Dear diary,

I've been so obsessed with blame. Who do I put the blame on for the person that I am? Who do I blame for the person I didn't become? And even as the arrows point to me i can't help but push everything on everyone else. Selfish, isn't it? To break my family apart and push the blame on them, force them to hold the knife. Isn't that selfish?

It's ugly. Ugly to the very depth of it all and isn't it ironic? That I tortured myself only to turn myself into the very thing I tried to run away from?

And it is torture. In every sense of the word. And even as I learn to bury myself, even as I watch myself crumble (just a little, just enough), I'm ugly enough to push the blame on them.

("why didn't you stop me?" "why didn't you help me?" "why don't you care enough?" "why aren't you screaming at me?" "why isn't anyone blaming me?" "why won't you pay attention to me?")

(all these questions but the only question I can think of is "why can't you love me enough to save me?")

(Who is that question for? them? or me?)

And I want to cry and I want to pull my hair and I want to tell them "I didn't mean for it to get this bad" but there's no use. There's no use in telling them anything, there's no use in pushing the blame on them. At the end of the day, I've only got myself to blame.

I did this to myself. The victim of my own crime.

Today my little brother punched a child in the face at school. He's only 8 years old. They called my parents. Asked them if everything was alright at home. Everyone looked at me when they retold the conversation to us. I tried to pretend they didn't.

"We told them everything's fine" mom told us. My older brother made this sound and walked out of the room. His hands were balled into fists. Trembling. I knew they all blamed me.

When I asked them why he punched someone, they looked at me like this was my fault too.

Dad said that my brother got angry when some boys made fun of another girl.

They were making fun of her weight.

They're 8.

I walked away before I could cry. How could they? Don't they know? Of course they don't. They're 8 years old. Small and cruel. What are we teaching them?

I cannot stop thinking about blame. I desperately want to blame someone else for what happened. For what my little brother did. Society, maybe. Expectations. Beauty standards. Anything. Anyone but myself.

But I'm the only one left. The only logical solution. The only option.

I am trying. I hope they know that I'm trying. I want to get better. I want to feel good.

(Or maybe I don't. Maybe I want to slowly rip myself apart. Maybe I want to tear myself apart piece by piece until every imperfect part of me is gone. Until I am the image I see in my head. Maybe this is what I was made for)

I don't know what the end of all this will be, but at this point I don't mind if it ends without my existence in this world. At this point, it would be a blessing.

i'm tired
the world keeps spinning
and people move forward
and time doesn't still
and the noise never ends
and i'm tired

let my eyes rest
they're tired of being open