I'd written this already, but I�ve erased it. I hate writing it again but I feel I have to.

Something Kathy wrote got my attention. �Some girls write in their diaries online here to get other people to notice and pity them.� And I wondered why I write in mine. It�s not because of that. I haven�t even let anybody know I have one of these. I think I�m actually pretty ashamed of it. I�m writing it for myself. Just so I�ll know what I went through and that I got through it and that I�m stronger than that. Sometimes I almost wish someone would read my journal, though, and say, �hey� I think that you�re completely not insane and stupid. I think you�re smart and sane.� Sometimes I think this, but mostly I kind of hope no-one will recognize me.

I don�t know. You know how I write. It�s really just scattered thoughts and events, really, but you get the general idea, the general feel of what I�m trying to say, don�t you? Get the right emotion for what I�m trying to express? It�s like that now, really. I know what kind of an emotion I�m trying to get through, but I�m not sure how to organize my words to create that.

The feeling I�m trying to convey? I guess it�s this�sadness�depression. I hate that word. I hate even saying it, I hate thinking it, I hate knowing what it did to me. It made me more mature, I guess, but still�anyway, I guess there�s no other word for it. So that�s it. Depression.

It�s just that so many things are wrong now. It seems like I�m embroiled in all this self-pity because I can�t get it out.

Like my house. I miss my house. I really, really do. Just knowing that I�ll never, ever be able to sit in my room again. Climb up those stairs, and look out at that beautiful view. Just knowing that some pudgy russian girl with a non-dysfunctional happy family gets that? And we only got 150,000 off of the 620,000 we sold the house for. It�s too upsetting. I keep thinking to myself, �Why can�t I have that? Why didn�t I deserve to just keep my house, why?� But of course then I chastise myself, because how many other children have to move into a smaller house? Kathy has to. A lot of people have to. I�m being so petty. But a part of me wants that TV family house that the kid lives in all their life. And then, afterwards, when the kid moves out, the parents keep their room exactly like it was, like some shrine or testimony to their child. And when the child comes back it�s perfect, just the way they left it. It�s so stupid, and I hate myself for wanting my house but I do want it. So much.

And Kathy. Oh, how I miss her.

I don�t really have any other friends. The other day, I was sitting at the bus stop when I looked across the street and saw Angelo, Grady, Norissa and Moses in the Dairy Belle. I rushed over, and walked in. When I saw them, I kind of froze up. The way they were looking at me� what, was I some invalid or something? But I mean, what level of patheticism have you reached when you don�t even know how to act around people who are supposed to be your friends? I could call these people my friends a year ago, and now? I don�t even know if I could call them my acquaintances. I don�t know what�s happened. It seems whatever friends I have had kind of get tired of me after a while and dump me. Always the case. I always manage to really fuck things up, but I never understand what I did to fuck it up. Kim, Ellen, Jeannie. Then Jean, Ryan, Shalina, Brian� then Moses, Grady, Jason, Steven. How can so many people do that? It can�t be a coincidence. I just want somebody to tell me what�s wrong with me. I just want to make myself better. Somebody tell me what I�m doing wrong!

But�I�ve digressed. So I�m in dairy belle. And.. the only thing I can think of to say? �Hi!� I blurt out cheerily. I even add a happy little wave. And their weird looks only get weirder. In fact, they�re pretty much downright mean. And none of them say anything. I�m getting the impression that they aren�t going to either, but Angelo, the least likely of the bunch, finally says, ��hi.� Real enthusiastic. And I don�t know what to say. I don�t know how to react. I wait, eagerly because I know there�s something else. There has to be. And there is.

They start to move. �Bye,� Angelo says. And that�s it. They�re gone. I stand there for a moment, shattered and feeling like I could just burst into tears or die at that moment, but then I say weakly, �bye,� and I turn to the menu. I act like nothing�s wrong. I�ve gotten pretty good at it. I do it all the time. I pretend like I didn�t expect anything more. Not a �Hi, what�s up?� not a �How are you!� not a �Would you like to join us?� No. I didn�t go there for them, anyway. I went for the food. And so I look at the menu even though the smell from the kitchens is starting to make me sick. I didn�t mind being blown off. NO. I didn�t even notice. And when I can�t see them anymore, I run outside and I hide behind the restaurant. And I�m panting, and my fa�ade completely falls and I do mind, I mind more than anything else. But then the worst thing that could happen does. They were walking to jason�s house. How could I have known? So they actually pass me. And they turn, and see me, and they know I wasn�t concerned about the menu at all. And I see them point and then talk about me. Probably about how pathetic I am. And laughing, laughing, laughing. I felt like death.

Fabulous.

There are some people who stuck by me, thick and thin. Like Michael. Michael has never given up on me. I just talked to him today in fact. Oh god. I love him. I loved talking to him. I just loved the feeling that someone in the group still cared about me! I love Michael. He has to be the best guy in the world right now.

Brian, he talked to me, too. I said hi to him the other day, and he didn�t even bother saying bye to his friends. He just talked to ME. He can be annoying, but he means well and I really enjoyed talking to him too.

But anyway. I need more people to talk to. Day after day, I sit at home. I don�t talk to anyone. I never tell anybody my problems, really. Not in detail at least. No-one except Kathy. Because she�s going through the same thing. And even if she hasn�t, she cares about me. She�s not going to ditch me if I complain too much. And so I vented to her, and it didn�t really matter so much that the world around me was cruel anymore. She made it better. But now that I have no-one to talk to, where do I go? Everything�s just building inside me. You know how depression is supposed to mae you sleepy? Well it�s almost 4, and I can�t sleep. Too many things to worry about, too many things on my mind. Right now, all I have is my dad and me. That�s it. Two people. And from 7 in the morning to 7 at night, there�s just me. All alone. Downtown. Away from everyone. Not that anyone would care. And two people�one person, is not nearly enough to be happy. Like in About A Boy? You need more than two, or life just isn�t complete. So what am I supposed to do?

On a completely unrelated note, I was reading Kathy�s diary and I was so impressed. She could be a writer. She really could. Her spelling isn�t perfect but if you could just get past that to the content? She is magical. I�m a very jealous person. How she wrote is how I�ve always wanted to write and will never be able to. She writes in this blunt, off-handed way and yet makes such thought-provoking, �why haven�t I ever thought that before� points. She�s so poignant. But I didn�t ever think, �Why can�t I write like that,� I never had a tad of jealousy, all I could think about was how wonderful she was and how proud I was of her and how proud she should be, but I don�t think she even knows how great it is. So I just wrote her a letter telling her about her superiority. Kathy is like my idol.

I need help.