It seems like a dream you just want to forget. But you can't. It's carved into your memory. But I deny it. It was a dream. A bad dream, but a dream. But if it was only a dream, then why do I get nauseas every time I look at Andy? Was the party just a dream? Because it felt real enough to me. Yes, it was real. Because I remember clearly that I walked the long way home. My feet hurt and I had smaller blisters on them. My clothes torn a few places, and didn't seem to fit my body right. My lipstick all over my chin and cheek. Mascara everywhere from crying. But first of all, the thrusting pain in my vagina. The blood pulsing in it, and the blood pulsing out of it.
I don't think that even Rachel would understand. I feel like I have to warn her. But just why should I? She hasn't treated me nicely. She has excluded me from the whole society, in which I was once a part of. But they have shunned me from this club. And I do believe that I resemble the hair-woman. Except the fact that she speaks to other people, and I don't. I would break thoroughly if I did. That's why I don't speak to people. And the reason that they don't speak to me, or accept me into their little cliques is because I ruined everything at the party by calling the police. But I don't believe that anybody would believe me if I told the truth about what happened that night.
I don't know why I called the police. I guess, I just needed some protection, something which would comfort me. They showed up. But they didn't help me in any way. And then I didn't want their help.
I just wanted to be alone.
I won't speak at all. And that worries some people. But I don't really care.
My parents don't know, but I've heard their fights. They want me to go to a psychiatrist. But I don't want to. Nothings wrong with me. I just changed a little, and that's it. There's no reason or need to actually jump the gun, now is there? I'm okay… I'm okay…