but no...that girl staring back has just been the thing holding me in this state...she's been my shot of morphine.
Where do I go? Where have I gone? I've gone to the blade so many times in my life...scars (and once bald spots on my head from pulling my hair out) littering my arms, legs and chest are my battle wounds of this war called life. I've almost lost it so many times. The oldest of my scars dates back to the tender age of four...but I'm not proud of them. No...not at all...
"Anyone who does that is looking for attention."
It is apparent to me that the attention I sought for was after I stopped hurting myself...but I'm not going back to the pain...no matter how much the pain gives me life and no matter how beatiful it is in my mind...no matter how much it calls for me...I'm not going back. And if I do...someone save me.