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Diary.
Jan 6, 2009 23:16:14 GMT -5
Post by Kamilla Lestrange on Jan 6, 2009 23:16:14 GMT -5
Sometimes, when I'm laying in bed analyzing my life I wonder.
I wonder about me, Jon, love, life.
Maybe, if I had been clearer as to what I needed. Maybe, if I had been able to trust him. Maybe, if I hadn't been so selfish - So . . . me.
Then, maybe . . .
But it's too late now.
Isn't it?
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Diary.
Jan 12, 2009 14:14:24 GMT -5
Post by Kamilla Lestrange on Jan 12, 2009 14:14:24 GMT -5
If I die in my sleep tonight Tomorrow A week from now
Who would be at my funeral?
I wonder how they'll remember me.
Here's a secret -
Sometimes, I wish that I would die early. Young. With an unfulfilled life.
Because then, people will remember what I could have been.
And not who I was.
And if I die in my sleep, are you still willing to be everything you promised you would be?
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Diary.
Jan 19, 2009 17:40:21 GMT -5
Post by Kamilla Lestrange on Jan 19, 2009 17:40:21 GMT -5
Sometimes, when people ask me why I drink so much, I laugh and tell them it is because the world has failed me.
But really, it is to escape my problems.
It isn't because I am unloved. The fact that my parents hate each other and me - the uniting link in their marriage - has nothing to do with it. My lack of companionship and my high stress levels are not even contemplated when I take out my bottle.
No.
Every time I take a drink, it is because I have failed the world. Not because the world has failed me.
It's all my fault. Everything is my fault.
And I would rather die prematurely then live the rest of my life with this horrible mask.
This mask that holds sadness, grief, and loneliness.
That is all my life means to me.
And if that is it, then I suppose I don't have much to live for.
Do I?
I have to ask you A simple linking of paper for such an important question.
Because no one that is living, breathing, and feeling would care enough to answer.
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Diary.
Jan 21, 2009 16:13:35 GMT -5
Post by Kamilla Lestrange on Jan 21, 2009 16:13:35 GMT -5
Most of the students here at Hogwarts are children of the war. Their parents have fought, their parents have died. Their families were broken apart. And everyone who was in that tumultuous generation had a bit of their soul die.
But the children of the Death Eaters - the children that must fight the stigma that their prestigious family names give them They are the true children of the war.
Because they we bear the label with the scars. But the emerging phoenixes, they do not.
And that is why they can never understand.
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Diary.
Jan 22, 2009 19:33:45 GMT -5
Post by Kamilla Lestrange on Jan 22, 2009 19:33:45 GMT -5
Every day, I wake up. I eat. I do my work diligently. I do everything that is expected of me as a student. But I wonder if I do enough to be considered a person, a human.
Because lately, I've been feeling so alone. The world has suddenly become darker, grayer - and the cold winter chills have done nothing but physically freeze my bones. The darkness I feel everyday - this darkness lurks in the corners of this old stone castle and causes long, glooming shadows over my heart. My soul. My entire being.
And I'm so alone.
And I'm so frightened.
I've been giving an incredible task. One that requires me to be mature, capable, responsible. It is forcing me to become someone that I am not. And I don't know if it is simply my naive childhood wishing to cling on, breathe for a few more minutes. Or if I was never meant to be this person.
This person my mother wants me to be.
This person that I want to be.
Or perhaps . . . I don't.
Right now, I just simply need someone to tell me what I should do. Who I should be. What I need to do. I need someone to help dictate my life for me. Because I cannot. I'm too weak, I'm too foolish. I'm too whimsical, too serious. I simply can't do it. Because I'm afraid.
I worry that I will wholeheartedly attempt something, stain it with my sweat and salty tears but nothing but damaging consequences will come from it.
My mother used to be the one to do this for me. She smoothed my hair back, not out of love but to clean me up. I was a doll, a mindless, obedient puppet. But I never saw anything wrong with that. I still do not.
Some people were meant to lead. And some were not.
Everyone wishes to be something they can never be. That is the way the world runs. The coveted possessions in the world are the gifts that are innate. The gifts that cannot simply be bought but must be received. Everyone is envied in some way. The tall wish to be short, the short to be tall. The beautiful to be ugly, the ugly to be beautiful. The smart to have their expectations lowered, the unintelligent to have their horizons broadened.
I wonder what is my defining trait. What makes me unique, special, wanted. I wonder what makes me me.
I wonder if I will ever be happy. Because I most certainly am not right now.
The world is just so dark.
It's as if it's closing in on me.
And I have dreams.
That one day, the world will just collapse on me. But for some strange reason, I do not fear it. I simply accept it. With indifference.
The doors will slam, the windows will shut. My life will be drastically changed or ended.
With the Heirs of Voldemorts.
I wonder every day, every single moment of the day, if I was truly destined for this.
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