Date: July 20

I should be the happiest girl in the world. My life is perfect to the outward observer. I'm getting married soon to the man of my dreams for eternity. What could possibly be wrong?

I feel as though my life is being lived for me. My friend and soon to be sister-in-law has taken over all the wedding preparations, not even caring that simple is my ideal. My parents don't want me to make the same mistake they did. So they are against it in general. My best friend has run away with no clue to his whereabouts. My fiancé is way over protective and controlling sometimes. And none of these people take the time to think about what I want. They don't care if they hurt my feelings. I feel so smothered all of the time. Breathing becomes complicated.

I don't know what I want anymore. My life isn't turning out, as I would have never imagined. I feel myself shutting down. I feel nothing…I am nothing.

Can you just check out? Can you just say I'm done with all this shit…I can't take anymore?

The pain I feel is nothing compared to the emptiness that accompanies it.

I am surrounded by all of these people, yet I am alone. No one knows my pain. They don't even care. I want to scream out, but my voice wont come.

I've been writing my thoughts and feelings in these bullshit pages for weeks now & I don't feel any better.

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

by E. E. Cummings

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond

any experience,your eyes have their silence:

in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,

or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look will easily unclose me

though i have closed myself as fingers,

you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens

(touching skilfully,mysteriously)her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and

my life will shut very beautifully ,suddenly,

as when the heart of this flower imagines

the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals

the power of your intense fragility:whose texture

compels me with the color of its countries,

rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes

and opens;only something in me understands

the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)

nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands