Dear Journal,

Today, the twentieth of July, 2013 marks one week of my New York vacation. Things are better here, spending time with family and close family friends keeps me centered. But no one in our family truly will ever understand me, I don't think. Everyone tends to see a very happy 14 year old girl keeping a very cheery smile plastered on her face, but they all know the things I've been through, like a rumor spreading through high school, it spreads in my family. Everything is based on spirituality, on faith. But they seem to think the holy water used to baptize me has been seemingly poisoned, as a troubled child who cannot open up about anything, from her cutting and depression to being abandoned by both her parents when she was young and being raised by her grandmother. But, oh Lord, her Godfather seems to hold on to that bit of hope that somewhere under all the sheltered up feelings, behind the plastered smile, behind all the pain, his little baby girl is still in there somewhere. But she isn't allowing her guard down, no. He can see the small light end of the tunnel, but it's just a flicker of light, and it burns out. She blows the candle out, and gives up. She is so depressed, it is seemingly impossible to pull her through unbreakable shell. She's completely shut down and there is no way to reach her.

But to me, it just seems they want me to be happy and perfect but I just can't. I'm not going to keep going on this way, faking a second identity to please those around me. I just can't. The countless years of bullying and loss had worn me down. Just when I felt happy for a bit, my brother had gotten Lymphoma, a cancer that created a lump. A lump that goes by the name of a tumor. Right in his neck. It made me cry, It broke me down. I couldn't take all the pain. I still can't.

But anyways, I'm supposed to be enjoying vacation, but one simple trip won't make depression suddenly stop.
Thanks, Diary. For always listening to me. Farewell for the while. x