we've cried all our tears out - Livia

Quell took this when we were at a shopping mall in LI. I'm wearing a tee from the camp store




I dunno where this was taken but it's my favorite picture of me




Someone got a new camera for christmas and just can't use it




oh and there's my brother threatening to throw paper at me from ontop of a roof




Quell and Selinia. One of the best pictures I've ever taken




This is perfect blackmail. One of Quell's old school photos from last year I think.




Probably the only in focus picture of Quell I've taken. His camera is crap. And he's not nearly as cool as he pretends to be




I smiled until I heard the camera click.




and then there's Faye, the most freaking photogenic person in the world.

I'm running away, I can't stop.

Those should be the lyrics to some song somewhere. I guess. The thing is, I'm running away from myself. I'm running away from my own head - my own actions.

Quell said that this would be a good idea. I pretended not to hear him, but I can barely hear anyone these days. The funny thing is, I hear everything. I can't filter what I hear, just what I listen too. The other kids laugh behind my back. I'm not deaf. They think I'm broken- they think I'm going crazy. I guess that's true.

I keep waking up from these nightmares. Over and over he falls and I look down at my hands stained with his blood. This one kid tripped and I screamed because I couldn't not see the girl falling. All I could see was his lifeless body dropping. That's called Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, but knowing the name doesn't explain how to get rid of it.

I dream - if I sleep at all - about my ripped hands, the words 'murderer' written in blood across my palms. And my mind has gone beyond that - I see him falling into Hades. I see him falling into Hades and his friends sobbing. I see him in Quell and that's what kills me. I can barely stand to be around Quell - but at the same time I need him there.

Because I killed him that day, not the boy. I killed my brother and I need every reassurance I can get that it was all a lie. But then, if I can mistake that boy for Quell, I can mistake Quell for him. And I do. And I scream. And he stares.

But I love my brother. He doesn't understand. Faye might, but she's so broken too. I would talk to someone, but who would understand. Not some stupid psychiatrist. Not Faye or Quell or any of my friends. But you - you can't respond. You can't think or have an opinion. You can only listen.

I feel so terrible for rolling in a puddle of my own guilt, but it's eating me alive.

Maybe I'll survive long enough to do another entry.

~  Livia

I'm so sick of myself. I just am so sick of this. I'm such a crappy person that I've gotten tired of myself. Quell never says it, but he misses the old Liv. The old Liv was funny and cocky and confident. Even I miss the old Liv. The new one is too much for me to handle. She's lonely and needy and sad and I'm sick of it.

Why can't I just be happy? I'm just rolling around in a pool of my own freaking guilt. But the thing is I can't forget the nightmares and I can't forget the boy. But I don't even know this boy. I didn't know his name. I didn't know his age. I don't know if he had any friends - maybe he had a girlfriend or boyfriend that he left behind because he's dead now. And yet he's in my thoughts all the time. I barely saw his face but his body has fallen to the ground more times than I can count and I've screamed for it to stop more times than I'd ever want to.

I paid the worse price I could've ever paid. I think that dying would be better than this. I should've killed myself long ago. But then I would leave Quell and Faye behind and I could never do that. I guess I'm too selfless to kill myself but I'm not selfish enough to let the boy kill me, if that makes sense. I guess I'm saying I'm selfless but I'm really not. I'm the most selfish person I know. And I really wish I wasn't

~  Livia, because Liv was the happy girl that I left behind.

I could barely stand to look at all those happy children on Halloween. The little kids dressed up and knocked on our doors. They dressed as zombies and monsters and they were just little kids and I hid from them.

Because no one ever stops to think that I'm just a kid too. No one ever stops to think that they turned a 15 year old into a murderer. Isn't that what camp does? I've trained all my life to kill monsters, but then I get the chance and I murder someone. We've thought we were training to be heroes, but I'm not a hero.

And if this is what camp is really for, I want out.


~  Livia