06/09/00 - 07:28 AM

I love and adore Entropia. She is a powerful writer. She writes about things that wander in my head confused and unnamed. Describes the things that I find impossible to describe. I long for her talent with words.

The two or three different personalities of me come out in diaryland. Of all places. Here, in Iniquity, resides the quiet, reflective philosophical piece of me. The piece that is unconcerned with readers or popularity. Here my deepest, darkest skin is peeled off slowly and left for others to find.

Elsewhere I leave the samples of my two separate lives. The vixen versus the intellect. And somewhere in the middle is where she comes in. My main diary. The one that everyone seems to smile down on. My middle person, I take a bit from here, I take a bit from there, and produce a prettier visual than the one that exists deep in me.

I am hard on myself, but sometimes I admire myself. I look at me, the bare bones of a young woman. One who has endured much throughout her short life span, and I wonder how I can be so unscathed. I tend to forget the white lines of old scars. But it is my scars that are admirable. That I only have scars and not a grave.

So many bad choices, mistakes, lessons learned the hard way. But lessons that I learned regardless. I am a student, a student of life, and with each passing day my knowledge is tested.

Most recently, my heart is being tested.

Sometimes I imagine my heart to exist as this cold and unfeeling lump that exudes emptiness into the rest of my body. I can not trust it. It gets me into trouble with its endless emotions and ideas. The small destructive seeds of hope it pumps into my veins sometimes. I�d like to remove it and ask for another one. Mine is faulty, can it be replaced?

Of course not, God says. You must deal with what I gave you. That is your biggest challenge, to endure with the tools you entered this world with.

I nod. Yes God, yes. I try! I try�..

Emotion suffocates my reason. I fall victim over and over again the overwhelming feelings in my chest. Physical feelings. I feel it there.

*places a hand in the valley between her breasts*

There. It sits. The key to me. The Pandora�s box in me. Open it and all of the horrible things about me will fly out and rest in your mind until you are driven away. But underneath all the bad, one small good thing resides. The real me. And she is beautiful.

I have to cut through all the bad to get to the good. And my knife is getting duller and duller as time goes on. Every now and then, inspiration or discovery will sharpen the blade, but the closer I get to my core, the tougher the surface.

But the reward is worth more than the price of the blade. Much more.

So I keep slicing away.