It's true what Alice Sebold says: "After telling the hard facts to anyone, from lover to friend, I have changed in their eyes." I have changed. I read that quote to my mother and she didn't say anything. Her silence told me she agrees with it and confirms that I HAVE changed in her eyes.

Sometimes it's really hard to concentrate on everything around me. I'll just be sitting here trying to write, or listen to music and then my mind will drift off and thoughts will invade my mind.

Sometimes it's too much to handle and sometimes I just wonder what I could do to escape all these thoughts. I know I can't run away from everything I think about. And I know I can't die. But what else is there?

What else is there?

These are thoughts I sometimes outline in my diary, but I hold back because who wants to read about depression all the time?

And I am depressed. I have been for a long time. I try and fool myself into thinking it will pass, but I seriously do not know when. I give advice to other people, and I have written that "escape" entry at the bottom of this page... but it's hard taking your own advice. It's easier dishing it out to other people. It's easier to help other people than it is to help yourself.

I am also conflicted with thoughts of guilt and self-pity. People say I shouldn't pity myself. They sometimes remark on how strong I am and really, none of what they say makes sense to me. I don't see it. And I wish they'd just shut up because it doesn't apply to me anymore. I'm not strong. I'm not perfect. I'm just here. Here. That's all.

Because when people say I am strong I feel compelled to keep up the "strong facade" and I can't do it. Some days it's nice to curl up and cry. I don't want to have to keep up this persona.

Even when I think I'm being myself, I'm not. I don't know who I am. I knew who I was before I was raped and now? It's almost 8 years after the fact and I don't know who I am. I'm 25 years old and I Don't know who I am. That's a very sad fact. And people say "oh sure you do. What're you talking about? You're so-and-so, such-and-such." So once again it's that feeling of having to keep up with what people say I am rather than branching out into my own being.

One of these days death will come.