Truth or Fiction

The divide runs.

So. I definitely read more fiction for fun than anything else. But I do read non-fiction as well. Generally, when I read I’m escaping into another world, something to entertain me. To distract me.

When I read non-fiction I always seem to pick the fucked-up stories. Stories of serial killers- I swear I learned everything I could about Jeffrey Dahmer and Ted Bundy and Dennis Rader. I read Rachel Joy Scott’s story, her journals. I cried; her story affected me for months. Still does- that whole school shooting bothers me.

School shootings bother me. I don’t understand how someone feels like it’s a good idea. I don’t understand why other students bully another to the point they become suicidal or shoot up a school.

I’m not blaming anyone other than the person who commits the crime, but c’mon. It’s known that some teens kill themselves due to the amount of bullying they receive. How come nobody steps up? Why are we as a society so quiet? Why do we watch someone suffer and do nothing? Why do we pick on someone else to the point they cut their own body? Why the fuck are we so cruel?

Laci Peterson’s story bothered me when I heard of it. I was 12 years old, and couldn’t believe people were so cruel.

I pick the fucked up real stories. They bother me. I cry. I feel so helpless. I don’t understand how single mothers let their boyfriends beat or rape their babies. They turn their head…because they don’t want to be alone.

I don’t understand people. So maybe that’s why I read the fucked up stories. To see if I can figure it out. So far, I haven’t.

But I also read other books. I did buy an anatomy and physiology book just for fun. And I have a biology and a history book laying on my bedroom floor.

I read fiction. I read non-fiction. They have their place, and I wouldn’t want to be forced to pick one or the other to read forever.

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