People find it funny how I’m fifteen and I still keep a diary but a diary is paper, it doesn’t talk back or tell you you’re wrong. It’s something that can hold everything in the world but has no strength what so ever. It’s weird because where you write a diary it’s not like something has happened but like you’re living it and that’s what I love. It’s like a story but it has a meaning, the back board of it is true but everyone adds in their own little twist to it, makes a little up and then make out life to be some big fairy tale but life doesn’t have happy ever after, well not for a teenager anyway. I am not going to do that, I am not going to write about flowers and ponies for two reasons. One: Flowers come and go, they have a small life and that’s not what this is about and two: I don’t like ponies, if you’re going to ride then ride with some height please.
I’m sorry, I don’t want to sound all doom and gloom but sometimes life is, why try and hide that? I’m fed up of getting lied to and things being hidden from me because ‘It’s for the best’, shouldn't I be the one that says if its for the best or not? Is it not my life? I am not a puppet. I am not a board game. I am not alive for you to play with. I am myself and I’m sorry if that upsets you, wait a minute, no I am not! People need to know that I am not going to jump when they tell me to or roll over when I am in the way, its not me! Never has been, never will be!
See why I need this thing now? I try, I mean I really do try to be their for people, help where I can but sometimes that hurts me more then its worth. My diary isn’t just a book to me but it’s sort of a friend, someone who’s there for me, a paper size stress ball so to speak.
I’m guessing you want to know who’s writing all this mess, well I would. My name’s Tara Dress, I’m one of those people who people think have everything because of daddy’s money, with the cute blonde hair, they see me but don’t know me. I do have the dead straight long blonde hair, the normal thin body with long legs, dumb blonde are you thinking? Well you’re wrong. The hairs long to hide behind, the height helps me look over everything and the thin shape is my way of dealing with my problems, I run and you could say I run too much but it’s my way of getting it all out. I’m in the ‘It’ crowd and hate every minute of it but my best friend’s there, I can’t leave them. She thinks I love it, being looked up to, having the power and people notice you but where does that get you in life? Can you put on a job form that you had over a thousand friends on facebook or that people at school thought you were pretty and easy? It’s a social status and I’m not that bothered about it if I am going to be honest, He still won’t notice me.
So diary, you know about me now and I feel sorry for you own safety now because a diary only ever lasts me up to a year but I brought a bigger one this time so fingers crossed. It’s the last year of secondary school now, a new school year but the same boring plan. I haven’t seen many of them this summer, dad booked a three week holiday which I told them went on for longer to catch up with the work they would never let me do for school. He never does but then why would anyone think I would like him, I can have the footballers, the rugby players but they are to pigheaded, they aren't him.
But I'm just dreaming, we all do it, we all hope but we need to know when to draw the line. I have made myself out to be a snotty girl with the in friends and that we look down on people. He won't notice me because of that so remember don't hide behind a mask because pretty soon the mask becomes your life and everything is out of reach, diary I know he will be, why should we be something we're not?