I remember listening to this song over and over again on my 17th birthday. I remember repeating the words ‘nas ne dagonyat’ (you are not going to get us) to myself while looking at the sky and dreaming of a future far away from monster. A couple of days after that I ran away with N. My parents looked for me, the police, everyone. I never gave up on my dream, to get away. I haven’t heard this song for so long then I found it in someone’s diary…and I remembered what this song means to me. It’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? If I only knew then, what I know now. Maybe things would have been different. I loved N very much, but I love him more now. I wouldn’t even believe it was possible if you had told me. If only I had gotten help earlier instead of hiding for 3 years. Maybe I would be able to do things. I can’t do anything now except take my meds…it’s depressing. Look at me, I’m a mess. What have I ever accomplished? I wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for N. I can’t take care of myself. I am bulimic and I smoke. It’s the least of my problems I know that but…I can’t do anything about the schizophrenia or the dissociative identity disorder. N sometimes says I’m spoiled, I’ve denied it so far. But what if I am spoiled? I don’t think I am, I don’t own nice things. I don’t own a lot of jewelry. I have three gold rings. Engagement ring, wedding ring and my first engagement ring, I kept that one because it got too small to wear. But other than that…I don’t have much. Buying cigarettes and tabloid magazines are my only luxury. So how am I spoiled? I smoke because I’m bitter. It’s hard to hear voices, nobody knows how I feel. I try to numb myself with food and cigarettes because I don’t know what else to do. There isn’t anything else to do. Sure, I can take more pills but that won't change anything. Believe me, I've tried. How can I explain this? When I’m not smoking, I focus on the bad things about myself. I focus on the voices, I focus on the demons living inside the walls waiting for me to be alone so they can come out. When I smoke, I don’t focus on anything, I just go with the flow and that makes life easier. Yeah, I know smoking is bad, and I don’t want to die because of it. I am eventually going to quit but I don’t know when and I don’t know how. I’m scared, scared of myself. He doesn’t know how it feels to be me. He doesn’t get it. I never talk to him about these things anyway. He reads this diary so he can understand me better but I don’t think he’ll ever figure me out. I’m strange, and not in a good way.