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    dots Submission Name: Excerpt From Her Diarydots

    Author: throughmyvoice
    ASL Info:    19/f/US of A
    Elite Ratio:    3.63 - 69/113/51
    Words: 2984
    Class/Type: Story/Depressed
    Total Views: 961
    Average Vote:    No vote yet.
    Bytes: 16224

       piece of a puzzle, part of a story.

    take it as you will.

    i don't ask for pity...

    Make the font bigger!! Double Spacing Back to recent posts.

    dotsExcerpt From Her Diarydots

    She is whimpering and shaking. Led Zeppelin pounds from his room down the hall, and he slams the door shut, finally. She has already cried twice that day, and this is now the third time. The first cause for tears was when she found out her best friend had been spreading shit about her, so she decided to call her up. What started out awkward and fragile, ended up horribly. She called her best friend up to see how she was doing and ask, well, why.

    “Hey, Hannah, how are you? It’s ______.”
    “Oh, hey.”
    “It’s been a while.”
    “Um yeah, I’m good, just eating.” (laugh)
    “Yeah…um, I know this sounds really weird but I’m just going to say this…we haven’t been talking for like the past two weeks and I was wondering what’s up? Are we okay?”
    ”Well, not only that, but I heard you’ve been saying shit about me so-“

    She called back multiple times. Finally she reaches her on messaging, and asks what’s going on. Unexpectedly her once “best friend” pours out how she is a wanna-be slut, a wanna-be druggie, how she thinks she is so cool and that everyone loves her but really no one does. Shocked, she reads the long paragraph and stares blankly at the screen for five minutes and lets out a dry sob. She will cry later, but she hates it so being hurt. She will not cry now; now, is the time to be a bitch.

    It is ten minutes later that she signs off and curls up on her bed to weep silently. She tore into her “best friend”, saying the meanest and most vengeful comments she could let loose from her fingertips. At the end her “best friend” turns it around on her, saying she is a cruel and heartless bitch.

    ”I’m cruel Hannah? I’m the bitch here?”
    “Of course I fucking wanted you to tell me why you were being so damn backstabbing. I didn’t realize what a fake plastic bitch you were”

    After more exchanges of insults and stabs at self-esteem that will scar for life, they draw near to a close, with Hannah saying she can be mature and that they both know they are done with each other and that they have had good times.

    ”Well, _______, it’s been fun, at least I thought it was. We had good times, at least I thought we did, but I’m done with you and you’re done with me so we can be mature about this”
    “Stop playing the victim, Hannah”
    “I’m not”
    “You are. We did, and we are. I just wanted you to be mature in the first place but you didn’t seem capable of that”

    They end on what to outsiders would seem a decent note, considering the way the middle of the performance played. But the note is to her ears jarring and painful, a terribly deceiving chord that is struck. Her woman’s intuition and her understanding of the ways of girls screams at her that it’s not over; the last two weeks of school will be a hell consisting of rumors, backstabbing, plastic smiles, and loss of more fake friendships.

    But at least though her self-esteem and trust and heart took a beating, she didn’t whimper.

    She whimpers now because her brother just gave her a physical beating.

    It began at 4:47 when she was on his computer.

    She is sitting at his desk checking her poetry page as he walks in, and stares at her.

    “Why the hell are you always on my computer? Get out.”
    “I can’t use my laptop, you know it’s broken. Give me like 15 minutes, I need to type some homework up too, anyways.”
    “No, I want to use the computer and my room, you’re in here all the time, Fatty, go to your own room.”
    ”Fine 15 fucking minutes and that’s it.”
    ”Whatever. Stop being such an asshole.”

    They both turn to their own devices, disgusted with each other. She exits out of her page and begins typing up an English essay draft. He messes around with some clothes and then pulls out some homework. He sits on his bed and turns on the boom box in the corner with Led Zeppelin, of course, blasting away.

    “Mark, turn that down. I can’t concentrate.”
    ”It’s my room, you don’t like it, then leave.”
    ”You know I need to use the computer and this is the only computer available, stupid. Turn it down. And that’s my boom box anyways, you shouldn’t be stealing my shit without my permission. That’s like the 4th time you’ve done that. If you don’t turn it down, I’m taking it back.”
    She turns it down. He gets pissed.

    “You know what take the fucking boom box and get the hell out.”
    “Fine, asshole.”

    She grabs her stuff and turns to leave. She steps out into the living room where she begins writing it out nicely and praying her teacher will accept it for at least some credit. She is just beginning her work as Led Zeppelin once again wails from down the hall.


    She storms over and slams the door shut. He opens it up again as she walks away. Pissed, she runs back and slams it hard to block out the music. He opens it and they glare at eachother.

    “Don’t you fucking touch my door.”
    “I’ll leave it open if I want, so fuck off.”

    She slams it shut again.

    He bangs it open and angrily stares at her.

    “Stay the fuck away from my door or else!”

    Defiant little girl. She shuts it.


    He grabs her with ferocity. Startled, she drops what she is carrying as she is pushed backwards into the wall. But the shock wears off as instinct for survival kicks in and she begins to fight back. But though they are a year apart, he has not been working out for nothing. His strength far surpasses her own, and his rage scares her more than she will ever admit out loud.


    They fight. He punches her body, her face. She hits back with all the strength she has, but she is frail from throwing up her meals. She is no match, and she realizes this as he bangs her head repeatedly into the side of the door. She will not go down without a fight. He will not go down. They both know this. She pummels as best as she can, kicks, till they get up and wipe their faces.

    Her head is spinning, she is dizzy, and she aches though she will not cry. She never cries for that kind of pain.


    He gets up and suddenly, he is the bigger person.

    “I’m not going to fight you.”

    She is disbelieving. She stares lost at him, then spits on his turned back. She gathers her stuff and storms out of the room, yet again. She is unsettled, she is scared, she is in a panicky state of mind. She runs to the garage where she weeps till her eyes hurt from dispelling her heart’s flood. She writes a poem on her garage floor. She hears the car of her mother pulling in and she wipes her face, sighs, and resigns herself.

    There is interaction with her mother.

    She enters in her diary before she runs away from it all, on a well-worn path of dirt, leaves, and broken dreams that her feet know way too well.

    Dear Diary,

    It’s about 5:15 and Mom just got back from errands. Her timing was just fantastic; she missed her precious son banging the side of my head into the door. It began over me wanting his door shut, because he was playing that goddamned music so loud...my head my head my face! I feel so dizzy and sick, how can he do that to me? HOWOWOWOWOW, diary, how could he hurt me so much? He knows I don’t stand a chance against him, he’s too big, too strong, too DAMN HIM…ow… And so now, diary, I need to run, I need to let go, I need to try to save myself, because no one else will. I am trying to stop all this pain I use to get rid of the other pain. I am trying something else. I’m giving cutting a rest…people are getting suspicious of the excuses used when they catch sight of the cuts…no matter how hard I try to hide them, somehow my cover always almost slips. Perfection diary, not real perfection, a mask of it. That’s the only way to exist acceptably.

    Need. To. Run.

    But she, not paying attention to my bruise on the side of my head and the tears streaked down my face, told me no way in hell was I going out of this house when I should be studying instead of socializing all the time, that I never help, so I am not allowed out.
    Well, I tried calling Dad to see if I was allowed to run, but he didn’t pick up again. So I had another screaming fight with mom in which we exchanged, “I hate you”, “evil bitch”, and “I wish you weren’t in my life”. On both our parts. So I ran out of the house and she threatened to call the cops and have me riding back to the house in a cop car. I know she won’t though no way, not after that social worker and cop came the other day thanks to my dickhead of a French teacher who thinks that calling the cops will solve everything, will warn the parents, will fix the family, just because he had “one experience” similar…well he doesn’t have my experience now, and he isn’t me. And now it’s just worse. That stupid bitch, blaming that whole thing on me. I tried so hard to cover it up I can’t cover everything up, not enough concealer, not enough smiling; slip once, you’re under their eyes, looked down upon forever.

    “Mom I swear to God I didn’t say anything! MOM, I SWEAR! I WOULDN’T DO THAT, MOMMMMM!”
    “______, how could you DO that! How dare you! Go around telling everyone everything, you are so ungrateful! What are you trying to do, you brat, the shame of this!”
    “Mom, please stop being such a bitch and listen to me! I swear to you! It’s okay I’ll take care of it, I’ll just tell them, please Mom, please. I’m sorry okay!!! I am! But I didn’t say it!”
    “Don’t YOU EVER CALL ME THAT AGAIN, you are so EVIL! I am calling your father and you are not going anywhere don’t give me that lip!”
    “WATCH YOUR MOUTH YOU HORRIBLE GIRL! WHY ARE YOU ALWAYS CAUSING ALL THESE PROBLEMS? First the hospital bills, then the cuts, cigarettes, weed, WHAT ELSE DO YOU HAVE TO SHAME THIS FAMILY! YOU ARE THE ONLY child that does this what are you trying to prove! YOU HAVE NO CONTROL! I am YOUR mother; I am IN CHARGE! YOU HAVE NO SAY!”

    She runs out.

    Later, yet another entry in her diary:

    Dear Diary,

    For once I have decided not to talk to you about my issues, since we both know you love hearing me bitch and moan so much…I am sooooo tired…well, I’m…just going to talk through you this time…okay, let’s see how this goes.

    Family Plan

    Daddy. Oh, oh, Daddy,
    What happened to your baby girl?
    The one you used to toss and catch in the air
    And play with her curls
    Well Daddy, you tossed and you let go
    Now where she’ll land she doesn’t know
    And all she cries for is to go home
    But home is where it hurts
    Daddy, daddy, why, oh why
    Must you control her?
    Please don’t make her cry
    Don’t smack her like that
    It hurts more than you know why
    She loves you; but she knows you just refuse to know
    The hell she lives in when you’re not home
    How can you let her live such agony?
    And then you hide behind your papers
    And pretend you don’t see
    Hand her your money, but take away your time
    Give her things
    But never what she needs
    Daddy, you’re letting your baby girl die

    Brother. Oh, my baby brother,
    Daddy’s son and the delight of my mother,
    Growing up, raised together
    And endured so much; you’ve never been better
    Than you are now, and little brother
    I’m really proud
    You’re the pride and joy of the family
    You’re everything Mom and Daddy wanted you to be
    I know I’m disappointing
    Next to your steel, I’m a stain
    The spotlight’s not right for me
    And I’m too preoccupied with pain
    But maybe, little brother, if you can spare
    I’d like some leftover love, if you think you can share
    Or maybe less taunting, and less mockery
    Stop saying I’m fat and stupid
    Stop adding to my misery
    You have no idea, what it is to be a shadow
    You have no idea; you’re too perfect and shallow

    Mom. Oh, Mom.
    Where did we go wrong?
    When did we go from a mother and daughter
    To a bitch and a brat, and this internal slaughter
    Mommy, Mommy, I want your approval so
    I want your comforting me
    I want your hold
    Why couldn’t you ever sing me to sleep?
    Did you realize all the time I would weep?
    Actually, Mommy, when the nightmares came
    When the monsters and demons drooled
    And showed all their fangs
    And when you made the little girl stay in the dark of her room
    And just told her to pray
    She’d shiver and just a little, she’d cry
    Then she’d shut her eyes tight
    And whisper her own lullaby
    And now the only song you sing to her
    Is that of lectures
    With a chorus of, “You’re a failure,”
    And a bridge of , “Why can’t you be better?”
    I love hearing that I’m always wrong
    And that I’m not as good as you want
    I love hearing I’m too dumb
    I’m sorry that I’m out-of-control
    And that I’m rude and wild
    I’m sorry that I’m “a waste of your life”
    But Mommy…I’m still your child
    Can’t you open your ears and heart
    And let your daughter in?
    Put down your fist and look at me
    I already have cuts and bruises on my skin
    “Cause of all your problems”
    ”Crazy, psychotic, evil, mean,” okay
    I’m sorry I’m tearing apart this “family”
    And by the way Mom, I don’t pray

    So Mommy, at night, I listen to you and Daddy fight
    And your nagging and screaming and Dad’s thunder
    And the hits and cries that burn and bite
    And though my brother slept peacefully
    I didn’t end up so lucky
    So don’t wonder why I can’t sleep at night

    And Daddy, you can ignore me and my problems
    But the drugs and the booze won’t
    And neither will this knife
    And if you insist on denying all this
    I will end my own strife
    And baby brother, be as perfect as you please
    You’re not the one down on your knees
    And looking at your lunch in the swirl of water
    Trying to be a beautiful and perfect daughter
    You don’t see the scars on arms and thighs
    You don’t get lost in the liquor and the highs
    And you never wish you could disappear or die

    Because if you did, they would cry

    I’m sorry family, that I’ve turned out so bad
    I guess I wasn’t included in the family plan

    I don’t know how to tell you how much this hurts for me to write. But screaming and violence is what I grew up in, with hatred the soundtrack to my life.
    This is far from poetry
    No, poetry is beautiful, poetry is made of angel’s wings and
    Dark blood and summer’s thoughts
    This is the journal of a sad girl, trying to explain to herself why she isn’t loved.

    Submitted on 2005-06-27 19:00:03     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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    ||| Comments |||
      wow. this poem has alot of emotion. when i read it i almost felt as if it was me i her place. almost brought me to tears. you have true talent here. i have never felt like this by reading someone elses poem. well i loved it in all sense and i think the writing was just perfect.
    | Posted on 2005-07-05 00:00:00 | by star_on_fire22 | [ Reply to This ]
      All i can say is ive literally been their, to tell you the truth, i was their, this is life, this is real, this is amazing, truly heartspoken, and realistic...
    | Posted on 2005-07-01 00:00:00 | by PiercedHeart | [ Reply to This ]
      [censored]. i mean, what else is there to say? i'm less of a person because of what i just read. i don't understand how [censored]ed up familys could be. no pity here just,...[censored].prayer~nahlij
    | Posted on 2005-06-29 00:00:00 | by Aknahlij_d 1 | [ Reply to This ]
      I'm not sure I know what to say. You don't want pity so I won't give you any. But I will say I know what it's like. Maybe you won't believe me but I do. The brother who is so perfect to the rest of the family but a physical abuser when they're not around, the shattered relationship with the mother and the things she says and the need to retaliate but still needing for things to be ok again. The absent and absent minded father who thinks money will make the problems better but is never there to observe the pain. The need to get lost in the alcohol, in the cutting. A need for an escape. The so called friends, the b!tch!ng behind backs, the bloody two weeks of school left that just push you deeper into a black hole. Think of what you have just described and then add a [censored]ed up sister four years older than yourself; a slut a druggo a pregnant teen a [censored] a rebel. Imagine listening not to fights between your parents but your sister and your mother imagine your mother kicking your sister out of home at 16. And imagine that your father left when you were six weeks old and you were blamed for it your whole life by those around you. It doesnt matter that he decided 11 years later (and too late) to make an appearance in his childrens lives; the damage is done. Imagine all that and combine it with your story and that's me. So I can relate; you are not alone. And you are very gifted.
    | Posted on 2005-06-28 00:00:00 | by dark-red-pain | [ Reply to This ]
      "She will not cry now; now, is the time to be a [censored]."

    Seems like that line is the most powerful and thought provoking part of this post. She needs to learn how to be a bee-atch to the only person in this little family drama that is the true source of the fact behind the dilema. The father. Sorry to say, but after reading this, it is totally apparent to me that he is the sole source for this families turmoil and it seems that he is the one who ran away...yet somehow still holds some type of control over them all, especially the girl...she seeks his validation...but he wont be there to give it...he ran away from it and just lingers there enough to elude to the fact that maybe...just maybe...the family might give it to him...and he seems to not want to truly put forth any effort, but makes believe like he can and will some day. "Some day" should never come to the minds of the family he left behind...because holding onto "some day" takes away from "TODAY"...and today is only the next step into tommorow...where each and every footprint shall and will lead. If the father wants to live and dwell in the "Past" every day and then again tomorrow...thats his own problem, for he is the one that needs the help. And this family cannot help him...no matter how much they think they can...for if they were a true help to him, he never would have left. But the family should get on with the "today and the tommorrows" because they have been left in the past by the father...so leave him there and get on with making your own lives square.

    The mother in this story seems to be just like most strong willed, mislead women in the world...willing to accept the fact that her knight in shining armour was just a court jesture and knowing that her motherly skills are now needed to guide her family because the father pussed out. She has every right to expect more from the girl and her brother for it feels to me that she is trying to nurture them to be strong and not weak...and is trying to lead by example. I bet the children rarely ever see her cry...and yet she does cry...maybe not shedding tears from her eyes, but most definately...this mother does cry. She is trying to show her children how to be a "rock"...and she is doing that by keeping what they think is their precious daddy away...because she knows all his misbegotten flaws...and does not want that mentalility pressed upon to HER children...and she is just showing to me that she will guard them from anything...including this "so called, semi-lucent but totally transparently false" father.

    A family is a "team" and when one team member decides to leave, then the remainder of the team have to learn to work together in order to continue to garnish in and inherit the "championship trophies" of life. Maybe they can "draft" a new team member that will help them achieve those goals, or maybe the three of them can do it on their own, but make no mistake about it...the team does need to co-exist...regardless of the fathers forgotten bliss.

    Anyway, just my thoughts. I usually dont read the long posts yet this one pissed me off enough to read it and made me cry...I feel for all involved in this write...except for the "father". Four things in this world I hate...warm beer, wet toilet paper...and men and women who dont know the definition of being a man and a woman. Anyway...thats my 78 cents worth. Sorry for the long comment.
    | Posted on 2005-06-27 00:00:00 | by hyproglo | [ Reply to This ]

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