It's times like these when I hate that people read my blog but... here goes:

Oh my goodness, I have so much to write about but I'm too lazy. My stories/ramblings will just have to wait until later.

Yesterday was one of the worst nights I've had all year, and I don't even understand anything that happened. Today was just so exhaustingly busy that I didn't have time to reflect. I went out by myself tonight. It was so refreshing. I saw this really good french movie bought the perfect birthday present for my friend's party tomorrow night. I can't wait to just sleep this off. I hated yesterday. Even it's memory makes me what to shiver and cry. I wish I understood myself better.

When I named this blog Be Ok, I really meant it. I wasn't just alluding to the song. I really, really want to be ok. Really, very badly. There are some days when I am so far away from being ok that I forget what ok tastes like, or even smells like. Please bring me back. Please. I'm actually begging.

My sister makes me want to cry. My sister makes me want to cry. My sister is making me cry. I hate it. I hate it. I. HATE. IT. She is the shallowest person I know. She is so vain. The worst part is that she thinks her vanity is deep. She makes me want to pull my hair out. I can't express how frustrated I am with her. I hate it when she makes me cry. She is asldhkga;dlgd awful. We are going to move houses and I found this beautiful house. The outside is not extremely charming but I adore the inside. It's wonderful. It's perfect. I really, really love it. And she hates it just because she doesn't think the outside is pretty enough. She cares so much what people think of her that she only considers how she, and everything else, looks on the outside. She is so vain. So vain. She never drops her guard. Everything is calculated and nothing is genuine. And she doesn't care, even when she knows she is hurting you, because your genuine emotions are beneath her manufactured ones. I hate this. I just want to leave. She ignores every thing real, even though the both of us know she spends her life faking. If she gets a pimple, disaster has struck. Even more so if she gains a pound. Oh how I wish my blog was anonymous so that I could more freely express myself. It's really killing me inside. Blow by blow. Please save me. Take me somewhere where everything is real and I can feel real. Where I don't have to feel like I'm screaming but no one can hear through their fake ears. Please. Can we drop all pretenses and stop pretending. I feel like I'm losing the difference between reality and the manufactured life forming around me.