It hurts. It hurts to know that I've hurt people beyond repair. It hurts to know that I've been hurt beyond repair by my own self. It hurts to know I've done these things and I can't go back in time and fix them. It hurts to know that no matter what it is only going to happen again.
And I hate myself for it.
For once there are no add-ones or doodles on this diary entry from Jill. The page is perfectly neat and blank. Her handwriting is perfect. You can tell she was not feeling either of her two selves while writing this.