LINKS
MY WEBSITE
THOUGHTS (by none other than me)
****************************************************
"perfect makeup but you're barely scraping by... this is one time you cant fake it hard enough to please everyone.... or anyone at all.... and the grave you refuse to leave, the refuge that you built to flee, the places that you've come to fear the most... is the place that you have come to fear the most..."
****
Where am I even going? I don't know anymore. It's so complicated. I don't even understand it. Sometimes I wonder if I want to understand it. Scuffed shoes I drag along the sidewalk while you lecture me to pick up my feet. My lip is bloodied, dark circles under my eyes offset to pale skin. It gets to the point you realize it's not getting any better. It's the same. I'm measuring minutes by a clock that's broken. The hour hand hangs at 6, unable to make the effort to move to 7.
I sit alone hugging my knees to my chest. Alone. Always alone. I shake my head back and forth, as if to shake out the tears, even though they don't come. I'd never cry in front of you. Put on a happy face. Smile. It pains me to think I'm not even good at pretending anymore. All I want is to be left alone. Then I could curl up into the fetal position and sob. For some reason I don't want anyone to see me cry. Crying brings you down. People lose respect. People start talking about the little things. Once you cry they might start realizing everything else.
I stare down the oil based road. The curves will take us up to the mountains. I wish I could take the road, walking past the stucco houses that line the street, past the stained sand, a reminder of last night's leftovers. I would take off running but I know I'd only stumble. Running and stumbling. Stumbling agitating my bruised knees until fresh blood pumps out of my veins, out of my body, bloodying the dust. Somehow it's better there...past the telephone poles, past the general store and up the mountain. Somehow it's better without you. Without anyone at all.
I told you everything and you've forgotten. I keep trying to convince myself it's better this way. It all comes down to the fact that nobody knows me anymore. There's no one to run to. So this is what being alone feels like....I just want to be numb. To erase all the pain inside. All the hurtful stuff that goes on in the world... that I can't control, no matter how much I try. I just want to go back to when things were simple. When there were no "what if"'s... I just want to go back to feeling happy. Go back to being okay. Because I'm not okay right now. I want to be... I want to be a butterfly so I could fly away from here. You said people are butterflies... if I am a butterfly why can't I transcend this? Why is it still with me? Sometimes I don't even know what time it is. I thought it was daytime but it's 1 o'clock in the morning. Not even dawn yet. I woke up at dawn last night. Or I was awake at dawn. I'm not sure... nothing could hurt me then. Up in the tree nobody could see and you asked me if I felt safe. Yes. There is so much happiness in the world and so much pain. I don't see how it all balances out. Sometimes I do. That's the numb feeling. Where you can't feel any pain. I don't know ... what I am supposed to be doing or why I am even here.
Numb again. I blare my music into unforgiving ears until the sound punctures the eardrums. They told me I only had two so I figured I'd ruin them now. Then I can't hear your excuses. Maybe it'll block out the screaming matches that compete in my head. So I'll avoid you and we'll forget this mess ever happened. Maybe it's better this way.
Sometimes I feel like there's got to be more than this. I run to places that don't even exist. I can't run away forever but sometimes I wish I could. It's a lot better that way. Then I don't get hurt. I'll just go around being your fucking little ray of sunshine while stormclouds gather dangerously above our heads. You ignore the raindrops until we both drown. It's not as if we even know each other anymore. Standing in the same room, holding hands and chatting up the place. So disconnected.
I'm just a screw up. Everyone wants me to be happy and they don't understand that maybe I am always going to be like this. Maybe nobody can change this. I am not going to wake up one day and be better. This is how I live my life so I adapt. I wish I didn't have to but the truth is, I don't think I could survive any other way.
Fuck the pain away... ought to be a story. It doesn't work. You end up hurting more. You end up tearing yourself apart because nothing - sex, food, drugs... can take the pain away. In the end it is just you. Nobody else and it's not like you can even escape. No, you are just a fuck up. Just a weird fuck up with no life and really nothing to live for. Guys you don't like adore you but the ones you like and like you turn you into a sex toy. You were nothing but a mere sex toy. That's all you'll ever amount to. It was fun, but goodbye. Just remember that fuck up, you hissed in my ear. And so I lie here broken again chasing after you...after some illusion of a perfect life. Only you are nothing. Fuck you, he screams. "You fucking whore! You are nothing but a fucking whore!" And you crawl over to the mirror and stare at your reflection - your puffy eyes always wet with tears and you realize that yes, you are a whore and a fuck up and everything he said you were. He told you he says it to make you stronger. All the fights were to strengthen you, only if they made you stronger then why are you lying on the floor with someone you barely know, wiping up their vomit? At least you didn't give him the blowjob... but then you think, "Aw, to hell with it, I'm already a whore." But you are a whore who doesn't get any. Again, someone tells you that you are looking sad and you shake your head and smile, state in a happy voice that you are fine. Fine. Great. Super. Terrific. But you feel like shit. He says he'll make you better but he ends up just as depressed as you and it's all your fault he ends up like this. It's your fault he's not happy. Because you are a fucking reject. Fucking stupid. God dammit, all you want is a nights sleep. No nightmares. No feeling so freaked out. It's gotten worse lately and you know it. Everything he said is coming back and you begin to realize it doesn't matter. You don't matter and if you fell of f the face of the earth nobody would care. Maybe for a day. Not that long. It'd be a joke. Eventually you are left all alone and there's no more room for screw-ups like you. You begin to realize you are wasting air. You are taking all the oxygen and taking up valuable space. You sit in the bathtub and realize one slip of a knife. That's all it would take. If you filled up the bathtub with water nobody would have to clean up a mess. You could be gone so fast. Nobody would even know for awhile. The only reason you are even staying here is because you don't want to hurt people. Someone you wonder if they'd even care. Then people wouldn’t hurt anymore, after you were gone. They would be happier. You don't eat anymore really. Started feeling guilty about eating a whole bagel for lunch instead of just tortilla chips. At least you still eat breakfast. Maybe you could cut that down though. Maybe you have too much cereal and milk. Maybe less would be better. Sure are getting defensive lately. Feeling bad about everything. Spilling water on Paige's book because your water bottle was leaking only made you think of how fucking stupid you are. You should have known not to take that water bottle. You are so stupid sometimes. It makes me wonder why you're alive. You have such a problem. It's not anyone else's fault either. It's your fault because you are so stupid. Flashback. I wonder how long I was out for. Same person on DDR so probably not that long. "I could be happy if you still love me..." Could I be? So FUCK THE PAIN AWAY! .....I curl into the fetal position. I can't live here and I can't die. I'll just wait for a solution that will never come.
Is it possible to live your life in a fairy tale mode? Sometimes I get so scared wondering when it'll end. Everything good in my life has ended as abruptly as it has begun and I don't want to lose you. Everything is so fast paced.
Sometimes I get so scared when everything starts spinning out of control. Sometimes I feel like I need to just rest against the concrete, my face pressed against the gum stains and dog feces. I don't want to be down there but it's the only place where I can't fall. I get so worried that I have some sort of physical condition where I'm dying. Suddenly I don't want to die and the only reason why is because of you. I'm so scared of dying before the year and a day where we can't be separated. I'm so scared of continuing without you.
Sometimes I feel like running until I can't run anymore and plunging myself into a body of water and swimming. I don't know why. It's just an urge.
I wonder why some people have to be so incredibly stupid? It wouldn't bother me as much if they were stupid and open minded, but the fact that they are stupid and closed minded bothers me a lot. It makes me realize how much our society is declining when I begin to watch people. Then I profile them in my notebook and nobody is the wiser. I like looking back on the profiles and then seeing the people again to see if they have changed. Usually they haven't. I try to give everyone a chance. Usually the chances are wasted, lifted up in vain. It makes me angry to realize that so many people have such a low tolerance for other people and that they don't like people simply because they are different than them. They don't seem to understand that they are the people who hold the world back - the ones unwilling to compromise, unwilling to accept differences. Difference is the reason humans as a race have survived. If we were all exactly the same we would have gotten one disease that would have wiped us out eons ago.
Friday will be the anniversary of my aunt's suicide - and my own attempt at the same fate. My parents want me to go out to dinner with them, I suppose in commemoration of her life, but I declined the invitation. My mind often wanders back, meandering through the vague memories I have of her. The memories are sparse and I often question if that is the reason I hold so tightly onto them, embellishing them with images that only exist in my mind, placing her on an altar similar to Mother Theresa’s. I sit alone most days, buried deep within the comfort of my worn comforter, the breeze from the fan barely penetrating the layers of cotton stuffing. It's October 1st but the temperature in the comforter would lead you to believe it is July. Sweat from my brow begins to form tiny pools, pulling the drops of perspiration together. The pressure builds and sweat drips down into my eye, which I almost mistake for tears. I feel numb inside, and though the memories are welling up inside me the tears don't come. I sit quietly, my legs crossed, lost in a labyrinth of memories. When the heat is too much I fall asleep, my hand still clasping the opal necklace, the last artifact of her existence. (I used to wear it around my neck until the chain broke. I found it that night, nestled between the folds of clothing. My father fixed the chain, molding it together with his thick fingers. I look inside the swirls of rock, imagining she is a part of it, swirling into oblivion. At moments I find myself wishing I too was part of that circling sediment.) In my dreams I hold her. She is crying, her wiry brown hair hilighted gray is stringy and her eyes are puffy and streaked with strings of blood. She continues to sob, her body shaking against mine, her own pain wracking my own body.
you're bending over the toilet
vomiting at three AM
a chuck is stuck to your cheekbone
but I'll let it go this time
if only I knew it's the last time
you'll speak to me in public again
crossing the street at half past ten
I'm clinging to your hand
as if it could protect me
from all of those monsters
who plague my dreams at night
I'm just some sort of fuck up
and you've gone away from here
walking down the street alone at four AM
mascara lines streak my cheeks
and the people driving by look at me strangely
I see you in the hallway
treading water in dirty converse shoes
I pretend not to know you
and you pretend you don't remember me
checking the gun to make sure it's loaded right
I'm sure there's no one to stop my fate tonight
sometimes I swear I smell you
the sweet tinge of smoke clinging to you
engrained in your cotton poloshirts
I frequent bars
bathing in the heavy fog
until it stings my eyes
leaving them bloodied
in strings of red
Sometimes I want to tear my entire notebook apart. I get to the point that I'm cursing at the mirror about what a shithead I am because I can't write anything at all.
I'm in search of some vague idea of personal space. Tell me if you've heard of it. Too many people haven't.
I'm really starting to feel as if I'm falling apart. Everything seems to be going perfectly. Maybe that's what scares me so much. There's so much shit in the world that I can't take away... so much pain other people feel that I'm never going to be able to help. My eyes are swollen, streaks of red creating a pinwheel around my pupil. Sometimes I wish I could just leave here. I don't know where I'd go. I still have this awful part of me that wants to go home so badly. It makes me wonder where home is. Is there such a place at all?
I wanted so much to be part of something and now that I am sometimes I feel so disconnected from it, like it's not even me. He's going to feel like it's his fault that I'm like this which is the last thing I want him to think. I bite my nails down to the skin, as if it will somehow fill up a part of me that is empty.
I surround myself with these material things because it's all I can hold onto. Even memories fade. I can't remember what I used to be like before the sadness came. I keep my coat on. I carry around my life. It's impossible to pack for a sleepover. I pack up everything. I don't know why I would need to take mousse and hair gel along with me since I never use it, but there's always that chance I'd need it... and two pairs of socks in case I fall into a huge puddle. I pack up everything and then I don't use most of it. Material things don't really matter to me, but it seems like the only thing I can hold on to. And my coat and jacket. I never go anywhere without them. Maybe if I had been wearing more then things that happened would not have happened. There must be a reason for things happening.
I wonder what would happen if I just left. It wouldn’t be that hard. I could pack up all my things and just start walking. Chances are I would not get very far. I could trek through the woods, but it's hunting season and I'd have to wear clothing to blend in to make sure search parties didn't find me. Blending in would mean most likely I would get shot. Or run a high risk of being shot. Sometimes I wish I could be like you. Just leave.
Sometimes I have this dream where I am laying down in grass and I'm laughing and laughing, uncontrollably... and I'm happy. The shot is taken from an arial view... like a movie. It resembles the end of a movie... maybe that's what life is. I hope I go out laughing.
I don't know how to express my thoughts on you leaving. I don't know what I am supposed to be feeling. I don't know what I feel. I wish I did. I miss talking.... I miss a lot of things I suppose. This entire thing is completely illogical.
I'm so tired of thinking. I'll just put on some Pink Floyd and try not to think. It's impossible to not think though because when you are thinking about not thinking about anything you are thinking about that. I'll just talk to Nick more. I had a diary thing... opendiary, but it doesn't work at all. Stupid machinery. Now my computer will probably send me a fatal error because I offended it or something.
"I think I’ve got a lot of friends, but I don't hear from them, what's another night alone... I’m just a kid and life is a nightmare, nobody cares because I’m alone and the world is having more fun than me... and maybe when the night is dead, I’ll crawl into bed, staring at these four walls again, I’ll try to think about the last time I had a good time..... what the fuck is wrong with me, don't fit in with anybody, how did this happen to me... every night is the worst night ever... I’m just a kid..."
Argh someone bust my head open so I can't think anymore. *sigh*
Why the fuck am I so fucking depressed and yet happy at the same time. I don't understand. I have no more money really at all. I wish parents would be quiet. College, college, college. That's all I hear. I just want...need...some time to recover from this headache that is coming on.
I think I might be going crazy. He makes me angry at times...dropping out of school, dropping acid, not caring about anything. I wish we could go back to the days of innocence where we'd talk until all hours of the night about nothing in particular...but I guess those days are long gone. Innocenceeeee......haha...I don't remember innocence.
I am feeling better. Emotionally, at least. Physically, I am sick. Sore throat sick but I am really happy. Weird how that goes. I was sitting there today thinking how incredibly wonderful his voice was. Dumb, I know.. but I can't help being dumb at times. More like all the time... at least around him. I felt like being sick a couple days but not enough to miss seeing him.
I was looking at my legs.. at how pale they are. Skin is an amazing thing.
I wish you were an asshole, giving me some reason for my feelings. Instead I simply feel terrible in my sorry existence, living for my notebook and pencil, my guitar and CD player. I don't know what I'm living for anymore. So much is gone... so much of what is gone was never there in the first place. So I just smile. Try and pretend this new arrangement is suiting me well and hope to god I don't crack. It is so hard not to crack. So much is riding on my shoulders, and so little at the same time. I know not what to expect or what I should or should not be doing or thinking. Instead I will continue to be your friend. Often there is not much else that can be done. Pressing lips against windowpanes like countless memories; our breath stains the clear glass. Blackened blood clings to particles of sand unable to dissolve or dissipate. The reminders are tarnished. Smooth skin is roughened by calluses I am unable to attach memory to. I feel as though I am a fragment of my former self. I often wonder who my former self was. I cannot recall... I write so many more letters than I will ever send. All for the purpose of thought. Thought plagues the mind in a way, like flies on a rotting piece of flesh. They torment me, random memories drift in some unnamed space. I am searching for answers in all the wrong places... looking to some deity that does not exist for solutions. People move about, as if in the wake of a wave. Confused, they stumble out; an endless mass of bodies all yearning for something more. Anything more. I want to experience everything. Pain is an emotion. I want to experience every emotion, situation... I feel if I do this I will have a better understanding of life. I try to look to the details to understand things. The sun is beginning to shine. I wonder what Defoe's depression pills would do. They are for anxiety attacks. I am not having an anxiety attack. Of course, I have never had an anxiety attack so if I was to have one, would I know? I don't feel hungry. I just won't eat. I wonder how long I could continue in that manner? Probably a good week or so with enough will power. I often wonder how everything in my backpack becomes scratched. Scratches remind me of scars, scars in the paint. Like some sort of disease in a way, tiny dots appear, circular scars, indentations in the paint and I cannot understand why my backpack is diseased. I start to wonder if it has to do with me. Perhaps I am the reason for this disease and I wonder why. I start to wonder if I've missed some catastrophic event or if this many people pass by me in the hallway every day. I am sitting alone and I begin to realize I like looking like a loser with no friends whatsoever. Maybe not for an extended period of time... but for now I like it. Perhaps it is because I realize on Monday everyone will be back and I will be surrounded again. I wonder. Sometimes I cannot understand my own emotions. Sometimes I want to slit my wrists. It sounds shocking but I just think it would be interesting. It would be so incredibly symbolic... the draining of life. I cannot help but wonder about the pain I would feel. If nerves were cut, would I still hurt? In bowling I twisted a muscle in my knee. How I accomplished this is still a mystery. It hurts but I like the feeling.... a dull throbbing pain working its way up my leg, climbing like an animal to some unknown destination.
I have been asked the same question so many times in life. They all swim in my head and I cannot pin it down to one question... one quotation. My head hurts, I feel a little dizzy, and I realize I never knew him at all. I liked living in the dreamworld where everything would be alright. No sense in going to bed if there is no one to hold you in your dreams... you are instead expected to protect yourself. I know I'm not strong enough to do that by myself.
"I am the only one to blame for this, somehow it all ends up the same, soaring on the wings of selfish pride I get too high... with the world I try so hard to leave behind, to rid myself of all but love, to give and die......take my world apart, broken on my knees...."
I really don’t' know what the hell I'm doing with my life. Fuck. I walked past him in the hallway this morning and got this feeling. I don't know how probable it is that I'm going to make it. I suppose I just miss talking. Pretty stupid.
People walk mechanically down the hall, hauling their heavy cloth backpacks to barren classrooms, the tile glinting from the dusty overhead light, the film of soil on the floor pushed around, forming fermented spirals in the granite.
I cannot continue this mass of ugliness coursing through my veins. It's corroding my insides.
I watch you plodding down the hallway, suitcase in your large hand you seem to be lost in a world all your own. You sit upon the leather, your long legs bent...
Sometimes it is as if you never knew me at all. You pretend not to notice me as I pass in the hallway. I only glance your way; unable to let my eyes search you for an answer. When you are gone I am left with this complex situation, unable to understand your thoughts. I am left unable to speak to you. Unable to function. Unable to understand. You reject me but I suffer in silence.
The earth meets the sky somewhere on the horizon. Stardust is scattered methodically throughout the star-studded night, littering the sky with dusty memories.
Sometimes I don't understand you at all. I wonder if I ever did. You say that I am not invincible. You are right. I am already broken.
You all think I'm crazy. I'm quite aware of this. I can't pretend to understand you or the world. It's still a mystery to me, so I observe. I don't know if it makes me strange or a freak to want to experience everything. I put so much into everything only to get nothing back in return, which is alright. Sometimes my world falls down around me. I question everything which gets me into trouble. I don't accept things for the way they are. I am too much of a dreamer, too intense for this world. Eccentric is the nicest way to put it. I wish I could be someone else but I cannot be someone I am not. This is my apology, although I have already said far too much. Many letters will go unsent, many thoughts untold, and many dreams come unraveled. I like to think that someday all will be better but the truth is not always kind. You may think I'm crazy. It cannot change me. Nothing can ever change me.
I always think to myself that tomorrow will be better. I just realized that tomorrow never comes. It's always today. Will it ever be better?
I wonder if I am bipolar. I think I would know by now if I was. My stomach hurts so much now. It scares me, always tying itself into knots. I don't know what it is.
Sometimes I watch you pass by in the hallway, your fingers clutching leather. I wonder if you think I'm crazy too. Character sketches. I have too many. I have too many thoughts. Too much of everything.
I want to disappear somewhere. Anywhere. The pain runs deeper than I let anyone see. I could never let you see me cry.
Still quite aware of the way everyone looks at me. I suppose it doesn't matter much.
Run your fingers a little bit further up my leg, slit my wrists, blood staining the white cotton sheets.
