I've been going to school lately, if not only to see Airianna. She's much more reliable than Alisa, who texted all of the "secrets" I ever told her. Of course, the person she chose to text them to was my ex-stalkee (Zach). Yeah, I used to stalk him.
So?

Anyways.
Airianna was wondering why I wouldn't take off my jacket at lunch, which we ate outside. (It was hot outside, and I was wearing a High School Musical jacket - I hate HSM and she knows it.) She figured it had something to do with me cutting myself, so she said, "Let me see your wrist."
I held out my left wrist.
She sighed. "Kristen, I know you're left-handed."
"D*** it," I muttered, and held out my right wrist.
Airianna rolled up the sleeve. When she saw why I was wearing long sleeves, she dropped my wrist, put her hands in her face and sighed again.
"How?" she asked.
"Safety pin, scissors, hairspray, and a red window marker," I answered.
"More importantly, who is this 'AMY' that you've carved into your arm?" Airianna looked me straight in the eye. Maybe she saw my answer coming, maybe she didn't - I couldn't tell.
"Because..." I trailed off, not wanting or having the strength to finish.
"Because?" she prompted.
I turned away.
"Come on, I need to know," Airianna said gently. "I want to know why." She put her arm around my shoulder like she does when she's tired.
"Because I... I love her." I whispered.

A long, awkward silence followed.

I traced the puffed-up, red scar on my wrist, and a tear fell upon the 'A'. I smiled sadly.
"I hope it scars," I said, a little quieter than I thought I'd be.
"Jesus, girl, you have got some problems!" Airianna declared.

Later, during Exploratory Math, I was finished with my work early. I wrote two journal entries, folded them up, and stuck them in my binder. I walked through the high school to get to Art and brought my binder with me. I opened my binder to get a piece of paper, and the journal entries were gone.

They. Were. GONE.

One of them was me wondering how Alisa would've reacted to me taking off my jacket at lunch, the other was me complaining about stereotyping. I just hate it when people do that. Just because I live in the middle of nowhere doesn't mean I'm a idiot redneck. Not all blondes are dumb, not all rich girls are snobs, and not all boys are brain-dead. But I'm honestly rethinking that one...
This stereotype I was worried about was: If any of my friends knew I liked girls, they'd automatically assume I'm a lesbian who wouldn't care what girl she goes out with. But they just don't get it - I can only really, truly love one person at a time.
And right now, that person is Amy.

The other journal entry was the one I signed with MY ENTIRE NAME. It said, "The poster in Math Class is right. Watch your thoughts, they become words. (I always thought I'd cut myself, always wondered what it would be like to be a lesbian, I wrote down what I felt.)
Watch your words, they become your actions. (I ended up cutting myself and becoming a lesbian.)
Watch your actions, they become your character. (I even ACT emo now... I dunno about the lesbian part, but I certainly feel like I act different now... More calm, I guess. Reserved.)
Watch your character - it becomes your destiny.
(Oh, sh**.)

---Kristen

So, yeah. I lost both of them. The first one also mentioned /THE STORY/ and explained what it is.
/THE STORY/ is a journal that I started writing. When he asked what I was writing all the time, I told dad I was writing a story. He read it later without my permission, then told me to 'stop writing scripts for a porn movie'.
Well, you could say it wasn't like that at all. I was simply writing down what I felt, and if he doesn't like that, that's his problem.
Yes, I'm still writing in it.
So?
Please, don't ask for an excerpt. Please don't.
>.<

And that's why it's so important that I find these journal entries.
I looked in the Exploratory Math room, all down the hallway, in the Art room, and even in my locker. I still can't find them.
I had the most insane thought as soon as I lost them. What if a teacher found it on the floor, read it, and then read it in front of the whole 8th grade?
But, of course, that's such a childish fear. A ridiculous nightmare.
But, if it did happen, that's what I call injustice. It's horrible.
At the worst, another student would find it, read it, and give it to a teacher, who would also read it and send me to Mrs. Johnson. Then, the student would tell all the school, and I wouldn't have to confront it immediately.
Well, it seems that when I go to school, I'm more attached to my mind. It's strange.
I've also remembered my real name, because I talked to people and they called me by my name.
I am Kristen.
I will most likely be exposed within three days.
And then what?

"But every hour slipping by screams that I have failed you." "What You Want" by Evanescence

I have failed you, Anyone. I can no longer be hidden, as I wished and needed.
I have failed.

---Kristen