People are nothing but specks of dirt. We are pieces of dirt and we think we are so important but we are so insignificant that it kind of hurts.

No one wants to feel insignificant. Every single person in the world wants to make a difference in order for them to feel some sort of glory, some sort of fame.


I have a crown of bones. When I go to sleep at night I put it on my head. It digs into my skull and death invades my dreams. I like to feel the kiss of death on my scalp so that as I sleep I feel like a part of me is dying.


I don’t like the feeling of being alive. I don’t like emotions. I don’t like interacting with people that I do not like.

My best friend is nothing but words written on a page. They are my own words and they are words of heartbreak. Whenever I try to write down something happy it always has a bad ending. When I was little I was very happy. I thought everyone in the world was full of goodness but then I realized that maybe everyone in the world was full of evil. I am full of the most evil out of everyone out there. I am full to bursting of evil. I am so evil it hurts. I feel bad for the people I meet who think I am normal because I know that I am not.

It is actually very funny, meeting new people. I smile and my face cracks. My skin wrinkles and my skin itches. I get red in the face and sweaty in the palms. My teeth look yellow and my face is shiny with perspiration. New people are strange and weird. New people are surreal and eccentric. But mostly new people are boring.

I did not used to have a crown of bones. The bones always start out really fresh and new but as the night wears on they get really rotten. Sometimes I try to take the crown off but it’s stuck there forever I think. I guess it’s okay.

When I was little I was a very kind, loyal daughter. I went to church camp and pretended to worship God there. I don’t believe in God. I only believe in evil. When I was at camp I had just bought the new Harry Potter book. They took the book away from me because they said Harry Potter was evil. I cried.

At that camp I did not like to eat because I had an eating disorder. I still have an eating disorder. At camp there was a relay race. I had to carry a watermelon and run for about one and a half miles. I like running and I like watermelons but I did not like running while carrying the watermelon. They buttered it up and I dropped it twice.

I had a crush on a boy. I have crushes on lots of boys all the time. They never care or respond.

I never went back to church camp.

When I wake up in the morning all I feel is sadness. The crown of bones is always gone. I don’t know where it goes but my mind is always clouded. If there were an image of a normal brain and a depressed brain, the depressed one probably looks like mine.
`
I want to cry when I meet ignorant people. I want to cry when people say they hate books or reading or literature or learning or running or anything that I like. I like so many things but I also dislike so many things and that may be one of my biggest flaws. I like so many people but I also dislike so many people.

I know what I’m passionate about and I know what I don’t care about. If I don’t care about something I won’t put any effort into it. Why should I care about something that I hate? Why can’t I spend the rest of my life doing things I love? I guess that would mean spending the rest of my life reading, running, and working at Urban Outfitters. Not very significant I guess.

Significance is such a broad term and everyone is seeking it. When I didn’t eat it was because I wanted to be noticed. I wanted my lack of a body to draw positive attention towards me. Now that I’m in some sort of recovery I’m not special at all. All I have left is my depression and that is not something that I really wanted to be left with.

I don’t think suicide is glamorized anywhere but in my mind. I like to think about suicide. I like to talk about suicide but no one really listens, which is probably a good thing. Sometimes I say I am going to commit it and no one cares. No one really cares about anyone but themselves.

I almost killed myself on my 18th birthday. My friend wouldn’t respond to her phone and so I took out a knife. I only cut myself but I wanted to die. I went for a walk in order to calm down. When I got back my parents were home and my mom yelled at me for going out. I cried and she yelled at me on my birthday. I hated my 18th birthday.

I went to a James Franco book signing. He’s very intelligent but I had tears of sadness in my eyes. The girl next to me talked to me about how she didn’t like his books. She told me she didn’t understand his art. She told me her last name on facebook is “Franco.” I told her intelligent people wouldn’t understand what his books are really about but I don’t think she knew what I was trying to say.

I cry a lot. I cried when James Franco was reading his book because I knew that I was surrounded by people who had never even been to Strand Bookstore before. I knew I was surrounded by people who loved James Franco because of his looks rather than who he is as a person.

I feel like vomiting after writing that but I can’t help the truth. I can’t help how selfish and narrow minded people are. I might cry out of desperation to get my point across.

A few weeks ago I met a boy. He wanted me to send naked pictures to him and I didn’t want to. He had a girlfriend. He got mad when I wouldn’t send the pictures so he won’t talk to me anymore.

Whenever I think of this boy I get sad. Sad for myself. Sad because I still want his attention even though he could care less about me. Sad because no one is really who you think they are. I still think about him a lot. I think about him every day. I long for him. Nothing happened between us. It was like a dream. Over before it even began.

Life is like a funeral for me. I wake up in the morning and I feel sad. I see people I like and feel a glimmer of hope but then they disappoint me and I get even sadder. I read books and do things I don’t like until I get to crawl into the dark hole of my bed and pull on my crown of bones. I like to feel dead. Maybe one day I will go to bed and not wake up because the crown of bones will have taken me away to a much better place.

If I were dead, no one would listen to the echoes that I have left behind.