Somebody slap me. I'm being retarded. Last time I checked, this wasn't the 8th grade. I'm so over with all the drama and just want to move on. I'm done with the self-caunciousness, the depression, the eating disorder and everything else that made my life complicated. I'm ready to have fun, I'm ready to be loud, I'm ready to live my life and love it. But at the same time, it isn't that simple. I can't just pretend nothing happened and start anew. I remind myself everytime I look in a mirror. It made me, but I want to be someone else, someone diffirent, an alter-ego I guess. I don't want to stop being myself though, I want to stay Alexandre. I wish I could find the words to say what I feel, what I'm thinking, what it is, what it isn't, but I guess I don't know how. I guess I can't. There's alot I can't say and that troubles me. Shouldn't I have liberty of speech? Liberty of press? Whatever. Sometimes, you shouldn't even think of saying what you can't. Yes, I'm complicated like that but yet, it isn't. I don't know. I'm way off topic and I'm just writing away at this point. I wonder if anyone hears what I say? I wonder if it makes a diffirence, if it's important, if anyone cares? Does anyone care? Not about me but about what I have to say. Do I have anything to say? Yes, at least, I think I do. I talk about body-image and self-esteem, and my writing's pretty good no? No? I don't expect an answer to that. In fact, I don't expect anything anymore. I guess that's my way to avoid getting dissapointed. Whatever. I've got nothing to say. Aren't I just a silly teenager after all? Sigh. This text is getting sad. I just wanted to vent out everything and I find myself saddened. Oh, that's right, I can't vent out everything since there's people reading this. At least, I hope there's people reading this. Or else, I've been writing for no one but myself. Actually, that doesn't sound half bad. But I have something to say to the world don't I? So that can't possibly work. See how just keeping track of my thoughts turned into a respectable text. Maybe it won't be an online hit or get rewarded an award, but at least I'm writing, and isn't this what it's all about? Acknowledge this if you agree or if you don't or whatever or both. I'd like to hear from people I'm writing to. My invisible audience. Like in the movie 'V for Vendetta': “I might not know what you've done, I might not know where you've been, but whoever you are, and I this from the bottom of my heart... I wanted to tell you that I loved you. I love you. And that's nothing the world can take away from you.” It's maybe not word for word but that's my interpretation. I love that movie, and I love the phrase, and I love you too. Even if I don't know you, I do. There are moments like these when I feel completely selfless and can say things like this. It's good to hear that you're loved. We use the word so commonly that we don't think of it's true meaning anymore. I want to love, I want to be loved and everything'll be good. That's what I'm telling myself. Today, I was told I was beautiful, and it made me happy. It made me feel good. I wish everyone else could feel like this. Maybe I'll make it happen. You're beautiful, reader, and I love you. This text is turing into a hippie movement but it's okay, it's alright. I'm just feeling the happiness and telling everyone I love them. Just like when I'm tipsy. It's so funny. There was a party at one of my friend's house. He goes to another school so just about everyone there was a stranger. An hour later, I was hugging everyone, telling them I loved them with Vodka-flavoured Poppers rushing through my veins. Even though I don't remember half thier names, I still love them. What did that have to do with anything? I don't know. Loving people reminded me of it. I'm thinking of finishing this text up. Since I write my stuff on paper, my hand is cramping, but I like it. It makes me feel like a real writer. Everyone says I should become a writer, but that doesn't pay much. I like luxury. I like designer clothes and I like my dad's Mercedez-Benz. I'm all about the glamour and love the English elite: my dad says I'm a Dandy and would probrably be knighted a Sir. So, just writing isn't enough of a job for me. But that's all I have to say about that. I have to stop writing, this text, not stop writing all together. That would make me sad. Writing is my life.
