There's a crack in everything; thats how the light gets in - Leonard Cohen

I need to change my life. And I don't mean a haircut - I will never cut my hair, for one thing. I mean becoming a new person. Someone different to the person you were and fast cementing into. A weak, frantic, paranoid, cold, detached, alone no matter what the hell she does person. If you are what you are, fine. But when a strong voice is screaming at you that this isn't right, it ain't. When you feel that you have to move, but you fee so tired. Like the old you has been violently attacked by her Salesmen and her legs and arms is broken in several places. I can't move. And now I'm not making sense so there's nothing you can do.

I just want to start all over again. Just build myself up all over again. I have to.

But I haven't lost anything. It is really, the fundamental motive of starting all over again. It's not like a hurricane came and destroyed every material thing I loved and owned. I haven't lost anybody, I haven't completely ruined my chances. I haven't got anything I can start all over from. My identity, my self is a mask thats just been built up and up. Incapable of offending anyone, completely charming and sociable and quick witted, flirty, cool, calm and collected. I built her up because I just wanted to be left alone. I realised very early no man is an island, being a child and all. Being left alone meant being detached. But detached people and hermits are never actually left alone. I learnt that from all kinds of hollywoofd films. All the while I just lied to people, making them think I was doing all kinds of things - boring or overly extraordinary, but they were lies all the same. Then I finally understood than instead of avoiding things you have to get lost in them and fight your way out, leaving a bomb inside. Add a more than lethal dose of self hatred, paranoia and too much thinking time and you got me.

You see my title? There's no crack in my facade. Still after all this time, after all this pressure I'm fucking up, dying, rotting inside, behind the mask. But the mask just gets prettier, bigger. I could be going to Oxford next year - the first of my family, leaving everyone behind once again. It's a little tradition every time I have a fresh start. But thats not what I'm looking for because thats not who I want to be. A person who keeps shedding her skin to feel young and save herself from the past but ends up perfecting herself to death. Or something, I lost my train of thought.

But thats the reason for everything. Wanting to be independent, hating love, hating myself, telling lies, building a mask until the real me fell away and its all I have left: I was trying to feel real. Trying to find out what reality is because I can never find it. It's lost to me. I never had it.

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You know whats one of my favourite childhood memories? Well, I can't remember it myself (like practically all my childhood. It's like another person. It's scary.) Dad told me that whenever I wanted McDonalds and he couldn't afford it (because Dad was on his own and we had no money), he'd make his own burger and put it in an old McDonalds box just to trick me. I love my Dad for that. He never wanted to disappoint his little girl, even when I didn't care. I dunno why I'm blogging, I just wanted to share stuff with you. I'm tiring of complaining. And even when the heating is off or I can't buy new clothes, because money (is always) tight, he's generous. I love him. And he doesn't know about my fuck ups. He just sees all my successes, every single one of them in a smiling, intelligently, appallingly un-ladylike 17 year old girl (and for the peeps who say thats the best year of your life - who are you kidding?!). He must think I'm perfect.

Time to get fixed. How? Any ideas people?