||[Dec. 27th, 2004|02:00 am]
Well there's not much drama today. Didn't talk to Fred at all. But then Alex stole Luke's sn from my buddy list, and she started talking to him. Nothing interesting, except he said that he can't believe I like him, because I'm so much cooler than he is. But once again, that doesn't help me. He's still leaving me hanging. But Kelly invited me to a movie with her and Russell, and she told me to invite people. So I'll invite him and ask him about it then.
((Excuse the blatant stereotyping in the next paragraphs))
Anyways, I'm confused, as always, but this time it's not about Luke. I know that I'm goth. I've come to that realization. I'm not punk, as much as I'd like to be. Punks are fun, crazy, wild. I am none of those. My cynical sense of humor makes me bearble to be around. But I don't like people. I don't have that disreagard for authority. I don't have that I-don't-care-what-you-think-of-me-so-fuck-off attitude. I like black, and vampires, the occult, the middle ages, sisters of mercy, depeche mode, bauhaus. I want to be left alone. My favorite thing to do is read. Edgar Allen Poe inspires me. I love nightime.
And I hate all of it. There's nothing more that I want to be than "punk". But I can't change who I am. And people see through my attempt to be anything other than what I am. Everyday, people pose the question, "Are you goth?" I'm in a fucking catholic school uniform. I wear a single black string around my neck, and two earrings in each ear. That's hardly the basis for calling someone goth. My backpack is red, with numerous buttons, patches, and safety pins. Yet not often do I hear, "Are you punk?" People seem to have almost a 6th sense, detecting what is not evident by my dress or forced mannerisms.
Still I refuse to embrace this new realization. At least punks have some sort of rebel, attractive quality about them. But in my world, goths are looked upon as freaks. No matter how much I repeat to myself that other people's opinions don't matter, I still inwardly cringe at the thought of being an outcast, ridiculed by my peers. I've been trying so hard this year, and I have new friends, a new persona, a new life.
It's like one of those beautiful red apples that looks so tantalizing when it's shining in your hand, but when you bite into it, it's decaying, rotten, a broken facade of brilliance.