This is not a journal, nor a dairy. I don't know where to start, I'm not even sure what i think. all i know is that I'm not the person inside my head:
She don't know, can't figure out her own head. she crave for attention, while a lot of times , she wish no one can see her. she doesn't know the truth when she's saying it, she doesn't know the lye when it's right there. people call her creepy, maybe she is, but who is to tell her what she is, what she oath to be. She wants her own life, all she want, is to be her own master, and the master of no one. she's afraid of living, always running from a it. Trying to escape sorrow. Only, it it self don't want her at all:

I don't feel like that's me
Not at all.
But all i know is
there's a stranger in my head