God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another…

Oh beautiful release
Memories seep from my veins
Let me be empty
Oh and weightless and maybe
I’ll find some peace tonight

“D’you see?” He motioned briefly across the street, cars and yellow taxis flying past as faceless crowds blurred by. “The moving van. The Wizard… Wizard of oz moving company…”

I cracked a grin, your fingers laced with mine, your thumb soothing the back of my palm lightly, tugging me along as the walk-sign glowered at us with a red hand, taxis beeping.

“Yeah, guess it’s Harry’s new job.” I answer, my mind always in the world of fiction. You snorted, a smirk playing on your lips as I peer up adoringly at you.

“That’s what you get for marrying a Weasely.” You scoff, and I know that I could never marry anyone but you.

I’ve told you two things now, that I’ve never been able to admit to anyone else. Not even Molly. One secret isn’t so bad, I’m just guilty to admit it–the other, well. I saw the way you glanced at me, when it really hit you that nobody else knows. Not even my parents. It’s a habit that I think I’ve broken, it’s a need that never really goes away. I do think about it from time to time, but its been a year and a half. Two years, practically.

On the brink of hysteria, the random unhappy spells that hit me hard, tears ripping at me, clogging my throat–poof, you snatch me, tug me, and soothe me. You make me better. I’m not one to linger in unhappiness–and when it hits me, I have two thought processes. The one I know is true–my friends love me and I’m not worthless, and the one my mind throws at me.

I have weird ass cravings when I’m on my period. You’re excited for when I’m knocked up. The random shit I’d want, you say. I nearly burst into tears and ripped your head off when you casually told me you didn’t have the honeycombs’ cereal. You lied, though–and fuck, I was craving it. It’s never chocolate I crave, it’s weird shit.

We shouldn’t be talking casually of children.
“I’ll be a nazi dad about sex…” you paused and glanced at me, the street lamps illuminating your catty grin. “I’ll hang up posters about killing Jews.”
The Nazi easy-bake oven. Haha.

One girl and two boys. Boys can have sex at 15-16–the girl, not until she’s 25, you say. She’s not even born yet, and you’re so dead certain that’ll be the rule. Mmm.

I say I don’t want religion a big thing and you scoff at me.
“Fuck that, we’re gonna worship Satan. We’ll have Satan pictures EVERYWHERE. And every halloween we’ll dress them up in hardcore Satan costumes and make them sacrifice goats.”

It’s a first for me, Will. It seems everything with you, is a first. One my most antisocial days, when the whole world seems so horrible and death plays on my mind, you have me laughing so hard, forgetting all about said unhappinesses.

It’s amazing how you can seduce me right in Time Square and nobody picked up on it. –Well, Laura did, but maybe not. Only because I can’t think straight and I turn into a giddy gushing thoughtless twit.

Oh and Time Square. I went for you, Molly. For my birthday, I dragged Will out there, all for you, and I saw the pretty lights dancing in the darkening sky. You’ll fall in love with the it all. One day when you come to visit, we’ll take you. You’ll see.

But on top of the Rock…
That was my favorite. It’s the most romantic places I can think of. The highest building in the part of town–we’re above everything, looking down on the glimmering shining twinkling lights of the city. I could spend all day up there. I really could. I’m so in love with it–it’s… it’s like being up in the plane. I feel so free. At peace. So happy.
And darling, you’re afraid of heights. And yet, you took my hand in yours, and stayed up there with me.
Call me silly, but that’s where I’d like to be proposed to–if you ever really want to marry me, for real, god. It’d be so perfect.

I haven’t been able to keep myself up, lately. But I love how you handle it. You don’t milk the situation, you don’t give me a reason to get dramatic. You give me the space I need, and you become very soft with me. Your tone of voice, the way you react around me–as if I were fragile, as if you want to shield me from the rest of the world. You get close to me, and hold my hand, and you ask, only once, if I’m alright, and then you change the subject.
You let me tell you when I’m ready.

And I tell you. I tell you everything. And I’m sorry. It’s been getting harder to stay cheery. It’s December, I don’t like December.

But I like you. I like you a lot. And I’d like to always like you. Stay with me always?

Shadowed paper; plastic giggles.

And our empty sky was filled with laughter
Just before the flood
Painting worried faces with a smile

“Stand in front of the mirror, and count backwards from 10. If you can stand there until you reach o, well…”

Well then you like yourself. I know that look, I’ve seen it before, I remember it. What little I had known of you, I remember that side glance. The fleeting smiles and laughs, fans waving, masks playing. Delicate slender white fingers spinning a web of facades. Don’t give me that, we both know what’s going on.

Welcome to the 21st century, my ass, you jerk.

Tut tut, let’s put away the painted faces and talk like how we should. Simply business, right? Of course. When I said half, surely someone would have caught on. Right? Half-cousins? It was a pun, a joke, a play on the truth. See, I wasn’t lying. It was a play on the truth. I am half of what you are, cousin.

So don’t smirk at me like you know it all. So don’t stare at me with those fucking eyes, like you know everything, like you know my, ah, what was that? My sins? My so called wrong doings? We’ve both played with fire, I just so happen to still be youthful while you older. Let me see the mistakes and errors myself. Maybe we’re different.

Mother, I won’t babysit you and watch you don’t off yourself. And while it’s always been a weird fear that I’d come home to find you dead–I’m not going to pick up your pieces.

Liar liar on the wall, whose the fool of them all?
Say I, say I. Anxious, sure.
But upset? Maybe not. Let’s pretend though. I didn’t want to go to school. Yes, let’s use my mom’s new found desire as an excuse to stay home.
Shame.
Shame.

Lights, lights, lights, so many twinkling lights, floating and falling and dancing in the chilled air. That’s what I want, I choose that.

It’s odd. It came to my attention that my birthday is next week. I had forgotten. I forgot again even until Will reminded me.
I realize why I hate December. It isn’t so much because it’s the last month before I wake up, and it’s not so much Jayden and Lydia…
Oh no, it’s the presents.

I hate presents so much. I always have. I can’t describe why. There has never been anything that I want, nothing that could satisfy my needs. It was always a disappointment. I had no need for toys, they didn’t last long. Movies are watched once. Clothes mean nothing. Books collect dust. Nothing. Nothing at all. I want nothing.

They make me anxious. All wrapped up, the expectation running high. Knowing that whatever is in the pretty box is nothing that I want.
I pretend, sometimes, to want things.
I don’t want the 360 for reals. Sometimes I pretend a lot more because of Elizabeth–or it’d be cool in a story, or because…
I. Want. To. Feel. Normal.

It’s like how I don’t actually dislike Marvel. It’s like how I don’t actually care about DC. It’s like how I pick out fictional people to not like so I can feel like I’m like everyone else, with the whole ‘disliking’ thing.

I don’t want anything. And even if I did, by the time I got it, I wouldn’t want it. If I got a 360, it’d sit there. I’d need a new thing to want.

Don’t get me wrong, I love the video games, playing them are fun. But they just don’t give me anything. Nothing material can.

The shatter of silence.

When you came in the air went out.
And every shadow filled up with doubt.
I don’t know who you think you are

Trust is something I feed on like some desperate starving animal, giving it freely. It never bothers me when people like Sango or Jessica break it. The trust I give them is a mere shadow of how I feel toward the people in my inner trust. The people I actually love.

I never thought Kaggy would have to break mine.
I understand she doesn’t gossip. But the small slip to Yuki and Jill of ‘Yeah Will and Sarah are having sex’,
And Yuki’s slip up to Sango. Well, everyone knows now.
I’m not angry at Sango, that fool can’t keep a secret even if her life depended on it. No, that poor poor girl isn’t capable of even understanding the ability of keeping something secret.
I’m angry at Yuki. Idiotic dimwit.
I’m guilty for making Kaggy cry.
I went to school telling myself I wouldn’t make a scene, and I ended up making two.
It doesn’t bother me that Dennis thinks I’m a whore who doesn’t know what love is. It doesn’t bother me that everyone knows. It bothers me that it bugs Will, it bothers me that nobody can keep to themselves. It isn’t your damn business.
‘Did you orgasm?’
‘How big is he?’
‘What’s it like?’
‘When did you do it?’
‘How was it?’
We’re not close. You don’t need details. Any of you.

Eh. What am I suppose to say, anyway? Here comes the silence that I loathe so much, the silence that I can’t stand but always offer. I don’t know how to ask for help. I realize that I don’t want any. If I admit what’s going on to myself, I don’t want to hear it from anyone. I don’t want anyone to ask me ‘how are you?’ or ‘you okay?’ Yes, I understand, you guys love me, I love you, you’re all wonderful.

But if I really need help, I’d find a way to ask for it.

My mother is suicidal. What a lovely conversation that was.

‘You’d be upset, but I’m suffering.’

It’s just how it was with Daniel. Silence is the only thing I had to offer and some shitty therapist like response. I didn’t feel numb. I didn’t feel sad. I just felt indifferent.
I’ve always been terrified of my mom dying. I always wonder if I’m going to come home to find her dead. Somehow her being suicidal doesn’t surprise me.

I lied. I’m trying. I’m trying so hard to say, ‘hey, this is what’s going on!’ but every time I try to, it never seems like the right moment, thus I leave it up to people close to me to read it.

The anxiety might not be so bad, but I’m kind of a wreck. No I’m not. I kind of am.

Bipolar is an ugly word and I wish my mother was something other. Apparently it’s very strong in my family. Crying, talking of killing herself, my mother asks, ‘Do you ever feel like… this?’
No, I say. I’m just delusional. I can’t possibly be bipolar.

I can’t be manic. I can’t be bipolar.

Mania is generally characterized by a distinct period of an elevated, expansive, or irritable mood state. People commonly experience an increase in energy and a decreased need for sleep. A person’s speech may be pressured, with thoughts experienced as racing. Attention span is low and a person in a manic state may be easily distracted.

People may feel they have been “chosen”, are “on a special mission”, or other grandiose or delusional ideas. Sexual drive may increase. At more extreme phases, a person in a manic state can begin to experience psychosis, or a break with reality, where thinking is affected along with mood.[2] Many people in a manic state experience severe anxiety and are very irritable (to the point of rage), while others are euphoric and grandiose.

So what the fuck am I? Bipolar? Manic? Schizophrenic? Do I have the schizoaffective disorder? Schizophreniform disorder? Apparently being non social for six months is just what all these have in common–at least to the ones that start with schizo.

So what the fuck? Is my entire personality just a mental illness? With one pill, everything that I am will be gone, ‘fixed’? They’re all the same fucking thing with different names! Though, I’m not depressed in the least–this rules out Bipolar, doesn’t it? I don’t really have ‘mood swings’.

But anyway.

I’m excited about Molly’s baby. I hope it’s a boy. I’m not sure if she’ll let the doc tell her the gender or if she wants it to be a surprise. But holy hell, and here I was stressing over whether or not I was knocked up, and surprise, six weeks. Way to go, Molly.

I know I should be more disapproving, and I know I should be more concerned, but it’s what she wants, and I can’t help but feel the need to support her. She can do this, we both know she can raise a child. I’m going to help her. Maybe she’ll move down here and let me help her take care of her baby. She’d need a place to stay if her parents flip. I dunno if she told her mom yet. I’m almost afraid to ask.

It’s amazing how fast life goes. I’m still a little dazed. Maybe it’ll really hit me in the morning. But fuck. I get to be Auntie Rin.

Fundamentalist popups.

We are a band
And not a band of animals
This masquerade
Is more than I can bear
There goes my reputation
It’s awful, this humiliation
And I’ve the lion’s share

Blink. Blink. Blink. I almost loathe it, the little cursor on the blank document. Nearly offended by the pure empty sour white page that drips and consumes the entire screen, I scoff, and drum my fingers against the tops of now worn away black keys, creating the illusion of the parade of genius. Tap tap tap. My fingers dance down on absolutely nothing, not a single word streaming from my mind, spilling onto the continuously empty puke.

When I made it clear that I wanted nothing for Christmas, I was lying. Someone get me out of this writer’s block! I’m so antisocial, it’s disgusting that I can’t take this advantage to my benefit of writing.

And here comes the anxiety. The no I don’t want to talk about it, I’m completely fine. I just can’t go to school and need to sleep all day because, oh, why is it? Yeah I’m that pathetic that I can’t even go to school because of art. Because I’m suddenly so anxious over one little project that the entire world is closing in on me and I’m thrown into a spiraling fit of anxious depression. Rocking back and forth tugging at my hair, whimpering, shouldn’t account for normal, but the problem is that I’m not sure if I actually did that. My dreams are turning to realistic, and reality is turning to fuzzy for me to be sure of the difference.

I lied again when I said I’d consider the medication. No, I don’t want something for the anxiety, yes I’m fine, I wish everyone would stop doubting me.

I’m just feeling guilty and angry and anxious and sad. That’s all. And I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t. There’s nothing to say. I don’t have anything to say, to explain. I’ve got writers block, my pride is furious with me, I’m just falling right through, I’m so antisocial that I feel so guilty about not even wanting to see anyone at all. I want to go back to my life of fiction, I want to crawl right back in there and stay nice and warm and forget everything.

But I’ve also accepted my responsibilities. I’ve grown up some.

December is just, and always will be, a terrible month.

Protected: To get to know this masochist who’s stolen my first name.

This post is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:

Password: