Whitenoise Radio

Dear Diary, August 17, 1995 Hai! ^-^ Today is my 16th birthday! *squee!* You were one of my presents, Diary! From now on, you are my new best friend. Yay! But I guess I better tell you about myself. Can't be bestfriends if you don't know anything about each other, can you? Hehe My name is Celeste. I turned 16 today (but you already knew that, haha)  I am PERFECTLY HAPPY with my life, which is rare in this time. I use my optimism to help my friends out when they're depressed. I love helping people. Maybe that's why I'm always so happy  I have long brown hair and blue eyes. I'm not skinny, I'm a little chubby, but I'm content. I'm short. Well, fun size ;3 Enough about descriptions, though  Not only did I get this journal for my birthday, I got some clothes and some CDs! Mommy and Daddy say I have another surprise waiting for me, it gets in tomorrow. So excited! ^-^ But right now I'mma sleep. Goodnight, Diary! ~Celeste Grande

Dear Diary, August 18, 1995 I got my new present today! Daddy met this really nice guy in town a week ago who asked if they were interested in a radio. The first thing they thought of was me (how sweet!). Apparently the man was giving it away, so they took their opportunity and got it. He brought it in last night after I went to bed. That was so nice of them all ^-^ I wish I could've thanked the man myself. Oh well  I think I'm gonna plug it in and have it soothe me to sleep. Goodnight, Diary! ^-^ ~Celeste Grande

Dear Diary, August 19, 1995 Something weird happened last night, Diary. I haven't told Mommy or Daddy yet (they're still asleep, poor dears :P), but I plan to after lunch. I'll tell you first, that way I don't forget. I'm a forgetful little dork, haha(: About last night, though. Remember how I fell asleep with my new radio on last night? Well, I woke up at about 4 this morning. I sat up in bed and looked around, still half asleep. Then I noticed my radio wasn't playing anything, no music or no advertisement. Just static. It was giving me a headache, so I got up to unplug it. And when I got up, I saw a shadow in my room. I was quiet, and it wasn't my own. It wasn't on the wall either, it was like a black figure. I could tell it was facing away from me, and it just walked out of my room. I dismissed it as nothing and went back to sleep. I feel really weird now, though... Oh well. It's probably nothing. We're leaving after lunch, though. We're going to my best friend Alma's house later! *squee!* So if I don't write anything later, I'm gone. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Well, I'm gonna go get ready. Bai bai! <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">~Celeste Grande

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, August 21, 1995 <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I'm really sorry I didn't write anything down last night. I'm starting to get a little worried. Some good news, though: I talked to Daddy. He said that the figure I saw was him. He came in my room a few minutes earlier to turn the radio off, but he must've just turned it to a channel that didn't get good reception. He was walking out and when I got up he must not've heard me get out of my bed. Mommy and Daddy both looked really scared when they were telling me the story, but I don't know why. I mean, I know they wouldn't lie to me. I believe my parents because I love them <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Even so... I've been a little depressed lately. I don't know what it is getting me down. But I'll just listen to my new CDs that I got and the music will bring me up out of this. Whenever I get depressed, I have this thing I do. I'll think about all the good things that have happened to me. I'll thank God for my parents, for my friends at school, the house that I live in, the food that I eat... All the positive in my life. It's working, but barely. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">And for some odd reason, the static on my radio stays. It's like it'll play music until I fall asleep, and it'll be static when I wake up. I need to tell Daddy tomorrow to stop messing with it, it's starting to freak me out a litle bit. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">But diary, I hate to sound rude, but I have a busting headache and I need to lie down. I'll talk to you tomorrow. Goodnight! ^-^ <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">~Celeste Grande

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, August 22, 1995 <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I feel horrible today, Diary. Last night was awful. After I wrote my last entry I went downstairs and told Daddy not to come into my room anymore and turn my radio onto that channel with the static, it's really messing with me. I've had horrible nightmares. I didn't tell him what they were, but I told him it was giving me nightmares and headaches and it's making me depressed. He says he hasn't been in my room since the first night. He was confused. He told me to sleep in the living room last night, so I did... <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Well, sleeping in the living room was worse, and I had another nightmare. This one was worse than the last. I'll try to write it all down... Sorry if my description sucks, I've forgotten parts of it. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">So, what happened in my dream was I was wandering around in my old middle school. I don't know how I got there, or why I was there. I was all alone. I was thrown in the dark with nothing on me except a flashlight. I was naked in the dream, except for a skimpy see-through nightgown. In either case, I felt naked. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">So, I was wandering around and I kept finding these notes scattered around. I would find one that says "Go to this place," then one that says "Go to THIS place," and so on. I collected all the notes and it led me to this place down under the school. A final note simply said "Your initiation is about to begin." I was confused for a second and wondered, what's going on? <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">So I stand there and all my friends come at me. They're torturing me. They hit me and scream at me. They say "How does it feel? Little Miss Princess, everything goes good, how does it feel to have something horrible happen? What does pain feel like to someone so perfect?" My parents sit back watching like this is some sick reality show. My best friends are slitting my wrists and burning me. Sticking hot wax on my back and melting my skin. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I'm screaming out for someone to help me but my parents are enjoying this so much. They're laughing at me, at my pain. "Perfect Little Princess, how does the pain feel? Little Virgin Princess, how can you be sure this isn't real?" <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">The boy of my dreams.... He saw me. I love him. I called out for him to save me. He got into this with them. He ripped off my nightgown and... I don't wanna say it. You can assume it. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I forced myself awake and looked to my side. I saw the radio plugged up in the corner of the room. It was static again. I saw the figure leave out the window. My head was hurting so bad at this point. I tried to walk over and unplug it and stumbled. I don't even know how it got in there. I unplugged it and I've been up since. I feel awful. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I haven't slept but a few hours. I'm gonna tell my parents about my nightmares and see if I can stay with them tonight. I'm seriously getting worried at this point. Is this something EVERY teen goes through? <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">~Celeste Grande

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, August 23, 1995 <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I don't know what's going on. I told my parents what was going on and they were understandably terrified. They threw the old radio out after I told them. I finished resting in their room and they stayed awake to make sure nothing happened. I didn't dream at all after that. I'm still depressed though. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">The weird thing is... I've been thinking a lot about that nightmare I told you about last night since it happened. I was curious... I mean, I never really HAVE hurt that much before. I wanted to try it in real life. I wanted to see if the pain was as bad as I thought it was. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">A few hours ago I went into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. I made sure no one was around. I slit my thigh open. I don't know what possessed me to do this. I carved the words "Pain Is Real" into my right thigh. Do I know why? No. Will I know? Nope. I'm not going to tell anyone except you, Diary. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Another thing... I've been thinking about my friends lately. Are they *really* my friends? I know it was just a dream, but... Still. I wouldn't put it past them to do something like that. They're going to hurt me. The dream was a sign! It was a sign to not trust anyone! Even my parents.... Who needs them anyways? <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">...Ya know what, Diary? I'm gonna sleep alone tonight. Who cares what happens? <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">~Celeste

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, August 25, 1995 <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I didn't leave an entry yesterday. Sorry. I found the radio. Well... I didn't find it. It found me. I can't sleep without the static now. It seems to know that. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I've been locked up in my room for the past few days. I haven't eaten or slept. I haven't talked to anyone since my nightmare. I keep having more of them but I'm starting to embrace them. The pain is beautiful. I feel that now. Every lash someone lays on me with a whip, I call out for more. With each knife jabbed into my wrists, I moan in pleasure. I deserve this. I'm embracing this. I love this. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Now I have new friends. I don't talk to my parents. They're worried about me. Why would they be worried about me? I'm happy again. I'm not depressed anymore. I cut again today. I felt alive, for once. The pain keeps me sane. It makes me feel alive. I'm not mad anymore, I'm as happy as it can be. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">But about my new friends. I don't *see*. Most of the time, anyways. But they talk to me. They tell me how much they love me and would never hurt me. I trust them. They're all I can trust. Sometimes when I'm really good.... They'll let me see them. They show up as shadows on the wall. Shadows with faces. They're always disfigured, but that makes them so beautiful to me. They have scars and burn marks and they hurt themselves just like I do. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">But Diary, I've talked a lot for today. I'm gonna end this entry here. Goodbye. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">~Celeste

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, August 26, 1995 <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Today was sooooo fun, Diary! I really gotta tell you about his. It feels nice having you. I trust you. Unlike my parents or my /friends/. Who cares about them? No one. Especially not me. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">My NEW friends played with me today. We were hanging out and talking. I let them listen to my new CDs and they liked it. I tried on clothes for them and modeled. But I didn't like the clothes and neither did they. So we destroyed them. We took markers and bleach and whatever we could and we made them our own. We colored all my shoes. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">It was so funny, too. Mommy walked in and saw it. She was so shocked, she dropped the plate of food she was going to bring to me. How cute. She's still convinced I'm still her loving daughter. She's trying to save me. That's adorable! She ran and got Daddy. I locked my door then. I didn't want them to bother me again. I didn't answer them yelling at me. I didn't unlock my door. Eventually they left. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">They taught me things. They spoke again. They taught me new ways to hurt myself. Now I don't just cut. I have words all in my legs now. It's amazing. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Mommy thinks I'm going insane. How could she think that? I'm so happy! I have NEVER been so perky! She doesn't believe me. She says she's gonna call a doctor. She thinks they can fix me. How cute. I can't be fixed. How could you fix something that isn't broken?

<span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Dear Diary, [Date Not Recorded] <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">Mommy cancelled my appointment. I told her that if she tried to call a doctor I would kill myself. She's afraid of me. Daddy's trying his hardest to cope with this and be a good father. He's drinking again. I thought he kicked that habit when I was a baby. Mommy won't drink. She smokes a lot more now, though. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I tried showing my new friends to my parents. My friends didn't like them. They told me to stay away. My parents didn't hear them talking to me. But I'm trusting them. They're going to be there for me through everything. I trust them. I even love them. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I haven't been to school in a week now. My old friends try to visit me now. They say they're going to pray for me to be better. If there's anything wrong, I don't WANT to get better. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I hurt myself really really bad. I'm experimenting with more kinds of torture. I began burning myself. My friends hurt the parts of me I can't reach. They only hurt me because they love me. They're making me beautiful. I'm so thankful I have them. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I'm never going back to my old life. I don't care how messed up anyone thinks I am anymore. Who needs real life? Who needs anyone else? If everyone lived like this.... Everything would be perfect. <span style="color:rgb(51,51,51);font-family:'lucidagrande',tahoma,verdana,arial,sans-serif;font-size:11px;line-height:14px;text-align:left;">I think I'm gonna practice more ways of self-harm today. Hopefully I'll end myself. I'm not gonna do it on purpose... No, I couldn't. But if it gets to the point where I die... Then I'll embrace it with open arms. The world won't even notice I'm gone.