You're a very sensitive soul. You haven't grown that thick skin that most adults have. Easily hurt, you tend to retreat to your comfort zone. You don't let many people in - unless you've trusted them for a long time.

Certain unforseen circumstances have thrown me right back into the horrific education system, where I am, as we speak (or type), drifting aimlessly in, waiting for a lifesaver.

In the time since I have last came online, I've returned to school and moved out of home.

They're getting a divorce. It's finally final. I don't find it funny. But I'm not exactly devastated either. They seem to enjoy hurting each other. I just don't understand why they'd let us get injured in the brawl too.

Let's just say it was all a storm 20 years in the making. I hope it blows over soon. I just want my life to go back to normal. I appreciate Jamie sacrificing her privacy and putting up with me, but I do sorely need my own space. Even if that space says very little about me, even if it doesn't have anything. I just need my space. Space, to just..shed everything.

That sounded pretty grotesque.

So yes. I can't go home. I'm going to lose the only room I ever had. I'm going to fail my exams. And by this time next year, I will have no father, and no money to my name. Hallelujah. Someone please come along and adopt me please. Better yet if you're King of some mysterious, exotic isle. Whatever.

Everything I took for granted is about to come slamming into my face. I will not pretend to enjoy it.

I agreed to give education one more chance, but like what I told Jackson, the more education you receive (as if it was a gift in the first place), the more likely you are to end up working for someone.

I'd much rather spend my years exploring life, then sit in some stuffy, about-to-collapse building learning things that are not in the least bit important to me. Endure barely concealed irritation/disgust/contempt.

Yes, you may say that it is something I have to put up with if I want to get anywhere in life, at all. Yet, after this dramatic change in events, I seem to loathe it even more.

Lessons with teachers who had a passion for teaching, who knew what they were doing, who came into the profession hoping to touch souls and nuture, to share a little bit of their wisdom, to open our eyes to something wonderous that we on our own would take years to glimpse (and even then, may not understand) and gain satisfaction from it, rather than earn a meagre wage. That used to make it all better, all bearable for me. Now it grates on my last few remaining nerves, like a rodent. Unrelenting, as if its very life depended on it. Passion for life irks me. For so many don't understand it.

I do hate school. With every last strand of my being, I do abhor it. Not simply for the uniform and the god forsaken location and the hazardous building. But for all it's resulted in. Education has fooled me, then allowed me to catch a fleeting glimpse of something larger than life, finally robbing my sight.

I don't understand how some people, how so many people, can be blissful in their ignorance (as I am sure many would say of me), content to keep going, doing what they've always been told to do. It's inherent, it's inbred, and they do not learn to question.

I once said that anything worth doing, is worth doing well. I still stand by that. Sadly, school just doesn't fall into that category anymore. I will make it through this year. Or I will die trying. If only to restore some semblance of normalcy into whatever family life is left. My Mom does not want to worry about me. Neither does anyone, really. And likewise.

Come next year...I don't know. I've already moved out. I guess it's the go ahead. For me to take over, take charge of my life. Do what I want. And I never want to lead their life again.

I want a new beginning. I don't know why I keep saying it, yet clinging on. I don't want to let go of the only thing that I have ever known, though I know that I will have to, sooner or later. I'd just rather it be later.

I grew up listening to their fights. I stayed awake countless nights listening to things getting flung around, things breaking, people shouting, people crying. I grew up listening to it all. To violence. There's nothing like it to destroy a life.

And I've had enough of it. I'm not a violent person. Regardless of all the stupid things I do, I know that deep down inside, I just want peace. I've ignored a tiny voice for a long time. Too long a time, it seems. And now it seems that everytime I ignore it, it just grows a little louder. Until it's all I hear, until it's filled my head, until there's no way I can ignore it anymore.

No. It's not a voice. It..It's a feeling that I cannot quite describe. It's not conscience. It's just something I know. Times like these, I might even begin to believe in a God.

Looking back, I realize I always knew I'd come to this..juncture. I don't know why I've failed to prepare myself for this.

Maybe somehow I still hold on to hope? Then why do I feel so hopeless. It's all contradictory. Nothing makes sense to me anymore.

I remember saying last year that shattered glass is pretty.

We grow up thinking, wishing, expecting everything to be perfect. When it isn't, we refuse to have anything to do with it. When we were young, we looked for the perfect shell, tried to draw the perfect star, had the perfect dream of the future. But as we grow older, some find beauty in imperfection, some continue living illusions.

I seem to straddle the two worlds. I find beauty in imperfection. Lots of it. I don't just like shattered glass, I seem to have a penchant for anything battered and broken. Not anything destroyed or dead, mind you. There's a strength that emanates from something weakened, but not defeated. Out of weakness, comes strength. How ironic.

I don't know what I'm rambling on about, I don't know what I'm trying to say.

I'm confused and thinking about this isn't making it any easier to understand. I'm thinking myself into a dead end. What was I saying before?

I don't want to bring it all to court, though I will, if I have to.

He who knows most, is oddly as far away as possible now. I don't want to relive it all for someone who has no clue, for someone who has no chance of understanding. I don't want to talk to someone who's going to take a totally clinical view of everything I say and categorize me, giving me the medicine deemed suitable.

I seem to have no one. In an ocean of people, you walk alone.