(no subject)
I know there were fatalities... and plenty of causalities, but damn. For all my football mates (and spectators) who are here 'hiding' from M. Pomfrey I'm quite proud of you all, we did well, even if it wasn't much. I feel like someones tried to make a point out of me or something. It's not been a pleasant few days, and I just keep looking at everyone and thinking I have to be strong for them if not for myself. I'm still fucking cranky, and Dean has caught some hell for it. But, that is what happens when you throw a pillow at me. I feel like a piece of me is gone. What was left of my childhood has gone right out the window. Not that I expected it to last forever. I've had half a dozen people already tell me that I'm too grown up thanks to this 'parents' business. And yes, I owled them to let them know I'm ok. I feel somewhat used, really. I'm kind of shocked how much I acted in that amount of time. Sludge and hexes flying at me, though I did manage to disarm... someone. I guess on some level it made sense for them. To get us here, when we're all together. It's like... genocide sort of. I mean, maybe it's me, and maybe it's just luck because we're friends... but I find it odd who all was 'hit' by things. But, as my closest mates can vouch, I happen to think too much. That's all to do here though, cooped up in the infirmary. Horrid dreams and wretched thoughts. I'm tainted. Something forced upon me which I did not wish. Nothing in the past six months of my life has been easy, which is, in ways, I think I might be dealing better. And yet... I fear I am the worst all the same. Too many tears have been shed in shame, words in anger. Why? Tell me why. Why us. What did we do to deserve scorn. This... utter hatred.
I feel so... ugly.
I feel so... ugly.