Northern Downpour.

Music. Good music gives me this feeling in the pit of my stomach. Sends chills up and down my spine. Makes me a little nervous. Panic! at the Disco makes this kind of music. When I listen to their music it makes me feel gloriously impractical. Innocent. Marvelous. Good music inspires truth in me. It makes me be honest with myself. And Honestly, I've changed. I've changed a lot. I complain that things are so wretched in my head because my surroundings have changed, or because my friends have changed. That ends right here. I can not blame anyone or anything else for my problems anymore. I don't live for them. I live for me.

The truth is I've changed so much that I have perpetually become a new person. When the biggest change of my life happened, I liberated myself from the fears that haunted the early years of my childhood. Now, I find myself once again locking those gates, and trapping myself behind walls of pain and resentment. No more. I challenge that there IS a difference between fear and respect. Just because I respect and love you doesn't mean I have to constantly torture myself with the fear that you won't love me back. No girl should ever have to feel like her father will be ashamed of her. Ever. No girl shoud ever have to know that her daddy won't be proud of her if she doesn't dunk her head beneath the water. No girl should ever have to live with the knowledge that her father will think her as well as dead unless she lives her whole life afraid and uncertain.

To be honest, my hands are shaking. I'm afraid. And I feel like I might start crying soon. I won't though. I'll just bottle it up like usual. I hate being afraid. Of him. Of god. Of being unloved. And of being unlovable. I am lovable. I am uncertain. But I'm not afraid of not having the answers. I am beginning to snap. If he can't love the crazy, fucked-up child that he made me with his brain-washing nausea-inducing fear tactics, then I don't want his love anymore. I will always love my father. But I'm sick of pretending. I'm sick of lying. I'm sick of the physical pain his stress induces.

 I'm dizzy right now. I feel a bit breathless. I can't feel my fingers.

I am not a liar. I'm sick of being made into one. I'm not a trader. I'm sick of being called one. I don't judge you. Do not judge me. There is a difference between disrespect and liberation. I can't do this anymore. I just can't. And I won't. I swear to god I won't. I feel like such a god damn coward. I'm supposed to be the brave one. And here I am cowering at the feet of a shallow, cowardly, shell of a man as if I owe him something. I don't owe him a god damn thing. I have spent so much of my life afraid and upset with a fake grin on my face and you know what? My cheeks hurt. My heart hurts. My head hurts. and if he loves me as much as he claims, he won't want me to be in so much pain. So much raw, hidden pain.

Or would he? Is he so blind that he doesn't see me at all. Is my acting that good? Or does he know me well enough to see that I would rather die a free woman, an unafraid, proud, blissful woman, than live forever an afraid, half-alive one? I honestly don't know. I don't want to be comforted, I want to be understood. I want to be truly free of all the messed up shit this religion has done to me. Some people call me a cold heartless bitch, as if I do that on purpose, as if I do it with the intention of hurting them personally. Well, truthfully, that is the only option for me. Numbness.

I hate guilt. And it makes me feel so guilty that I don't have the sympathy I'm expected to have. That it hurts people when I don't cry. I feel horrible when people are upset and I'm just fine. I don't do that to hurt you. I do that because I am MESSED. UP. I don't complain to others because they have their own issues. They have their own problems and they are insurmountably larger than mine. But at the same time you have to understand that I do have a cross to bear. I do have faults. I have deeper, more painful trauma than I dare admit. I know I'm a good girl. I don't drink or smoke or steal. I get good grades. I try my best.

To call my attempts at life disobedience, is the cruelest punishment you could have invented.

I can't do this any longer. I honestly think I'm having an anxiety attack. I have to go. Bye.