All these words that we speak casually

There’s always drama before/during holidays, a sort of bad luck thing that I tend to skip away from. Last year there was two sets of drama on the same day, on Thanksgiving, and now last night, a night before thanksgiving. I just don’t like Thanksgiving–what the hell do I have to be thankful for? I suppose a lot of things, but not anything I really want to admit to or share. Plus, I really don’t like my family. Or do I? It depends on my mood and how I want to present myself. Fern I love, my cousins–well, I do, but I’m annoyed with them. Who thought I’d ever carry a grudge?

 

 

It all will fall, fall right into place.

You feel
The force of nature
We touch
And something charges

It’s something that’s overwhelming and I feel completely abandoned, though it’s something I could fix if only my mind didn’t spin tales. And all I want is to curl up and cry. And cry. And cry.

Work for it bitch. Now take off your pants and dance.

McRinny xB: I didn’t know if you wanted to do that journey alone or not.

Ckwhy425: If I get lost

Ckwhy425: YOU’LL KNOW

McRinny xB: o.o My Jew senses will tingle.

Ckwhy425: Yes

Ckwhy425: That and you’ll hear an accident on the radio

McRinny xB: XD

McRinny xB: Well…

McRinny xB: At least then you won’t have to see Twilight.

Ckwhy425: YAY

Ckwhy425: DEATH > TWILIGHT

So now I’m feeling extremely foolish for my behavior of yesterday, nearing on embarrassed. I don’t like sharing my grief usually, and I was completely out of control and out of line. I’m grateful for Snarf who helped me out, and to Tara–I just wish I was more level-headed to be thankful rather than freaking out, stuffing my face, and drinking myself to sleep. With pepsi, of course.

What more, Will might not be able to make it to the movie tonight, which sucks, because I don’t want to be surrounded by crazed fans without him. I guess I just want him to suffer with me. Cruel, no? How can it be love if I want him to suffer? I should hope him not to be able to see the movie, and be cramped in the crowed theater with us, but I’d miss him, and I’m anxious about how I’d get home. Clearly Wally will drive me, but I hate giving directions at night.

I think I need saving the most.

Shock is the first thing that filtered through me, and I hate how you went about saying it. Numb, completely numb, and disbelieving–should I even be allowed to feel those things? Considering our relationship, I feel like I shouldn’t, like it should be nothing to me, but it is something. I hate knowing that you died without knowing that I wanted to see you, that I wanted a relationship with you.

Why is it that everyone in my family dies? Do I even get to call you my family? And here I am, sitting, crying. Isn’t that pathetic? I’m so completely selfish. I cry because I didn’t get the chance to make memeoris with you, I cry because I’m bitter and angry that another person left my life. You’re suppose to be here for me to meet, you’re suppose to be my dad, you’re suppose to live forever even if we’ve never met.

I never meant to bad mouth you, I never meant to mock the idea of you, I never meant to use you as an excuse. And now you’re gone, and it’s just another thing to add to my list, and now you’re another thing for me to feel bad over.

And fuck, I’m crying so hard I think I might puke it all back up, and my head is spinning and it hurts, and I just wanna curl up and cry, and cry, and cry.

You’re just following Hitler’s orders, but I’ll be back with cake.

Okay, so having Victor, lovely mister Kitty, as a muse was a completely moronic thing to do. He’s like Mischa and Jayden combined with such animalist rage that it’s almost pee-producing frightening. I’m surprised he actually agreed to being my muse for a bit, though I’m not sure he realized he had a choice. What more, he came to school with me, and curiously, still somehow violently, explored my classrooms, mimiced my professors, and ripped apart things. Holy hell. Having him breathing down my neck while taking the road test was not a plus. He kept pointing out things I did wrong, told me to do this and then quickly barked out “Just kiddin’!”

But Victor is my good luck charm, and so I let him loose in Ellenville. If he likes me, he’ll come back. If not… well I guess he’ll spook the towns folk.

“I wish there was like a GED for college. We could take it together and rule the world.” -Molly “We could share the lols and kill things and then get dobs somewhere together. I’m going to be a massues lol spelled wrong. When I get enough money I plan to open my own spa.”

“Oh, I plan on being a guidence counselor.”

“Yay. >:f beat the children. Beat them with soap until they’re normal. Like us.”

I’ve asked Molly that if I come up for a weekend if I was allowed to stay at her house, which she said I was, as long as her parents didn’t know I was an internet friend. Which is fine. I plan on going as much as I can.

I think it would be amazing if we lived close by to each other, though I’m sure when she’s not with a client and I’m not with a student we’ll be texting each other things and mocking the kids/clients. Or she’ll tell me about her sex life in detail while I’m talking to a troubled child. I DUNNO MAN.

So midnight, on Friday–I guess, it’s gonna be actually Saturday–Wally, Tara, Will and I are seeing Twilight. I’m not so much looking forward to it. Tara had previously thought that because it was midnight that nobody would be there, but I have a feeling that it’s gonna be so packed that we might not find seats together, and there’s always the high chance that Will has to pick his sister up at 11.

I had origionally backed out of seeing it, since Tara wanted to see it opening night. So a month ago she went to preorder the tickets and found it to be sold out. Wow. A full fucking month in advance. Are these pre-teens all on crack or something? I mean, Werewolves are cool and all, and so are vampires–but I’m a Harry Potter fan, and not so much a Twilight fan. Bella has no personality, other then her deed love for Edward–but I can admit the author writes well, and has a way about alluring her readers. So that’s respectable. I just wish she made her characters have more depth to them. Eh. It’s more of a teeny romance than anything. Which is fine. But honestly, she really could have stopped after the first book.

So anyhow. I’m going to be surrounded by fangirls who obsesse over something I don’t really care for. Wally, who got talked into going, talked me into it, by promising to snap anyone’s neck who comes near me, and I, inturn, pleaded with Will to come. He finally agreed–mostly because Tara already bought the tickets.

Something… SOMETHING… bad is gonna happen that night, I just have a feeling.

I’m a kitty cat, and I dance dance dance.

I’m just a little bit caught in the middle
Life is a maze and love is a riddle
I don’t know where to go, can’t do it alone
I’ve tried and I don’t know why

Maybe it’s because we’re more like best friends, two complete immature prats, than anything that we get along the way we do and connect on a level that I’ve never dreamed of connecting on. There is no embarrassment, no topic left untouched, no secret kept hidden. It’s free for-all of just truths and laughter.

But it’s been that way from the beginning; just laughter.

Sitting in the waiting room of Nicole’s shrink, time passing by and I was suppose to be home thirty minutes ago. The room is overly bright, newly remade, and smells of turkey and gravy–we assume the Shrink isn’t coming out for Nicole because he’s devoring an entire Turkey dinner. Time clicks by and Will turns to me, “Potato” he deadpans, emphasizing the p, causing spit to splatter all over my face…

And I crack up, nearly peeing myself in the process.

It’s been a year and almost two months, and still, nothing but the amount of time we’ve spent together has changed. Since the start of our relationship it was smooth and open like this, no topic forbidden. But I wonder… Why no butterflies? Surely true love has butterflies, doesn’t it?

I’ve been bratty and pressuring him to buy me an engagment ring–just to be a brat. He won’t, since he wants to “buy you a really nice one”, which means he’d need moneys, and because he and I both know nothing would change. I still wouldn’t be allowed to sleep over.

I need a job and a place to live. I had a dream Ryan and his friend Shane, despite not knowing him–why’d I even dream of him?–, bought this shabby Ranch that had a basement, and the old couple was desperate to sell so it was pretty cheap, and they decided to leave most of their furnature in the house when they moved–so I left home and moved in with them, and got a job. I think it would be nice to live with Ryan, to be roommates. xD To bad he lives in California. He should move to New York. It’s amazin’. I’ve known him since I was 13, him 15.

I have another road test tomorrow, which I really don’t feel ready for. Blah, I don’t know how well I’ll do. I’m worried I’ll get an anxiety attack.

So this morning at 9, I got dropped off at Will’s, and at 9:30 Wally came over, which from there we drove to the bank, then the mall for L4D2, Assassins Creed 2, and Modern Warfare 2 and of course Senzu Beans at FYE. The Senzu Beans are pretty good, actually.

I don’t really like L4D2 much, but Ellis makes it all better by making me laugh a lot. Blah. Modern Warfare 2 is amazing from what I’ve seen–Homfg. I like Wally’s gamertag, it kind of makes me wish I had my own 360. Though at the same time… when would I even play? Never. I’m way to distracted to play, and I’m usually with Will anyhow.

I mainly don’t want to drop out of college because then I’d have to get a job, which means even less time with Will. And it’s awful how I center my priorities around him.

UGH.

UGH UGH UGH

I hate Hugh Jackman as Wolverine. Jesus Christ, he does a terrible job, he’s WAY to much of a pansy, and, his looks? Pfft, non-sexy. So I’m back in an X-Men kick, so we bought all four seasons of the origional X-Men cartoon. You gonna end up like Storm… in da box. Hehe. KNOWLEDGE IS POWAH.

I’m thinking of having Victor as a muse, just because he’s violent and he’ll be destructive while I’m at school. Distracting, yes, but amazingly fun to watch.. Mmmm. I was gonna have Professor X, but his mind reading would get old fast. Kurt would just poof away whenever, and I’d lose Mystique. Sure, I’m well aware that Victor may just tell me to fuck off, or slash my room apart, or whatever, but he’s completely worth it.

That’s not anxiety! That’s the urge to kill!

She’s about four, I think, shoulder length chocolaty hair and small staring dark eyes. Her name is Jayden and I nearly died–what are the chances of that? And spelt the same way too! Jayden, Jayden, Jayden. Chrissa call her Jay. Her younger brother runs through the room screaming “JAAAYYDEEEENNN” in a high pitched drawl-screech and I stare. And stare. And holy hell do I ever stare. Three devil children running about, smacking, hitting, wrestling, yelling. This Side-Quest–shut up, it’s totally a side-quest, kay? I don’t care if there’s nothing else–is turning out to be more than I bargined fer.

Maybe I should rethink having children so soon. With The Day After Tomorrow spooking me from the TV, and a hot plate of Baked Ziti in my lap, I don’t know how anyone can stand to baby-sit. Plastering a smile to my face, I hide a grimance, a wave of fear washing over me. Children scared me.

But…

So now there’s two Sam’s I can’t stand. One, I use to love like my brother. The other–well, who cares about that Sam, eh? I can’t, and I won’t understand what happened. How’d it all go down hill? Jen no longer feels anything? She’s a walking zombie? And he hasn’t been to school since, when? September? Where’s the lovable brat I grew up with? What is this talk of suicide? How does everything get so tangled and distorted? Pathetic angst, you aren’t real, you’re just a heartless git. Can’t you even see you’re ripping your family apart? Sorrow is one that I know only briefly.

It’s heart wrenching to known this, and a horrible sense of helplessness jolts. What the hell can I do but offer my home? And still. What best friend am I? I can’t even do anythin, and do I even get to call myself a best friend? With months of absenses–and yet it’s her. We’ll always be close, despite the lack of seeing each other, ’cause that’s love.

Yeah. Forced to go to church. You know. Hate.

McRinny xB: Lets go to a club.
derblauenSharpie: K, be there in 12 hours. >.>

 

My daily pill in take. I just got new batteries for my camera, and like any other normal girl I decided to start taking pictures immediatly. Just of my pills though, trying to get an artys shot. I ended up failing MISERABLY, but hey, what can I do? I’m not a photoghrapher.

I’m still anxious. All these medications, and I’m still anxious. No matter how higher the doses go, I’m still freakin’ anxious. Maybe it’s just how it’s always going to be. I spent the entire daying sleeping against Will ’cause I’ve just got so much anxiety.

So, we bought ff VII, ff VIII, ff IX, ff X, ff x-2, ff xII and Dirge, plus the guide books for 9, 10, 10-2, and 12. Which is great. We just finished CC, and KH–which I now want KH2 <3. So, we started playin’ 9, his favorite.
And I fell asleep for most of the beginning. I’ve been sleeping a lot lately. I’m just so tired. I’m not so excited about Christmas, hell, it’s not even thanksgiving yet. Will and I decided to spend Thanksgiving at his house this year, like last year, which is alright, I guess, I was kind of hoping to see Cousin Fern. She rarely comes up and I really need to catch up with her. But whatevs.

So Melissa has a… friend. Who is a booooy. He looks like a red-headed fatter version of Dennis, with a squashed face and pimples… or are they freckles? But I like him. His name is Tommy and he’s the sweetest boy I’ve come across in a long time. He cheriesh her, and it’s a shame. I hope maybe she won’t hurt him or twist him around her devilish fingers.

So Nicole is getting pretty serious about Lu. A few times a week she goes down to the city to see her. I’m hoping this one lasts, cause I really, really like Lu. And Liz got a boyfriend! At first I liked him… he’s a bit older, and he isn’t attractive but he treats her right.
He’s just an ass to Will. D:< Which means, I don’t like him anymore.

You eccentric, billionaire playboy man, you.

underneath the moon,
underneath the stars
heres a little heart for you
up above the world,
up above it all
heres a hand to hold on to

A warm lazy haze falls over me and sleepily I snuggle closer to the where the heat is being emitted from; the soft dark purple fabric. Oh lovely love, how can anyone in their right mind resist cuddling up to such warmth? How can anyone not be lulled to a lazy nap, much like a fat cat on a summer day?

I’ve said it before. I don’t want to make memories with anyone else but you, darling. I don’t want to love anyone else’s smile, and I don’t want to laugh with anyone else like I do with you. I can tell you anything without feeling embarrassed, I can finally be me. I don’t have any use for lies, even small white ones.

With the world of pretend playing at my fingertips, I much rather play in reality with you. Oh, darling. You know what you do to me. I wish I could pour my love into a little jar, and show you. I want to hold your hand forever, I want my fingers laced with yours always, I want to be able to smile at you for the rest of my life.

We’ve come so far in our relationship, but that’s only month-wise. I feel like I’ve always known you, I feel as though you’ll always be my best friend, whether it’s romantic or not, as long as you’re in my life nothing can be better.

RIKERS, RIKERS, RIKERS~!

You made me swear that our hearts will never die
No never, no never
‘Cause no one seems to believe that we can fly
Forget them, forget them
Oh..you told me

Long since the days I laid besides you in the fields of gold, as the lazy sun bathed us in nineteen forty’s warmth, German planes flying through the cerulean skies, big white puffy clouds creating illusions. Long since the days I felt the blades of grass brush against my chilled, wind-bitten, cheeks, long since the days we laughed–rather I laughed and you gave a ghost of a smile–long since those days  that felt so real. Now just faded memories that haunt sanity, and play with it like ice and fire. If it felt so real, was it? Or is the mind so broken that it fabricates such memories?

If you saw me now, what would you say? That I’ve succumb to peer-pressure? To my own rebellious needs? Do you think I’m a fool? That I take everything for granted? Things that you, yourself, could never have.

Echoing laughter, I follow the two into the jeep, Wally climbing into the backseat with me as we speed from campus. An entire week I skipped, to do god only knows what. Burger King, the Mall, going to Jersey. English gives me bad anxiety. That’s no excuse.

We discovered the new imported Monster, with it’s brilliant tabs. To be honest it tastes better, or maybe it only feels that way because it’s imported.

And then there’s the side-quests, bringing Nicole, her gorgeous girlfriend Lu and her two stereotypical black friends, with their stereotypical names, and every other word being; “Daaayyymmm” in a high pitched tone of voice, attitude lacing their words, to night clubs. The adventure starts at 9, and it should only take an hour there and an hour back, but I end up getting home past midnight. With Nicole screaming into her blackberry, ‘Mother-fucker’ this and ‘Mother-fucker’ that, scaring off gas-station white guy with a black girl attitude ‘DAAAYYYMMM’, I finally get strawberry milk. Yum.

“Hey Sarah,” Lu calls from the backseat.

“Yeah?” I answer, tilting my head to see her better. She throws me a pointed, but curious, look, her gaze flickering toward the clock. 11:25 glowers back in glowing red letters.

“What time do you have to be home?”

“Nine…”

“Nine… Tomorrow?”

“Nope.”

So Will and I have started playing Kingdom Hearts, the first one. He’d bought all the Final Fantasy games on Ebay, but he doesn’t wanna start playing them till he finishes Crisis Core on the PSP. He’ll probably be getting Rich’s old PS1 game system, and he already got the PS1 memory cards from Dan.

 

Blue.

Her name is Blue.
And, oh, she’s so lovely. Big brown eyes, maybe with an ochre tint, but mostly brown, like creamy chocolate.

Her name is Blue, because what other name is there to remember? Especially with fury blue glaring down into your mind, what else can you remember?
Blue. Like a cat.

She’s 5′3, because of her father, but with a round child-like face, because of her mother. There’s a way about her. The way she walks. The way she talks. The way she moves about, carrying a careless authority about her.

Defiant, but a bit idiotic, it’s true, she’s a doll. She’s tough as nails. She’ll handle what the world can offer, and withstand most emotional turmoil with grinning ease.

Blue is perfect.

Antifail pills, please.

Sitting in a pool of my ever-so annoying anxiety, angrily listening to some chit named Miley Cyrus going on about ‘and a Britney song was on…’ over and over again, those stupid pills doing nothing for the gnawing anxiety which is my life, and fuck, what I really need is anti-fail pills.

My nerves aren’t what they use to be, anymore, though I think I was just better at adapting to the switches, and now I rely on pills like some sort of… brainwashed mindless idiotic maggot. I’ve become what I preched against. So how’s that for hypocriticy? Here’s a bowl of it, so please, sit down and gobble it up like the fool that you are. My pride is burning.
Oooh.
You’ll be the death of me.
Ohhh.

I think my eyesight is getting worse. I can’t see shit anymore, and everything just blurrs and merges and twists. Driving is fun. Not really. It’s more work. Everything is just more work for me. I’m convinced, somehow, that the licence plates are all trying to spell out a secret message to me. They’re just… coded. Really well. And besides the angry urges, and the suspicion that the person behind me is following me, everything is alright.

Lets all be hypocrites.

Two years ago, in 11th grade, I stood in front of an entire class ranting and raving about the evils of pills. Two years later, I’m on four different kinds, three of which are for anxiety, one of which I take twice as day just to keep me tide over and not shaking. They sit on the top of my micowave, splattered out in a pretty design.

Back in the loop.

I’ve never liked parties, though I’ve always imagined myself apart of some grand thing, running around like the good little house-wife host. I must admit, I’m proud of myself. Not once did I cling to Will’s arm like a lost little girlfriend, but mingled with his family and mine. …Hung out with his friends.

Now why didn’t I invite any of mine? Well… I just didn’t. People=Make me anxious. More of them, nah uh. Even my own crowd, it’d be over-load for me. Plus… would they really have a good time mingle with Will’s friends/Myfamily/Hisfamily? There’s only a few I’d invite–Snarf, but she was away and she gets anxious tew, Venny but she’s into staying-at-home-playing-WOW, Kaggy, but she and I are an exclusive thing.

But fuck. So, Christina-Rich, Dan-Sam (His Sam, not Sam-Sam SAM SAM LOLOSAKFAFA) and me and Will. I guess it’s true what they say. When you’re in a couple, it’s best to be around other couples. And fuck, was that night filled with such crazy time and laughter.

From the “kiddy-table” fun, to Dan running down the hill to ride the kid-firetruck, to getting a five-foot sub in Will’s car…

D: To “being high” time in the basement. To eating fast food in the back of Rich’s car at midnight… Fuckin’ hell, I forgot what its like to have so much fun with people.

Drunken misery, sober ending, oh god.

By defination I fear people who are, by correct terms, ‘not all mentally there’. This includes the insane, the mentally retarded and the drunk. I fear drunk people perhaps the most because, well, there’s different types. And if I could blast this music any louder I would, I’d drown out my thoughts.

I can deal with being burned slightly by the cigarette of a drunk, it was an accident, and I can deal with having a bag with a hole in it. That’s fine.

But lost in New York City, taking care of our drunk guide who can’t speak correctly, is so drunk she can hardly stand–that… No. That isn’t okay.

I hate something and it’s drinking. And it’s drunk people. I. Hate. Drunk. People. So much. Why do people feel the need to escape like that? I hate Laura when she’s drunk too. I hate everyone when they’re drunk. It isn’t okay at all, and I loathe kids who drink. What’s so bad that you need to get wasted and stumble about?

I escape reality in a different light, sure, but this is different. At least I know where I am and I’m not a blithering idiot! I’ll never drink, ever. I never want to become like that.

Fuck everything.

How could anyone do something so… immature? Careless? Leaving two fucking teenagers to figure their way around New York City? Are you fucking retarded? So self centered? Irresponsible?

I’ve never felt so helpless before. Each moment was another step another ‘What do we do now?’ Another step into the heart of the city. A crowed, gay-obsessed, parade-filled city. Holding onto a laughing stumbling drunk who announced it every two seconds, who repeated the same questions over and over again, who aimlessly wandered into traffic.

“You’ve got to take your meds.”

Hysteria strikes and it’s all one can do to keep back the rush of emotion. Head spinning, walls closing in, throat tightening, the urge to scream out tears through, noise–static–fills the room. Like bees buzzing over head, a cloud of noise surrounds. Painful rage rips through, sorrow clawing at it–

It’s coming from the inside, ripping its way out. Anxiety is a bitch.

All over waiting for a text message. “You’ve got to remember to take your meds,” he says and I bow my head and nod. I remember. I take them at different times. I haven’t been serious.

And I haven’t fucked up my arm so badly before. I tore at the first thing I could find, rage, sorrow, the need to get the anxiety out of me feeling. I didn’t do it for release. I did it because I was upset, it became my escapegoat. Biting down hard, tearing at the skin, grinning twistedly.

Good you little bitch it’s what you deserve, echoing loudly in my head. Again, do it again. Nails digging down upon flesh, rip, rip, rip. Make it hurt. Make it feel. The need to feel something grew urgent. The need to be alive, to be something that under the waves of anxiety was urgent. The hate for nothing, the pain.

A large sickly yellow and disgusting blackish purple spotted black and blue is all that remains, which coveres a lot of the arm. It hurts. It’s what I get, I suppose, as punishment for not being in control. I can’t even lightly touch it without such horrible pain.

I know I should tell Kathy, and I know I shouldn’t downplay it. I downplay everything, but I’m in serious shit. I’m in the habit again, and I’m attacking seen points. Of course, they’re unnoticable with the clothing I wear.

But why am I attacking seen points?Am I subconsciously asking for help? Or is it just the first thing I notice to attack in my urgent disorder. I stumble a lot, black and blues aren’t hard to explain, and often its just assumed that I hit a wall again.

“You’ve got to take your meds,”
People only say that to fucked up people.
Am I fucked up?

744 Hopkins ST, yeah fucker.

My pain is constant and sharp and I do not hope for a better world for anyone, in fact I want my pain to be inflicted on others.

It hits close to the recent rage that brews silently within, but it misses, if only just, for I haven’t wanted pain for anyone in a very long time, not since the days of childhood where I daydreamed about killing the people who called themselves my friends. No, not even do I wish Sam to feel the tiniest bit of upsetness, though I do sometimes have an urge to rub it in her face that Will’s much happier, I still, then, have no feeling to cause her any type of pain. Just an understanding that she failed.

I don’t have any desire to cause pain. Not anymore. It’s just a silent rage that fills me with the bitter taste of betrayal. Over what? The end of school? Has my twisted mind warped it so that everyone has abandoned me or am I so indifferent and cruel that I’ve been waitin for this moment? That I’ll keep up the smile, hug everyone, and at graduation I’ll say “Talk to you later” only to delete Facebook and myspace and change my number.

If only. Is that what I want, or is it my fear for being left? Leave them before they can leave me, or what? Running is what I do best, isn’t it? I give people what they want, I say the things that I’m suppose to say, I spend amounts of time with them, buy them things, comfort them–but do I feel anything?

My therapist says I do. So am I fooling myself? Do I care and this is all a defense mechinism?

I find myself turning off my phone, sinking into myself, hiding. My anxiety creeps, and without the pills I’d full out have run by now. I wanna scream “I HATE ALL YOU FUCKERS GO AWAY”, but is it true? How can I be unsure of my own feelings? How can I act so happy and so caring if I don’t actually? Do I? Or don’t I? Why do I constantly feel two different things at once?

I’m so so terribly anxious, if effects everything. Maybe I’m like my mother. Maybe I’m just bipolar. Fuck.

Who the hell?

My anxiety grabs and pulls and tugs. Ohh, she must know, she must know that it makes me sick, and that I’m sick easily. My mind swirls in a thousand different directions and fades into blankness, and I become sick in the stomach. I wanna shove it in your face.

Having a pictures with you in his boxers is weird. Calling him after he tells you he never wants to speak to you again, is weird. Having an old picture of him in his boxers laying around… is weirder.

Why do you talk to me? Why?

An echo in the world of silence

Amazing. Simply amazing.

It’s the way the words roll off your tongue in a breathless manner, power surging behind what you say and your blue orbs dancing with admiration, like you adore me. Your warm fingertips glide over my chilled arms and you tug me close.

Amazing.

Your breath is warm against my lips and my eyes flutter shut, you close the distance, brushing your lips against mine and moving past me leaving me breathless with a giddy, schoolgirl, smile.

Eight months and you keep getting more and more charming to me. You know all my favorite spots, you know all the right things to say. And you hold me so perfectally.

To each his own, so where do I fit?

I understand I don’t fit into the new American Dream. I really shouldn’t have been in this time, but I’m glad I am. In the 50s, early 60s, it would have all been alright. It’d have been expected.

Now EVERYONE is expected to go to college. Feed the machine! Keep our country, our economy, afloat! Do now, buy now, learn now! Do, do, do, must, must, must.

But what of what I want? Oh, I’m only 18, what could I possibly know? Well, for starters, I know myself, and I know what makes me happy. True, there was a drastic–drastic–change from 17 to 18, every little thing I thought would be important faded into dust. I’ve done some strange growing up, I’m learned more about myself. It’s… strange. And surely more change is on its way, I won’t deny that. But I can’t refuse what I’ve always fancied.

Housewife. Even as a child, I wanted that. I want that now. I want to get married and have children and rely on a man, there. I said it. This is what would make me very happy, this is what I want for myself. I don’t want to go to college, I don’t want an important job, I don’t want any of that.

But, of course, that takes away from the plan. Oh the great, fictious, plan I’ve created to appease my parents.
“Well, I’ll go to OCCC for two years, and transfer to Empire Online to get my Masters.” and the “Well, we have to be dating for at least five years, and living with one another for a year, before marriage is even a question…”
Oh yes, of course. And yeah, I believe marriage is a no-divorce type of thing, that’s why I’d stick to it…
But I want it now.

I don’t want my little scratch to go away. I really haven’t gotten negative responses about it other then Will and Molly–Molly checks up on me now, and Will…he has a way about him. Regardless, I love it. I love seeing it, being reminded of it. Sure, the action brings shame, terrible shame, but…. other then that, I love staring at it when I have the chance, or running my fingers over it. It’s a constant buzz, sometimes, the urge that springs up. Like a scratch you can’t itch.

There’s an addiction, the pouring relief of pain. Of that sick twisted state where it’s beautiful. God, it’s beautiful, to damage. To hate. To deserve. It was mine, and I don’t want it to go away. I know I said I was above cutting, and I am, nails don’t count! They don’t. And I know it isn’t my usual. Always the legs. Stab and burn, always. But I like this one. I like seeing my pet. My precious. My little scratch that’s all mine that I made. I want it forever. I want a permante one, one that’s an old scar to run my fingers over.

But I can’t. For Molly, for Will, for the way they worry over me. For the way he scoops me up and tells me its gonna be okay, I couldn’t, and I won’t, but I’ll dream.

So I’ll work on it. I’ll use my nails and I’ll just redo it forever. Only I won’t.

And here comes the money issues.
60 dollars a week for him.
20 for me.
Yeah, it sounds great, right?
Naw.
Gas. Food. Car problems.
And whatever else there is; Movies. Out to Eat. Video Games.
It’s a struggle, and we’ve actually had to cut back. Somedays I don’t get a pepsi for a week.
we need to save:
For Six Flags. About 234 dollars.
To Fix his car/belt: 90 dollars.
Alien: 5,000 dollars
School: D:< Who knows?
Zune: 200?
PSP: 200?
A new computer to play sims 3: over 200
Rock Band 2: 189
And my obsessions. Can’t forget those and how much I spend on them. Oh lord. Kathy says I’m Obsessive Compulsive. But she also thinks I has a Thinking Disorder and ADD.

Distractible speech, Incoherence–word salad?, Phoenemic paraphasia, Semantic paraphasia…

Pills for everything, a label for everything. Can’t I be fine…? A bit strange, but fiiiine. Oh god.

My little scratch.

So much has changed in the course of a few months. The things I swore that would never come have turned a 180 on me and now I’m sitting smack gab in the middle of it all, with my mouth open and my tongue hanging out like the little brainwashed twit I strongly swore I’d never be. ‘For the better’ my ass, I’d argue. I could manage just fine. I could manage so fine, honestly, until I actually had something to live for, right? Oh yeah.

I live in horror the moment that I have to be watched, all the time. I don’t want to live that life, I don’t want to become that sort of burden, I don’t want that kind of attention. I do want to be independent. I do. I swear.

I’m not a cutter, I’m above that. I’m above it, I’m above it, I swear I’m above it. I’m so arrogant, judging myself with others, scoffing and waving away at everyone else. Oh no, I’m better, I’m fine. I’ll preach to you, and you’ll listen to me! I’m so sane, I burn myself! You’ll never know, I stab myself! I’m so sane, so sane, listen to me you poor fucked up kids, I’ll tell you how it is, I’ll give you labels, but it’s fine, I’m okay. I’m so great I threw away a very expensive bracelet because it told me to.

They gave me medicine on Thursday. An antipsychotic  on a low dose and an antianxiety. One for night, one for morning. They’re both for the anxiety, and I’ve finally found a shrink who acts like I’m everything to him. He’s wonderful, I trust him. They just have to monitor my blood pressure levels extremely carefully, blah blah blah.

I’m so good at it. Ignoring my urges. I’m so happy, I’m so fucking happy and then bam. The urge rises, and I suddenly need it so bad. I need my little secret. Five minutes alone and I’ve ripped open the skin on my wrist with my nail. Grinning and grinning and digging and digging and I’ve got to make it pretty because it’s my little scratch. It’s been years since I’ve SERIOUSLY done any damage. I couldn’t help myself.

I’m ashamed of it, of myself. It’s getting so hard suddenly. I can hardly control myself anymore. From all urges. I almost stole a child today. I’ve been pointing out things to people that I know isn’t there. Am I losing it?

Today…

I fell in love with a name, for a boy, and it fits.

I was drowsey, in and out of sleep, thus meaning a state of mind, and I could hardly remember conversations, hardly making sense out of them. But there was a name that stuck out, a name that I see to a little boy in my head, like finally finding a missing piece to a puzzle.

But what the hell am I doing? Baby names? Am I daff? Have I completely lost it? This reaches far beyond just looking for another story, or playing a little hunt with the characters. Oh my god, I must be over my head, but I can’t let go of the name. Why is it that the need to have children is screaming the loudest in my mind? Why has it been this way since… well, since near December?

Let’s be honest, it’s been before I even had sex. It just wasn’t this… pronounced. Though I’m not about to give into this overwhelming desire. I want to have a life to support these children, and I want to be able to spoil them.

Despite my own common sense and goals for myself, I can’t come around it. I say one thing, but hell I want another very much. It’s suddenly become the most important thing in my life, and I haven’t even had them yet! It’s horrifying, it’s sickening, it’s.. it’s… It’s what I want.

I had told myself that if I were to ever have children–a child–they wouldn’t rule my life. They wouldn’t change my views, they wouldn’t make me want what I had set out for myself to change–but here I am, changed. Wanting something completely different. A life. For them. For us. For me.

We’re young. I’m new to relationships. It’ll be 8 months in a week. We shouldn’t briefly mention marriage, or what kind of house we’d like, or children… But we are. We have. Almost since the start of the relationship. Oh lord, I love that boy. And oh lord, I should stop worrying. And oh god, oh god. How strange it is for love to bump into me. How strange it is to become someone’s everything, to have them in return mean just as much.

I don’t want to think of the future. I want to think and enjoy now.

Just think about the turtles, how they bite your anxiety to cure it.

Triggered by reasons yet unknown, it starts as a small trinkle. A nervousness, lip-biting, worry. The world is closing in slowly and whispers hint, kicking up like dust overhead. Th-thump, thump, thump. The noise starts, lingering, taking its time.
Breathing becomes difficult.
They know. Who they are, it isn’t certain, but they know.
There’s a tightness around the chest, the throat. Horror splashes, jolting through the body. Horror, horror, horror. The need to bolt explodes creating a chain reaction of fear and pain.
People become faceless mobs.
The world melts. It’s a trap.
The noise bursts up and becomes loud static.
Something is trying to crawl out from the inside.
Nervousness becomes extreme.
The hands shake. The need to pull at hair becomes a necessity.
Rocking back and forth helps. But only sometimes. Mumbling, whimpering. Slurred words. Unable to think clearly.
Thoughts of self damage emerge.
The need to curl up emerges, along with either the strong need to sleep or the inability.
Nervousness becomes more and more intense. Body throbs with the worry. With the fear. With the nervousness.
Paranoia stirs.
Delusions.
Nathan next.

I can’t go a few steps without my mind finding something to get anxious over. My therapist seems to understand me better than I do myself. She pointed out that I hated close contact from other people, especially males, and I wondered how the hell she knew that, it’s only been, what, five sessions with her. And do I? I have trouble breathing, and I panic when I’m pulled into a hug.
Sometimes its okay. Good lord. I’m alright.

We’re all cursed, I think.

Call an optimist, she’s turning blue!

You’ve cast your demons out
And not to pull your halo down
Around your neck and tug you off your cloud
But I’m more than just a little curious
How you’re plannin’ to go about makin’ your amends
To the dead

Fantastic. Bleedin’ fanfuckintastic. I have so much to complain about. Mmmhmm.

Pain. So much pain. My ankles have always been slightly weak, but this is just plain pathetic. Both ankles sprained, one is constantly throbbing, and I can hardly keep a book open without my wrists giving me hell. My therapist thinks I’m brilliant, and Laura’s life just went to hell, spat her back up, and took a major shit on everything. Good lord. Watching something like that. I can’t even…

And I’m angry! At my mother, for all the wrong reasons.

Today was another really great day. Though it bothers me that THEY stole MY idea. I UNDERSTOOD quantum physics and the MWI theory WAAAAY before those jerks did. That’s MY time-travel theory, assholes.

:/ I guess its kind of sad explaining the basics of the 4 dimensions to a teacher in class–like doesn’t everyone know that? Feh, everyone I know does at least. What is so hard to understand about; ‘There is no diffirence between time and any of the three dimensions of space except that our consciousness moves along it.’…? It explains itself so plainly! Why teach us something that you do not understand?

Mmm, and all it took was for Michael to turn to me as I slammed my fist on the table in mid rant and say, solemnly, “I wish my particals could transport.” And I burst into laughter.

See, Frank’s doing his billion page research paper on the theory of Time Travel, and he spent ten hours or so searching through the web–which sounds like a stretch–and forgotten all about a worksheet. He did it, yes, but he hadn’t handed it in. I, doing Time Travel in Sci Fi, show him my packet on all the theories there are, and he says, that if Ms. Carter had given that to him in the first place, he wouldn’t have forgotten to hand in the paper, and he wouldn’t have lost the 11 points that just ruined his future life for college.

Time Travel is a bitch. And I love it.

God, I’m wondering where the luls came from. Like a pair of drunken idiots staggering aimlessly through the streets I’ve found my equal, someone who gets what I’m all about and reaches the level of sheer mockery and idiocy that one ought to mistaken us for the drugged up drunkens. Giggling, staggering, talking utter nonsense. And that’s that.

My favorite gym teacher eevvvaaah. Mr… Lawenson? Lawson? I’m not really sure, but he’s my favorite. And I wish I’d know him forever. I dunno, I guess there’s this thing about being called by my surname. ‘Ralson’. ‘Ralson, right?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Ralson. Sarah.’
‘Yes, sir.’

My friendship with Ryan is patching up beautifully. Especially how he calls me Ralson as well. :’D <3 Wally makes me lul, and I’m not even minding potato boy either. And mm, yeah, I can’t believe I’m sayin’ this, but I laughed hard. Wow kid, seriously?

At first I wasn’t sure whether or not to be angry, but the whole thing was just so damn hilarious, that I gave up. God forbid I think of my own comfort first, huh? I’m still really unsure what I did wrong, but then again, I just have to stand there to be wrong. Eh. I’m still unsure if she was gonna cry or hit me in the face, she looked like she was gonna do both, to be honest. I had simply wanted to inform her of my sudden change of mind, and see if she wanted to change over with me, but before I could continue, she exploded in angry rage.

Holy hell. She stormed away and I turned to a stunned gym teacher and Wally. Wally snorts and says, “I was not expecting that. She’s like a dragon.” which caused me to burst into laughter. And that was that. Realization, yeah. It’s done. It’s fairly obvious she doesn’t enjoy our friendship, which for the first time in my life, I’m not at all annoyed over, and I’m very fine with.

See, I’m afraid that something bad will happen to me if I get angry at someone, but hell. This is not happening anymore. I don’t deserve any of it. It isn’t running and it isn’t abandoning, and I’m not my mother. I’m me, and I’ve got to make my own choices, and I can’t fear things that I haven’t done wrong by. She didn’t like my relationship, she thought I was an idiot, she didn’t believe in me, she got angry.

She’s a good person. She is. A good friend, too, when she isn’t like that, and I’m sure she’ll have a nice lovely life, because that’s what I want for her. I want her to be happy, to have a beautiful life filled with joy and happiness and marry her boy and raise a loving family. I have no doubt that she’ll get over this little issue of…. anger? But I’m not sticking around. I’ve got a crazy mother.

But never mind this!

TIME TRAVEL. Finally, I’ve got a group of friends to talk to about it. Yes yes yes.

McRinny xB: Does
McRinny xB: There is no diffirence between time and any of the three dimensions of space except that our consciousness moves along it
McRinny xB: that explain itself plainly?
derblauenSharpie: That’s stupid.]
derblauenSharpie: Time is definitely it’s own dimension,
McRinny xB: Of course it is, but do you underst–EXACTLY
McRinny xB: But.
McRinny xB: You understand what that says, yes?
derblauenSharpie: Because it can be manipulated independantly of our 3 dementions.
derblauenSharpie: Yeah, I do.
derblauenSharpie: o.o Why?
McRinny xB: See, I had to explain to my teacher what it meant.
McRinny xB: o_o She’s teaching us Time Travel…
derblauenSharpie: xD Wow.
McRinny xB: But she has no idea what she’s saying.
derblauenSharpie: Wowowow.
McRinny xB: And I have to explain. D:
derblauenSharpie: Time travel works thoretically, but only into the future.
McRinny xB: She didn’t even understand what the 4 dem–
derblauenSharpie: Stupid bitch.
McRinny xB: See, I have to disagree with that.
McRinny xB: I believe there are many branches off our own reality.
derblauenSharpie: !!!
McRinny xB: I don’t think we can move backwards in our own timeline, but in others.
derblauenSharpie: Oh.
derblauenSharpie: I was going to say that my ideas were the same.
derblauenSharpie: But it’s not entirely.
derblauenSharpie: Totally, a new dimension in time splits off every second.
derblauenSharpie: Also, you should read an online comic call Star Slip Crisis.
derblauenSharpie: o.o It’s about space and time and art!
McRinny xB: The many worlds interpretation.
derblauenSharpie: Indeed.
McRinny xB: o_o Or quantum safasfa.
McRinny xB: >_> Where every thought we have, plays off in another world.
derblauenSharpie: Quite. o.o
derblauenSharpie: I’m gonna go to bed.
McRinny xB: XD Okay.
McRinny xB: Night.
derblauenSharpie: I’m still exhausted from my one day of work. xD
derblauenSharpie: G’night Rin.
derblauenSharpie: -would hug you but knows you’re a jew about giving out hugs-

Blinded; scattered. Ram ram-bam. Hello.

I think it was Dennis who fucked me over, now that I think about it. Because when he and I stopped being so close, I fell away into a sort of depression, and I suddenly felt so alone. I didn’t have that close friend anymore. I did try, though. But then…

I just stopped trying. And I stopped trying with everyone. But let’s backtrack.

One thing, starts a snowball of things. Because I don’t express myself properly. I don’t let people in, because in truth, I get hurt. Very, very, very easily. I’m a very broken person, in reality, and maybe that’s why I try so hard to make everyone else happy, and hope for their cheerfulliness. Because. I. Don’t. Want. Them. To. Feel. The. Way. I. Do.

I do know the terrible loneliness. I do. Try being alone–completely. The last kid to be picked up at camp. At school. Sitting and waiting. Waiting at home. Waiting at the babysiters house.

Years and years of hurtful loneliness. So maybe I snapped, and maybe–maybe–there’s something wrong with me. But whatever it is, I do know I did it to myself. To choose such over reality has to be saying something. I know loneliness, I know it so well that I cannot be left alone.

At all. At anytime.

Isn’t that horrible? I cannot, literally, be alone, because I snap. Because I can’t handle it. I can’t just go to the mall by myself, I can’t be home alone by myself, I can’t do anything by myself. Somedays its so bad I have to follow people around everywhere.

I don’t become suicidal, that isn’t the problem. I’ll destroy the house, I’ll scream and cry, and I may even try and hurt myself–but never have I been suicidal. I don’t want to die, and I never will. I just…

I go crazy.

And this is another reason that I don’t do close relationships. Or rather, why I didn’t. But then there was Dennis–and he become a constant. But then, I wanted away, and he pulled in the other direction as well.

And then there was the Mall Group. But the mall was a constant stress to me–too many people. The dirstraction, however, was often brilliant. The group was nice. But I struggled being myself, as I often do. The sarcastic, somewhat cunning and manipulative person I tend to be–because it seemed much easier to be a childish person. I had finally gotten the type of attention I longed from my mother in the eyes of the people.

And I do like Billy, as I like Sarah, and Brandon, and Snarf and never Face. Okay, I sometimes liked Face–in fact, I did like Face. In a friendly, never romantic, manner. That’s how it always was–and I wanted to pretend it different. I wanted to fit in.

But Shane. I should have known then.

Anyway.

I feel bad. I feel awful. I feel awful that I get hurt by Snarf, and that I’d admit it. And I’m ashamed to let the wound grow deeper and deeper, so much that I couldn’t pretend anymore, and I started moving away.

And I’m left wondering if I’m selfish for wanting my own happiness? And that while knowing she’s suicidal, I’m not going to do a thing about it, like I’ve never done for anyone else. Molly’s sister is that way too, and Molly didn’t tell.

Will says it’s like saying you don’t care if that person kills themselves, and that Molly should’ve told. And I think to myself, am I wrong for not telling an adult? And what are my reasons for not telling? Because I’m afraid? Do I just not want to get involved? Is it too much drama for me? Or because I just don’t think she would?

I also wonder why it’s always up to me, thus making me the bad guy? Constantly. I’m always the bad guy to someone in someway. Always. I don’t go to the mall, thus it’s my fault Snarf’s depressed. I can’t be the friend she needs, thus it’s my fault she wants out of life.

And this Lynn-Doug thing is ticking me off.

This all is more then I signed up for. I failed with Dan, I was there for him so much, and then I let him go, and then…

I’m so happy, and I suppose I’m angry that I finally have things going nice for me, and then… then things are terrible, like if I’m happy, people around me just can’t deal with that.

And thus, I find new friends who are happy. Like Wally. Wally can make me laugh, and I him, and we have things in common.

So does that make me awful? I try and run away from everything else and look for happier things? Does that mean I like to give up? No. It doesn’t.

I just can’t deal with being the problem. I don’t want to go to the mall, and I don’t want to have to be reminded about being the thing that upsets her, and I don’t want have to feel like shit everytime she says something because I’m just not good enough and I’m not a good friend.

I can stick to Molly thick and thin, and stay up all night with her, helping her with her problems. And fuck, I’m loyal. And yes, I’ll be there if needed, but this…

I’m sick of being hurt over and over and over again. Either my writing isn’t like hers, or I’m too happy, or it’s a compition, or she’s angry about an energy drink, or she’s angry but don’t worry she’s not anymore, or I’m stupid in my relationship or I’m somehow spiting her by doing shit she wanted to do with her boyfriend, or I’m just toooo shizophrenic and I need help. I just… I dunno. I’ve been hurting. I mean, fuck, at least Dennis could make me pee myself with laughter. It’s like every damn thing I do is wrong.

I’m sorry if it’s selfish that I just don’t wanna go to the mall, or that I don’t want to hear the newest thing that you’re angry about dealing with me–but I could die at any minute, and I have a lot of shit that I’ve been through.

And I think it really sucks, because you’re a really fucking great person, and not many people get close to me like you have. And I will defend you to people, and I will defend your relationship to anyone who questions it, and I’ll always speak highly of you. And I really hope you have a nice happy life and relationship, and I’m sure you’ll have lovely kids, and a nice house, and your life will go great.

I just don’t know if we’ll be friends for much longer.

FUCK FUCK FUCK

JUST FUCK.

And is this what my life has become? And I’m angry, and I’m so very angry. And I’m angry at everything and everyone and just FUCK YOU. Fuck all of you, except for Molly, of course, because she’s trying to stay happy in this sick fucking dark world.

Just fuck it.

IS THIS WHAT HAS BECOME OF ME? Have I resorted back to how I used to be, just running and crying and running again?

Blasting loud music so not to hear my own choking sobs, am I really that ashamed? And I have no idea what I’m crying about. There’s just that snap, and bam. The cellphone is thrown off the loft, smashing into the TV blow, and I just scream

and scream

and

scream

and cry.

Crying so hard I’d about to puke, but feeling no saddness. Just rage.

And I laugh even harder telling myself it’s all going to fucking hell.

Then to the mirror where I wipe away the tears and practice smiling. So that nobody knows what happened.

And I’m stuck. I can’t even try to tell Molly what’s going on in my head. I just can’t. And I stumble with Will, and I just say, “I don’t know.”

I don’t know why the phone was off. I couldn’t tell him I lost myself and threw it. I don’t know why, I said.

Because it’s the truth.

I don’t know why.

There is a land called Passive Agresseva, and you are their queen.

To say I lost faith in humanity would be a bit strong, but I’ve been left wondering if I ever cared enough, or if that was just another little play to pull, something to fit in with. Though I’d rather like to think everyone is good, still. They’re just not for me. Does that make me, in itself, less human?

I’ve come to find something to detest. Simply like my strong disapproval toward the idea of altering memories, I absolutely loathe the idea of anyone talking trash of someone’s relationship, or life for that matter. I simply won’t stand for it, and I refuse to listen to it, regardless how much I think you’re funny.

Everyone deserves their happiness, and their happy life, and beautiful love, despite who they are, or what they’ve done. This is something I will never change my thoughts on. And I will defend their relationships to other people–even if I’m bloody pissed at that said person. I’ve done it countless times before. And I’ll continue to do so.

So what the hell is wrong with people that they feel the need to wish bad on someone else? I could never. Is it because I don’t care enough about them? Or because what I say is how I really feel? Or, is it because I’m afraid of bad luck? Of having my own happiness taken from me because I thought badly of someone else’s?

Shit, I’m afraid to be angry at someone, because I believe that will give me terrible luck.

However, these times, they are a-changin’. That much is clear. Everything is shifting, and I say, maybe for the better.

For the first time in my short high school life, I’ve been tugged into pointless, shallow, petty, drama. I don’t care much for it. I don’t want to get involved with it, though apparently ignoring it can cause more damage. Huh, who’d figure?

These times, how they’re changin’.

Schizophrenia was so last year, it’s a fad that’s run out and can no longer be used. It’s over, it’s done, and now I’ll wait for them to tell me the latest thing that’s wrong with me. It’s always different, every year, and they’re always sure that this one is the one!

I figure it’s all in my head anyway, so what the hell do I have to care for it? I’ll always be the way I am, and I’ve been the same since I was younger. Just different things come to play, and maybe it’s a delight to twist and tug and watch happily as everything falls, line-by-line just the way I had wanted it to.

Because this is my story book.

Perhaps it’s all a ploy to get some type of attention. From who, I wouldn’t be sure, certainly my mother would be a good guess, but I’m losing hope in that.

I’ve also lost sight of my story book. Things are moving forward, and I wish I knew what to say to Molly. And I just wish I knew what to say.

I do apologize, even if I don’t know how to mean it honestly, I wish I could. Emotionally, Physically–I like running and hiding. Maybe I never really got over hide-and-go-seek, maybe I’m just crazy in that way. Maybe I want a certain kind of desperate attention–maybe it’s my demand for help.

But either way, I’m sure we all get them–the urge to get up and hide. To run away. To leave the store and hide, to open the door while the car is in motion, to sneak away and hide somewhere in the house until found… I guess I just like running away. Dunno why. Hope I’m not like my mom, that’d suck. And I couldn’t do that to him.

And then there’s the end, and I don’t know how to get it back. So for that, I’m sorry, but honestly, I think it was your own fault. And I’m sticking to that.

I’ve lost my need to cling as much–to Molly and William, that will never let up. But… Like I said, I lost most of my faith. The idea of it all is fading. And while I like some of it, I don’t like all of it.

I can count everyone who thinks we’re going to talk after high school, and every single one of them, I know that I won’t. Oh no, I won’t. There’s a small circle of people I’ll hold on to, but the rest. No, that’s a final goodbye. I might enjoy you a lot, and we might laugh and have endless fun, but it’s all going to change.

But I won’t forget you. No, no, you’ll be here, up in my head, and I’ll honor you and make you a character. I’ll immortalize you. Because you have shaped me, and I’m grateful.

What’s there though, it’s the future–and it’s getting clearer and clearer by the day. Never before has 160 dollars looked so small. Sitting outside of the bank, in the car, with twenties in hand–I realized…

I realized it’s gonna be hard. It’s not gonna be like how TV promised, it won’t be how school promises.

Gazing upward at him, the sun setting behind the blasted OnTheRun, as the flickering gas station light’s turn on, illuminating the dark shadows–it’s so very clear, with a single word,

‘We’ve got to make it last’.

Rent. Gas. Life.

We’re going to struggle for a bit. But we’ll both smile, and you’ll always get me that pepsi, and we’ll clasp our hands and laugh.

‘Cause the times… They are a-changin’.

It was such a beautiful day as she read about Superman beating up those communists.

It was a total ‘there-and-back-again’ moment for me, and briefly I considered myself Bilbo just for the sake of the flip-flop back-and-forth, though I would never think of it as an epic tail. Oh, no, no. Yet, with Melissa, anything could be epic couldn’t it?

Saturday evening, maybe around 8-ish, Melissa decides to bring up the fact that she has a party to go to at 9, at the Middletown Lanes. Bowling, who’d figure? Well, Will agrees to drive her, and we start our journey of driving around Middletown in search of a card.

At the gas station, searching the OntheRun, she turns to me and utters one word that changes my view on her. Forever.

“Dumbledore.”

I turn, shocked, to look at her, and she smiles cheerfully. Almost knowingly. And then it hits me. She isn’t a nutcase. She’s just a dramatic 13 year old–waaay dramatic and bratty–but searching to be accepted. Almost like Frankstien’s monster. One word, and she’s gotten closer. I kind of like her now.

“He raped the Pokemon.”

And I burst into laughter. She’s been listening to our conversations, I realized. Clever, clever, girl. Will shoots us a playful glare.

“What are you laughing about? What did she tell you?”

“Just about Dumbledore getting raped.”

Will looks at her, then sets his gaze onto me. “What have you been teaching her?” He accuses with his tilted grin. “She’s 13, for god’s sake!” I open my mouth as she giggles and he slams the pump back into it’s place. “Back in the car!”

To Rite-Aid, then, we went. And to my delight, Bram was working! He was a tall, silent, guy, colorless, in a way. He was always so indifferent! I considered him mine, if only for the fact that he was always there on our candy runs. He was so blank of any emotion–he might as well have been god! In any case, he was my Bram Storkeafasfa, and I only liked him for the idea of him, and the fact that he’d never remember who I was. Now that’s a friend! A secret friend.

Yada yada yada, we got her the card, she signed it, we dropped her off–and here comes Sunday. I liked Sunday.

Except for the here and back again part. Nah uh. Driving back and forth like that… I wouldn’t have minded much, if it weren’t to Bear Mountain, toward where my door-cousin presided in. Faggots.

Liz’s friends (rich, mind you) were going out, and their 15 year old son, Doug, didn’t much want to be left alone home. So, that’s where we were going. To get him.

And what comes on the radio on our way there? Baby got Back. Yeah. So Liz blasts it, dancing in her seat, as Will gets dramatic in the backseat next to Melissa who is giggling–and for the first time in a very long time…

I feel like I’m apart of a family. A real family.

WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT DOUG’S BIG BEN-LIKE HOUSE. Fucking door.

So we get the kid, right? I’m glad he and Melissa instantly click. He’s tall, like Will, wearing his “goth” hoody that William has–and he’s a pretty fly guy with a neat sense of humor. That is, until he said I had the laugh of a Blood Elf. Then he was just a whore. But in the mean-time, he clicked instantly with our ways.

Pretty neat.

Liz then took us to see Know1ng.

All I could say to the ending was “Twice”, ’cause that already happened with the ending of Silent Hill. Hilarious. If it wasn’t for the gushing pain, I might have liked the movie better, but, alas, I’m broken, truly. After all, there’s always something tragically wrong with me, no?

Then to Outback Steakhouse we went. And goddamn do I love Clam Chowder, or what? It went swimmingly, again, except for the hideous pain–but we all know that I looove when I’m in pain, eh?

So besides getting skiddish and throwing the straws on the ground so Doug couldn’t fling water at me, everything was pretty great.

Though, something still unnerves me. The way people seem to always want to hug me when I cry. I mean, sheese, Ms. Carter can be meggy scary, but I didn’t have to be a baby, right?

Oh well. We had a heart-to-heart.

I H8 U!!1!!!q1 LOL I FKIN H8 U RIN

They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!
They’re taking the hobbits to Isengard!

If it wasn’t for Wally, and then later Sango, I wouldn’t have made it on Monday. I hate it when they leave me, and yet, I always want them to. Laura’s okay, so it’s no big deal. But still. And hell did Wally make me laugh hard.

My darling promised to stay till I fell asleep. It’s amazing how much my opinion of sex and love has changed. I love being so pure and new for him, untouched, and his only. What had I been thinking all those years? Violent sex with strangers? No, no… It’s better when there’s a special love shared. Every gentle touch, every soft sigh–I love knowing that he loves being the only one to be able to ever get a reaction from me, that only his fingertips have slid over my skin.

I’m his little gift. And I was waiting all my life for him. I never had the desire for a boyfriend before, never had a desire to be loved in that matter, or held. Only because I was meant for my William.

Molly says that she feels so free, so light–like she’s floating in the sky. Well, I’ve been floating for as long as I can remember. The entire world has suddenly come together under my feet, and I finally feel… apart of this world. This reality.

For hours–all night, really–we spent together lying in my bed, just talking, laughing. Clothing means nothing, and it was a delight to be so free. We haven’t had time to just lay around naked, so it was such a relief.

I love him, more then everything the world has to offer. I kills me that he actually stayed. He stayed, oh god he stayed with me. And I pretended to fall asleep, assuming I’d be okay.

But minutes passed, and he was no longer besides me. 4 in the morning, I should have been long asleep, but he had been there, just moments before. And I burst into a hysteria, calling him.

And he came for me. He came. And he saved me. Oh god, he saved me, he took me in his arms, and brought me to his car and he took me home with him.

His room is my safe haven. My place of peace and happiness. Curled up in his bed, gazing at him with half-lidded eyes, his lazy sweet grin easing me into sleep. For all of Tuesday I stayed with him–my savior. My love. My hero.

For all the sad nights of hoping and begging the unknown, finally I’ve been sent someone to save me. From everything–even myself. It’s impossible to linger in sad thoughts when he’s there, when he’s keeping me happy so easily.

I can’t help it when he kisses my fingers softly and speaks of marriage. I can’t help it when he tugs me close to him, kissing my head, and keeping me safe from the things of the dark.

Life is wonderful. Am I allowed such things?

Madness takes its toll. Please have exact change.

What then, when sorry isn’t enough? I’ve got skeltons in my closet, and I’ve only told one person–my god it’s so unlikely, and that person wasn’t Molly, and that person wasn’t William, or Snarf, or Kaggy or Venny.

A spilled my guts a long time ago. To a boy I did not love, but tried too.

D:

The things that haunt me. The places I run to in search of hiding. And because of my inability to understand, to remain, I pretend, and because of my pretending, I believe, and because I believe, life is formed, and life lives, and loves.

And those loves are lies.

And I run once again, because reality came.

I hide.

And they cry.

And I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. So, so, sorry.

‘What’s normalcy?’ they ask.

You.

Sarah, you’re fucking crazy.
You’re fucked up.
You’re weird.
You’re weird and crazy–but it’s in a fun way!
All of you.
Every single one.
People I do not know tell me.
Everyone says it.

It hurt back then, and you better believe it still hurts. Am I so different? You and I, we are so alike… then why am I so odd to you? We’re friends, all of us, for a reason, right? We’re alike.

I hear it.
Every single day. From more then one person. Repeating and repeating and repeating. Even teachers…
‘…Well, you’re different Sarah.’
It’s acknowledged.
Fuck you, Carter. You don’t know me like that.

So what am I suppose to do? Not speak? Do people think I’m just pretending? Or is it awful, because they know I’m not?

Yes, this is my fucking pity-party. But it won’t last long. ‘Cause half way through, I’ll think of you.
My friends.
And the pain you go through too.

But…can anyone really relate to me? Can you, honestly? And I’m not talking to people who actually have issues, I’m talking to you, the people who parade around, thinking I like you. Thinking we’re friends. I appreciate you, but can you really understand?

Do  you think about killing yourself? Daily? While being HAPPY? Laughing, enjoying yourself? Think of your happiest moments–and then think about your mind urging you, urging you, to end it all. Think of that person you care about, holding you close, kissing you…
And then think about having an urge to go and over-dose.

–Yes, I know you people, who tell me how you hate your life, and how it sucks. And I try and attempt to cheer you up, and tell you how great life is. But fuck you. And little miss ‘I’m Suicidal and I have therapists and I’m MISERABLE’, fuck you and your 100 reasons why you ’should live’ list. I don’t go around bitching about how my CRAZY–yeah CRAZY–head and genetics project thoughts into my mind. No. I’m your friend of all smiles and happiness, that couldn’t possibly understand. And I won’t give you the pleasure, or challenge, of knowing.

Do you have an illogical urge to run away? While in a car, just open the door, and attempt to get out while it’s in motion?
Or while you’re at the mall, or somewhere out, with friends, or that special person, do you just… slip away from everyone? Because of that horrible, horrible urge? And when people get close to you, emotionally, do you suddenly just block them out?

–I hear you people. Talking of how you ‘just left because my mom’s a frickin’ bitch’ or ‘if they keep this shit up I’m moving in with…’ bullcrap. You’re angry because your parents won’t do what you want. Fuck you. You tell me how you’re gonna run off with so-and-so or run away and never come back because you’re parents are assholes. I know people who have it worse. I know people whose parents are neglectful. Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you. You people are rich spoiled idiots. And yeah, I know, I shouldn’t try and compare us, but do you really have any idea of what kind of struggle it is? To not bolt whenever the impulse arises?

So maybe, I can’t relate to your stuff. And maybe I’m being cruel about this all. But do believe me when I say I want to hear your problems, and believe me when I say I want to help… Because I do. Even if I’m bitter about it right now, I still do.
And that applies twice as much for the people I actually love.
So stop with your ‘well, I didn’t want to trouble you’ stuff. Because it isn’t. If you’re hurting, then it’s a big deal, don’t disregard it ’cause I’m a nutter.

Because when it all comes down to it… You guys have it worse. This is my normalcy. I deal with this shit, every glorious day. I can cope, and I’m damn good at it. I know how to be happy.  Maybe because that’s the only thing I really want, and know how to do: is be happy.

If I’m upset, I think people would know.

My reality consists of nothing more but of everything and anything. And while I’m not bound to anything, I do have things and people I like.

Someone once asked me, ‘You hate everything that has to do with reality, don’t you?’ I was surprised. But it was true.
I hate reality. I hate that I’m not good enough for a mom to stick around. I hate that I let Dan die. I hate that I can’t say anything.
Will said to me, ‘Yes, but you hate people.’
I scoffed. ‘Hate? No. Hate is too strong of a word, and I don’t care enough for them to feel anything towards them.’

And in reality, while I deal with all that shit…
Yeah. You guys all have it fucking worse. Because, I guess, like Will once said, everyone deals with shit differently.

And my mom already ruined more then half of me, so that’s out. And no, I’m never going to let that go. It’s my sourse of pain, and I feel more real with it.

You guys… you love me for the way I am. So no, don’t get me wrong. I don’t want to be ‘normal’ in the way preppy snotty girls are.
I want to be normal in the way you guys can relate.
I feel so very alone. And when the tough gets going, I flee to a world that you say doesn’t exist, and talk to people that everyone refuses to believe is there.

So in reality… You guys are much stronger then I am. You stick it out. Go through the emotions. Act out.
And I… I shut down for a few minutes, act like nothing terrible came my way, and become happy. I leave to another world.
Or I snap and become overly vicious.

And I’m so afraid.

I’m so afraid of becoming my mother. I don’t want to be trapped inside my own head. I have been, before. For brief, terrible, moments. On my off days when I forget how to show emotions, when I become blank… When I try and talk, but all that happens is the silence… when I’m left screaming inside my own mind.

I’m afraid of running.

She did it. She and Laura were together in their twenties. Then, one day, my mom just left for half a year.
And Laura freaked out.

I don’t want that.

I feel like… I’ve been through so much. But lord I’m only 18, so what can I possibly know? I still pity myself at times, too. No, no… I know nothing of pain.

But maybe…

Can I have my happily ever after?

Can I have my William? Can I have a job, and a family? Can I live close to Molly? That’s what I want.
That’s all I’m asking for.

I want a nice sweet home nearby, maybe in the country…
I want to wake up to William every day. I want three bratty but beautiful children.
I want to have a real family, to have a place to go to on the holidays, to talk and giggle and tell stories…
I want Molly to live maybe a half hour, or less, away. I want to have Sunday mornings with her, as a ‘just us’ morning.
I want to be sipping tea or some shit in a dinning room table or kitchen, or something, laughing and telling stories with her.
I want to get an occasional visit from Snarf and Faj, and hear of their extreme happiness and good wealth, to hear Snarf tell me of her amazing adventures, or the latest place she visited, or some weird story that’s completely ‘hush hush’.
I want Kaggy to pop in randomly from Alaska, or some place around the world, bearing gifts and epic tales.
I want Vincent and Venny to visit, to laugh with.
Can’t the people I’ve learned to love have a happy ever after too? ’cause that’s what I want. And I’m wondering, is that so much to ask? Why must it be hard? Can’t I just… have it? Am I allowed?

Please?

We’re friends, and we do relate, because in our own way…
D: We’ve all been through shit. We’ve all got our pain, and our painful pasts, and things that… haunt us.

And that’s why we’re close the way we are. And so, I think, if I’m alone, then they must be alone too. And maybe, because we’re all alone, we’re together in that sense. And they like me, and how I speak…
And I like them, and how they speak.
And here is the start of the happily ever after.

So while I might through pity parties about myself…

I never forget that those closest to me, can, and do, understand.

We’re all normal, here.

Gorillas with decoder rings.

HYPOCRISY.

Maybe I lost it. That’s a very, very, possible thing. I’m also wondering why I haven’t gotten in any trouble. Maybe when people lose it, the normal rules stop applying. Maybe I just have issues. Maybe I just don’t like being pushed into it. Or maybe I’ve just snapped. Years and years of unresolved resentment and anger all exploding at once.

Too bad we were in a car at the time. Maybe they’ll understand now. Maybe they’ll get that I’m.not.kidding.

To me, I feel though as the only thing that matters, is how they feel and how they look. Laura isn’t working, mom is using her “illness” as an excuse, in my view, not to. ‘Sarah get a job, pay for the bills’.
Hey, we cut your birth control uses, but we’re gonna go to Florida.
School always comes first. My ability to drive comes before how I feel.
‘Sarah, move PAST your comfort level.’
‘Er, yeah, but I’m not feeling very comfortable about driving somewhere else, let alone the city. I don’t turn well, I go into the other lane, and I’m still not comfortable with people driving close behind me.’
So Laura talked bad about me to my mom loudly and they gave me the ‘disappointing’ look. Fuck them, this is about me, and they should pressure me into driving.

So I snapped. Mom got in the car and I’m backing out of the driveway, but she keeps telling me how to and how the ‘correct’ way is.
So I basically told her to stfu, but in a worse way, and proceeded to speed down the road, and past the stop sign.
‘Sarah, you just went through a stop sign–’
‘No I fuckin’ didn’t.’
‘…Yeah, you did…’
‘Fuck you, I’m doing it how I want.’
‘Maybe I should drive…’
‘Nope.’

Yes, I tried, multiple times, to kill us.

I’m just… consumed with this rage. This anger. I’m so… angry. And I don’t know what to do about it.

I guess it doesn’t really matter. Nobody seems alarmed that I tried to kill us. Maybe it never happened. Maybe it just doesn’t mean anything.

And then…

There’s that new desire. It’s been huanting me for a while. Oh god.

I’m not really hungry, I just need to have reservations somewhere.

I’d go off and raddle on as to why I don’t like sleepovers–sure, Kaggy and I peed ourselves laughing silly, but when it comes to the sleeping part. I don’t, she can. I’ve been having violent nightmares again anyway.

And I was going to go off about the mall, and how I don’t understand how Snarf can go by herself. Frankly, I forget why I don’t like the mall till I’m there and the anxiety kicks up and makes me want to puke. I had ruined Will’s birthday dinner last weekend, I had a panic attack and failed to eat anything.

There are other, cheerful, things that I wanted to talk about until everything went into ruin and misery. The details, scattered. My mind working on overdrive, anxiety making me sick–for a brief moment, I’d dare say that sorrow is all I understand. I’m still trying to figure out how it all happened. It’s like, she has the ability to make us all cry. And for what? Because Will wanted a private moment with his mother? She caused all this ruin because it’s his birthday and she didn’t feel like she got enough attention?

I feel sick and I want to curl up and forget. Most of all, I want to comfort him.

I’ll go back. It started around, what, 3? Yeah. Bill, Will and even Liz told her, ‘You won’t like it, you’ll get bored.’ Bill put it more harshly, ‘You better not bitch or complain’.

Melissa of course she said she wanted to go. Then changed her mind and went out with her mother to get her eyebrows done–at 12? Really? At 4, she calls, ‘Mom says I have to go with you guys’, which, of course, is a lie, Liz had told her not too. She then demanded that Will pick her up.

At 5, we get to Bill’s house, hop in the truck, and drive to this amazing house with over a 100 people in it for a Superbowl party, where Will’s father is betting with–ah, boxes? Will and I aren’t into football, but love the tradition of it, love the food. It’s nice, we’re enjoying ourselves, actually. Outside–lord, they’re nuts, grilling in the snow–but the food was so fucking good.

Melissa gets their uncle, Ed, wrapped around her finger, clinging to him, crying, telling him that she just wanted this or that, complaining how she can’t stand it. She tries calling her mother, but her mother tells her to suck it up.

So Bill snaps, and at 7:30/8 he’s like, ‘Fuck it, we’re going home’, and we go back into the truck, and Melissa makes Ed walk her to the car.

And in the car, she says, ‘I’m not coming next week.’
Bill replies with a scoff, ‘Fine, honey, that doesn’t bother me, I’ll find something to do.’
She gets angry. ‘I have something to do!’
‘Alright, fine.’
‘I’m never coming to see you again!’
‘…Listen, honey, don’t just start talking bullshit right now. Stick to what you mean.’
‘YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT MY BIRTHDAY!’
‘Okay, if that’s what you believe.’
And she cries and cries. ‘I hate this family, I want my old one.’ Sob. ‘BUT THEY’RE DEAD.’ Lie. ‘You don’t understand what its like to be adopted, I don’t fit in with anyone!’
Will gets angry and snaps things at her, which she acts like she doesn’t understand what he’s saying. She cries and cries and cries and goes on about how hard her life is.

And all I could think was… No. No it isn’t. She ruined Will’s time with his father, she cries about nonsense the entire ride back to Bill’s house. For what? She got what she wanted, she’s out of that house.
And she doesn’t know the meaning of a hard life.
I know a girl whose father beats her, she has to be the parent, her little brother insults her, calls her a bitch, hits her. She goes to school, swear to fucking god, smiling. People don’t know the pain she deals with. She tells me when I worry, ‘My father brought me into this world. He loves me.’
I know people who go through pure shit and they never complain, they greet each day with a grin, telling me how maybe today it’ll be better. I know this girl who was raped by her mother’s boyfriend, and she still hasn’t said shit. She still goes on, she makes her life the best she can.

We finally get home, Melissa goes to her mother and cries about how her father never wants to see her again and how everyone hates her. We wait until she’s done–she goes to her room to watch TV, and we go into Liz’s room, Will sad that she had ruined his birthday–yet again.
We’re not two minutes into the conversation when she starts knocking and banging on the door and saying how she needs to talk to her mother about something important.
Liz says, ‘Let me just finish talking to Will.’
Melissa scoffs, ‘Fine how long will it be?’ As if Liz was holding her up.
‘When I’m done…’
Melissa curses and goes back to her room, a minute goes by and she comes back,
‘Just give me the password to your laptop,’ which she had stolen from Liz’s room.
‘Just let me finish talking to Will,’
And then Melissa starts crying and yelling and finally snaps, ‘I HATE THIS FAMILY’ and Will looses it, becomes livid, and gets up. I freak out and grab him–at this point, Melissa hears him getting up, screams and races down the steps and outside just as Will reaches outside of the room. He turns and says he only wanted to tell her to go away.

We’re all downstairs by now and the neighbores call, saying that Melissa was there and claiming that Will wanted to kill her, and had been hitting her, and being a detective, he was bound by law to call the cops. So Liz goes over to get her, Melissa screams, “I’LL FUCKING STAB HIM TO DEATH” and runs out into the night.
So Liz calls the cops.
For an hour, the cops are searching the streets with search lights–and two of them finally pull up the driveway.
Apparently Melissa was just next door crying.
One cop talks to us, and the other talks to the neighbor. That cops, after ten minutes, comes in to talk to us too–he says that Melissa was giving him serious attitude–like he couldn’t believe the amount of angry sass she had toward him, like it was his fault that Will wasn’t in jail yet or something.
I was amazed that both cops agreed that she was, “well… a brat“.
And this is where I stop.
Because it got so much worse.
And I don’t want to think about it.
And it was because… Melissa wanted attention. She even says, “Well, now I’m bored,” and wanted to go up to her room and watch tv while the cops were there.
Oh lord how it got worse.

Cuntpunched in the jaw, are you serious?

English Midterm–oh lord, you were a laugh. Though it did nothing to soothe my anxiety. Does anything? Sorry, not even darlin’ Will could–actually, I think Molly would have been easily, but, ah… Laura told Will to turn my phone off and take it. ‘Cause, like Molly, I would have texted during my midterm.

Earlier that day, while Molly was taking hers, I sent her a text: ‘THE FLOOR IS MADE OF LAVA’.
She replies, “D: Please NO ITS SO UNCOMFORTABLE SITTING IN MY DESK WITH MY FEET RAISED TAKE IT BACK OH GOD”.
So I went from XD to D: and told her it was now pudding.
“THE PUDDING FEELS GOOD AGAINST MY CHARRED BONES.”
Laura thinks we’re nuts. :’D

Eh, and then, I had to wake up Will. There’s something about going into his house while he’s sleeping and crawling into bed with him. It does something to me to see him sleeping–he’s just so adorable. Still sleeping, he nuzzles closer, pulling me closer.

So I press my dead-cold feet to his legs, waking him up. Somehow, I ended up calling him a fatfuck–
Laura: D: FAT FUCK? WHY YOU CALLIN HIM A FATFUCK?
Den we drove him 2 da midterm lol

Anyway.
‘Sit with your class!’ teachers would call over the lazy murmur of all of ninth and twelfth graders.
We were like fat lazy sheep. All of us. A murmur of complains and groans kicking up like smog, the frantic annoyed teachers flocking about like scatterbrained chickens.
‘Sit with your class!’
Frowning, I looked over the sea of idle faces, and looked at Will, scrunching up my nose as he continued to criticize the school’s  way of managing us.
Grumbling, shuffling our feet like sluggish cows, rather then sheep, we meshed together, moaning the whole while.
Will tried to give me comfort, kissing the top of my head, his dark, dark blue eyes washing over me. And Snarf hugged me–and that gave me comfort too.
And then I saw Jen!
:’D And she was in my class. And together we bitched, huddled up.

And into the cafeteria we went. Honestly, I would have been more of a wreck without Jen there.
FUCKING SHEEP.

That midterm… what the fuck? I was done within the first 45-50 minutes. And boredom hit me hard.
What got me nervous was how…
o_o Other people… started raising their hand for pieces of paper… OH GOD. THAT MADE ME MORE NERVOUS. IT WAS A 200 WORD ESSAY, YOU ONLY NEED THREE FUCKING PARAGRAPHS WHY ARE YOU GETTING ANOTHER SHEET?
And I watched them…
And then I looked at my own.
So I bullshitted a front and a back. I mean, fuck, seriously. WHY?
WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY?
And then I still had an hour left. OH. MY. GOD.

So I pretended I was taking my O.W.L.S. Fuckin’ Dumbledore. TAKE THAT YOU ENGLISH FUCK.

Laura says I have a dirty mouth.

I’M OBSESSED WITH JUSTICE LEAGUE AGAIN.

And then… The Dentist. Mom bribed me with pizza…

D:< AND KAGGY IS GONNA SWEEP OVA, SON.

Barry, don’t hate what you aint.

Backtrack, rewind, skip.

If that’s okay
Then by your side I’ll stay forever
Here I am standing up

“If you were the last person on Mars, and you could have any type of person with you, who would you have…?” Mrs. Carter’s drawl cut into my thoughts and I jerked my head upward, slamming my hand down onto the desk loudly as I bounced out of my seat.

“TOM RIDDLE!” I screeched. “And we’re recreated Hogwarts!”

“Muggle,” Wall-e growled under his breath at me, turning to give me a scowl as Katie shook her head, wagging her finger from across the room.

“Sarah, he’d kill you.”

“It would be glorious!” I cried back passionately.

“I’d want a celerberity clone for all my own,” Katie decided happily and I scoffed.

“But that’s creepy!” She shrugged. “If you could make a clone of anyone else, then anyone could make a–”

“Sarah, it’d be my clone slave to do whatever I pleased with!” She huffed, grinning and I burst into cackling.

With all this said, and a trip backwards, I don’t want to be medicated. It switches back and forth, doesn’t it? I most usually just tell people, “I’ll go get medicated” after a bad episode or whatever to please them. To make them think it’d be all better. But really… I don’t want too.

Only this time I have to. I crossed a terrible line and mom says it’s time to go back to therapy. But only for anxiety medication! Because anxiety leads to paranoia, which leads to delusions. So… yeah.

On a better note, DC vs Mortal Kombat is the fucking coolest shit ever. The storyline is absolutely fan-fuckin-tastic. Though it’s Barry Allen and not Wally West, which BOTHERS the fuck outta me, but hey. I’m cool with it, I just pretend. It really gets to me that it’s Captain Marvel in there. What the fuck? He’s not important… Where’s Jonn?

But Deathstroke… mmm. New obsession, anyone? Who knew he’d be so… appealing? I like him, and he kicks ass. But Kitana can suck my balls for all I care, she just has… too many awesome moves. YEAH. JERK. Sub-Zero and the Joker cracked me up. But the Joker ALWAYS does that…yeah.

Honestly, I doubt anyone has the type of sex Will and I have. Sure, I know that people have great orgasmic sessions of throat-desytoying sex–yeah, us too, but… I doubt anyone is on crack like we are.

He started talking dirty–god, and it’s wonderful. There’s something about being called a narrow-minded piece of shit in a low growl that just gets me. Yeah, and I’m not sure how this happened, maybe it was the blankets, maybe it was because how late it was.

“Yeah, you take it Batgirl,” he growled in this HORRIBLE deep Batman-like growl. “Rararararaar! I’m BATMAN.” Kneeling as he continued, he held the blankets up around his shoulders, like wings, or a cape, and flapped them. Turning his head, in a high picted voice he cried, “Holy cupcakes Batman! What are you doing to Batgirl?!” Then, growling, he said, “Shut up, Robin! It’s your turn next, go put on your rubber spandexs that I made for you.”

Gasping for air, laughing so hard, I thought of Molly. Oh god Molly would totally join in on this. Lydia, at this point, popped her head up and Will saw her.

“CATWOMAN!” He screeched in the same Batman-growl voice. “She’s in the batcave!”

Then, grabbing the two-foot tall penguin he bought for me, he began imitating the perfect penguin sounds, making me think all the more of Molly.

Freaks. We’re all freaks.

Snarf is right.

Maybe it’s time for medication. Pride aside and my anger, she’s right. I may be fine with coping with most things… but there’s a line, and it’s been crossed. Feeling like everyone wants me to kill myself, is one of them. When logic goes away and suicide looks like the only option…

Then that’s the time I need help.

Escape.

Please.

Running is what I do best.

Elizabeth, you’re a bitch.

Anxiety.

D:

Maybe I like being medicated. So that’s why I stay away. Bitter. Red Flag. Maybe I’m just always trying to escape. So medicated. I had to be carried. Slurred words. Burning.

God, the burning.

Rip, riiip, rrrriip.

A lot of the anxiety comes from the change. New stuff. Change. I don’t like when school changes around. Art history. No more Prep. Study hall. That and Snarf wishes I’d go away forever. I know. Jayden tells me. Jayden wouldn’t lie. She hates me ’cause I’m a bad friend.

I’ve been listening. To those sweet love songs.

By the way
By your side I’ll stay
If that’s okay
Then by your side I’ll stay forever
Here I am standing up
Because I want to fall in love with you

And I smile, thinking of how beautiful it would be to bleed. How happy everything would be. I would laugh and laugh and I need it. Oh sweet glorious destruction. I want to hurt because I hate me too.

Everyone is dancing. So much dancing.

I just wish Elizabeth would just play with Nathan. Why is she doing this to me? What have I done wrong? Am I not good enough?

I don’t like eating or sleeping anymore. I dunno. My friend came back. He sits on the bed. He found the way to the basement and he watches me again with his big dead eyes. And he just waits for me to sleep.

Cause he knows.

He knows. He knows. He knows.

Or maybe he wasn’t there. I don’t remember. I just know. I know like he knows because we all know.

There’s something I can’t quite explain
I’m so in love with you
You’ll never take that away
And if i’ve said it a hundred times before
Expect a thousand more
You’ll never take that away

I don’t know why, but the words anger and confuse me. It’s like… it’s telling me to get a knife. You hear it too, don’t you? Yees. Yes everyone hears it and we’re all gonna dance.

I sure do want to go dancing. I want sunflowers. God, I’m just so anxious that I feel sick. Sick I feel so sick. It’s so loud and I wish the music would go away.

I just want to do so many horrible things but I don’t. I don’t because I’m not a cutter, I’m better then that. I like it all. But sometimes there is too much milk and I don’t like it when we go down the steps.

I want to eat so I can throw something up. Cause I’m angry and I want everything out of me.

And here comes the chant. I’m so superier ’cause I’m not suicidal. Nah nah nah. I’ve never ever tried, and I never ever will. I’m the better Ralson. All of you, all of you, you’re all suicidal. Dan did it, Alan gave up and gave in, Mike is in the army–suicidal bastard and mommy wants to.

So I win.

And here I am complaining. God I sound so annoying. Do it again, do it again, stick it in so it hurts and fuck me so I cry. Make me bleed. I dunno why I’m complaing. I have nothing to complain about. I have a good home and yet I parade around like I’m awful. Awful.

Wish it was warm out so I could have a sunflower. I want a feild of sunflowers.

Big Red Cup filled with all my everything.

A brief bout with a razorblade cut me
I freaked out, thinking people didn’t love me
I watched closely as the you I knew forgot me
In letting go, I am so proud of what I’ve done

At times like these I’d rather vomit up all my feeling into a little cup and then play hide and go seek with a pair of you-know-whats and the lack of reality, just to feel like metal cooling the skin and the much needed release. When it comes to being fucked up, I still have my little fucking superiority complex, like the little high class facade brat mommy made me think I should be. With a condescending tilt to my head, I scoff. I may hurt myself, but I am SO above then those cutters. I’ve got so much class!

A voice is there to dare me…

I think, maybe just this once. See, when I get all fucked over in the head, oh no, hah! I don’t think people don’t love me anymore–maybe just my mother, but bitterly I laugh. I laugh and laugh and continue my silent defience of making any noise, sitting all alone in my bed, grinning twistedly, glaring at the wall. I won’t make a noise, I’ll take this in silence. When agony and sorrow is suddenly all I know, wave after wave hitting into me, I’ll take it and wait.

Liars leave a guilty trail
And I’ve lied for  fucking years
That must be why I’m sitting in this space
Disregarding I’ve created monsters
On both of my sides
So I wipe the blood from both their eyes
From all four of their eyes

But last night action needed to be done. Sitting there, imaging Tom Riddle–ah, of course, good old fucked up Tom Riddle who knows what it’s like to feel what I do better then anyone, and the things he’d say, I know today is the day that I’ll do it. Normally in all my pain, I don’t reach out. I hate people knowing, I don’t want to be near anyone.

Bitterly, I know I’m reaching out to keep myself above cutters. I seek distraction. I turn to the only one who has the power to make me forget. I go to my Molly. I ask her to make it better–she tells me Tom Riddle is feeling the same.

I laugh. I laugh and cry and the pain breaks over me and the silence flees and I’m left feeling ruined–I beg reality to flee, but my determination to be better then those other fucked up people takes me and I’m close to cutting my hair off. And there is so much noise and the room spins and spins and spins and I’m left sobbing, shaking so hard it hurts. I know what caused this, I know what’s going on and why it was triggered. But I won’t say it. And if anyone takes a guess, I hope they won’t say it to me, because I’ll never acknowlegde the red flag. I’ll never.

I know it must’ve started at that dinner. With Will, his dad, mom and sister.
He coughs, a piece of chicken going down the wrong tube and she flashes her dark cold devil eyes at him.
“I hope you choke on it,” she spits out and Will just ignores her while I frown.
“No, I don’t want him to die!” I cut in, leaning closer to him. She smiles sweetly at him.
“Then you guys can be together forever and ever.” She answers and I blink at her, confused.
“How? He’d be dead…”
“Yeah, you too. How would you like it? Do you want to drown?” The words left me numb. “Or would you like a bullet in the brain?”

Do I want to drown? Do I want to be dragged down to the depths of hell? Such a thing it is to kill myself. Am I doomed to such a thing? Will looses it, hissing angry and terrible things at her, bringing me closer, but…

I just feel so numb. So empty. So gone. I think of Daniel, and we go back to the car. I attempt to burst into tears, but his voice soothes and distracts me, only a few tears leave me.

This mess I’d made of someone’s dream
Now you see what I’ve done
When the weight of all the world’s gone wrong

The anxiety makes me sick, and I’ve refused to eat. I just can’t, I feel so guilty and awful. I’m sorry Snarf, I can’t communicate well and I’ve let you down again. And I just can’t sleep, and the anxiety makes me sicker–I’m sorry. I wanted to go during the week, to the mall, when there was more time. I mean, I just want to do something real terrible to myself to make up for it for you. But Jayden says you must hate me now ’cause I’m always letting you down. He says I should cut away the sins. Cut, cut, cut–how glorious it would be. He’s right and I just know it, ’cause… well. I get more anxious when people don’t reply to texts. The silence just makes me nuts. It’s okay, Snarf. I know I’m a bad friend and I’ll leave you alone. You deserve better.

And everything is so loud, and I know I’d enjoy it. Oh I’d enjoy it so much, I’d smile and laugh, and it’d all go rriiiip. Riiiip. Rippp. And the relief would flood me. And everything would be silent.

A strange thought crossed me this morning. If anything ever happened to Will–like death, I’d be a wreck. And I would need Molly’s constant attention. I realized I could probably make it back out. But if something were to happen to Molly… I don’t know. I don’t think I’d ever be okay. I’d be lost and I’d stop. I’d just end too. She’s got something that nobody has. She’s got a piece of my soul. And she is like my heart beat. I wouldn’t survive.

My anxiety and sickness just keeps worsening. Why won’t Elizabeth know Nathan? Snarf had said something like it was because of Will and I just don’t understand how the fuck that could be. The idea of it makes me confused and angry. Elizabeth didn’t change because I met her, or Kaggy, or Molly… why would she change because I know Will? That’s like Molly changing because I know Will. That’s silly. And Elizabeth hasn’t changed–she’s the same dumb fuck I’ve always known. It’s just around Nathan.

They.

Don’t.

Known.

Each other.

Kaggy says I can’t push people into a relationship, Venny says they probably got into a fight.

FUCK EVERYTHING.

JUST FUCK IT.

D COLON OPENCARROT

Snarf said somethin’ to me today. Well, she says things to me EVERYDAY, but, ah. I guess I was trying to feel not so alone in this–but, hey, I’ve always been extreme haven’t I? I’m almost one-tracked minded, especially when it comes to my latest passion. It’s just never been someone that is seen by everyone else–and nobody seems to even REMEMBER how much I care about Molly, who is neck to neck with Will.

I throw myself fully into it–and it makes me feel awful that nobody takes my writing seriously, like they do Will, or ever complained about how that’s all I did–Except for Laura. Or if I rather hang out with Nathan all day instead of going to the mall–nobody said to me, ‘Now you have Nathan, it’s like he’s your whole world’. Billy once angrily yelled at me for putting writing in front of my friends, but, then, he got over it too. What really pisses me off was when nobody EVER said anything about Molly. Nope, just Will. Just real Will.

I guess I kind of wanted a pat on the back. Like a ‘hey, good job, you FEEL something, and this time we KNOW the person is real!’ Maybe I’m just bitter at everyone else for being so normal, for so long. I guess I’ll always be alone in that.

If I love, I love passionately with everything I have almost to an obsessive point, foolish as it may be. And there only a few that I do love–I can count them on my hands. I guess I didn’t want to be the only one who suffered, maybe it’s separation anxiety, maybe it’s abandonment issues–

OH AND DON’T GET ME WRONG, SNARF! You love passionately too. You love beautifully. You love without pride getting in the way. I know sometimes you misunderstand me when I write, and I’m gonna make it clear that I’m not comparing us in any shape or form, nor am I trying to make one better then the other. Though, you could easily win. You can feels things that I probably can’t even dream of feeling. You’ve always embraced the idea of love, while I scoffed it off until I could no longer deny it. And still, I’ve got so much pride that I won’t allow myself to feel or even think things.

What this is about, is what you said. About if you spent everyday with FAJ, your relationship would burn out. No. No, I don’t think it would. Not in the least. Isn’t that how marriages are? Being together everyday? I think you and FAJ, no—I know you and FAJ are going to make it. And you can spend everyday with him, and your relationship would not burn out.

Like, I love Kaggy. I love her to death. She is my blood, my family. In a way, you know? We can spend a full week together, just laughing and pissing ourselves–but no more then a week. After, fuck, like… 4 or 5 days, we’ll start to get sick of each other. She and I, we couldn’t hang out everyday forever, that would ruin our relationship, our friendship.

But with Molly. Shit, I could spend the rest of my life trapped in jail with her somewhere, and everyday we’d find something new to laugh our asses off with. I can’t go a day without talking to Molly. Our relationship hasn’t, and will never, burn out.

And I hope I didn’t offend you, ’cause that seems to be happening a lot. I say something, and you take it the wrong way. You  think I’m attacking you, or you think I’m spiting you, but I’m not. I just wish you could see the positive. I want to show you that I don’t think relationships burn out so easily when you meet the right person. I mean, look at my parents. Since they were 14!

I wish you could see how pretty you are. Like how your eyes flash when your mood changes, or how your hair makes you look like a pretty soft doll, and that grin you have–it’s so adorable, almost like a kitten getting into a box, type of grin, you know? I wish you were another person looking at yourself, so you could laugh to the witty things you come up with, and so you could admire.

Ahh, someday, Snarf. Someday. I just hope you aren’t angry at me for puking this all up into a blog.

Wendys is suicidal food, says Batman.

SkankinSnarf: Could you go a day without eating?
o_o I have, a few times.

When I was revolting.

‘No wendys.
‘
Me: D:< THEN I WON’T EAT.

re·volt·ing  Pronunciation[ri-vohl-ting]  –adjective  1.disgusting; repulsive: a revolting sight.

Sometimes I hate it when it gets noisy. Although it’s rare for me when it’s silent, and I’ll admit it’s slightly unnerving, there’s an amount of noise that I can, and cannot tolerate.

I really liked that braclet too. It only fit my wrist, just barely, made for a child. A native American child. I got it a few years ago, and let it sit in silence.

Until I wanted to wear it. And I miss it terribly, but it got so loud. On friday, it had become a broken record. Maybe I was half crazy with my emotions, maybe I’m supersitious, maybe I’m just idiotic. I’ve always assumed if I got rid of the new thing, everything would go back the way it was.

Maybe it was the images burned into my brain. I don’t often get choked up in class, and I usually can keep myself from losing it.
But watching rape wasn’t something I accounted for. Especially in such a place.

And I could still see it, him pinning her down. I can still hear the screaming. It shouldn’t affect me so bad, but it does. I can still remember the things he made me do. I feel sick at the thought. At the memory of the movie.

And like a broken record I heard it. Over and over and over again.

I guess I want to say I’m sorry. I don’t know to who I am, but I just know I am. I guess I’m sorry for me. Two years, and it’s like none of that matters. It’s all gone. I guess I should have tried hard enough, but for the time being, it was so glorious. I enjoyed what I did. Enjoyed the pain, the relief it brought, how easy it was. God, I’m sick.

While the car ride was silent, it was noisy. You know? The constant broken chipped record repeating and repeating and I couldn’t hear anything else, and it was just echoing and echoing. The braclet told me too! I had to do it! It told me, it really did, it told me to do it and it wouldn’t stop until I did!

Will wouldn’t talk to me unless I did. It knew, and I knew. He doesn’t realize, but it’s true. Yes, it was my fault that I couldn’t realize, yes he wasn’t angry–but if I hadn’t thrown it across the parking lot, later on we still wouldn’t have spoken!

It was 5. We hadn’t spoken to each other since I got to his house, around 3. I thought he was angry, and he thought I was angry. But I was half crazy with rape thoughts. With the noise. If it wasn’t for Molly, and her random inputs, I might have gone worse.

It was two days since I had eaten and I plain out refused. Thursday I had an anxiety attack that destroyed me for a while. I was ill. It was one of those bad ones, you know? Shaking, trouble breathing–god. Oh well.

So there we were, silent, untouching, in riteaid. The plastic lights blaring down in a humming wave of searing lies, the shelves stacked up with towering fake boxes and actors pretending to need  their medication.

Trembling and nerotic with lies, I grasped his arm, holding it to me.
And he smacked me over the back of my head and drove back to Pizza Hut, out in the dark and cold, looking for the bracelet despite my pleas to let it be.

I had desperatly tried to make him understand.

And then, yesterday… Oh the dizzy spells. I hate those too. I’m not sure why, but I get this feeling of falling foward, and then its all rocking, and there is a sort of weird panicy feeling in my chest.

Nobody has ever taken care of me before. It’s nice. I’ve never been carried to a couch. Or carried up the steps.

“No, no, no, I’m fine!” I cried back, my voice slurred and strangled, a wave after wave of dizziness spilling over me as I clenched my eyes tight, thrown over his shoulder as he marched up the steps.

Scoffing, he dropped me and with a surprised “Oh!” I staggered to my feet. He raised his eyebrows. “Alright, then walk to my room.”

Huffing in reply, I straighten myself out, gave him a haughty look and attempted to saunter away only to sway and collapse as the hall violently shifted. Gathering what little dignaty I had left, I crawled, badly into the room, the floor rocking like a boat under me.

And still today, oh how the world likes to rip aggressively from under me. How everything rocks and shakes. Laura and my mom keep asking me these weird questions, looking at me oddly, holding me close and wondering if, ‘it’s okay?’. I hate it when they do that to me. I get so confused.

So Dumbledore and I are fighting again. No surprise there, though, right? HC shit. I wonder when Nathan will come in on it. Things with Elizabeth and Nathan got worse. They don’t know each other anymore. So I’m trying to get them to be friends, but fuck, it’s tough, since Elizabeth doesn’t hang around Abraxas’ crowd anymore. And Julius has forgotten his infatuation. She tortured him anyway.

No, Elizabeth is still good with Eileen, but Eileen’s good friends with Alphy now, so. So that’s Elizabeth’s crowd. I’m flustered about it, but I can’t do much. Nathans got to get it together, and Abraxas keeps changing on me. Aristocrat prick. Goddamn him and his crowd jumping, and if Elizabeth wasn’t such a forgetful cunt she’d know this shit.

She’s gotten cold and distant, though, as of late. I think HC and her are gonna keep playin’ that dance of facades and masks. Shame, I was hoping for a bond. Though I won’t lie, stabbing herself in the hand with a knife was brilliant. It got Abraxas and Theo to leave her alone–which, wasn’t what I wanted, but, eh. Got to choose battles, huh?

I wish Nathan and her would just make up and fix everyone else’s memories. They need to be friends again. She was so happy being apart of the elite group of government haters. Now what? She’s a social outcast?

Oh, and a tad crazy. And not in a fun way. In a ‘I HAVE ANGER ISSUES’ way. Speaking of anger issues, or as Melssia says ANGER MANAGERMERASfaf LOL, Laura and my mom think I have them. Oh, surprise surprise, I always have SOMETHING.

But back to Elizabeth. There isn’t much I’m willing to do now, she’s a bit jaded and angry. But I do think I like her autosuggestion telopathy. The whole ‘hallucinations’ thing has always been my cup of tea, and weeding images into other people’s thoughts is brilliant. If it wasn’t for HC, though…

Here’s to you. Stop telling me things in my ear.

FLDoo (12:03:07 AM): …molly from school??
Mollyburt x3 (12:03:12 AM): No.
Mollyburt x3 (12:03:15 AM): >_> Wait..
Mollyburt x3 (12:03:20 AM): What school?
Mollyburt x3 (12:03:31 AM): What’s my last name?
FLDoo (12:03:38 AM): north shore
Mollyburt x3 (12:03:51 AM): D:< What’s my last name?
FLDoo (12:04:00 AM): i dunno your last name but molly is in my american sign language class
Mollyburt x3 (12:04:27 AM): YEAH YOU SHOULD TOTALLY GRAB MY ASS WHEN YOU SEE ME NEXT TIME.
FLDoo (12:04:53 AM): wait are you serious
Mollyburt x3 (12:04:56 AM): Also fondle my tits.
Mollyburt x3 (12:05:00 AM): Yes I’m dead serious.
FLDoo (12:05:39 AM): how can i believe you
Mollyburt x3 (12:05:49 AM): Only one way to find out, right?
FLDoo (12:05:55 AM): ask??
Mollyburt x3 (12:05:55 AM): Just do it.
Mollyburt x3 (12:05:58 AM): No
Mollyburt x3 (12:06:04 AM): I don’t like a man who asks questions.
Mollyburt x3 (12:06:09 AM): I like assertive dominant men
FLDoo (12:06:19 AM): but i thought you thought i was a creep when i told you that women belong in a cage
Mollyburt x3 (12:06:33 AM): I was kidding around. DUH. LOL Wanna hear a joke?
Mollyburt x3 (12:06:36 AM): Women’s rights.
FLDoo (12:06:39 AM): sure
Mollyburt x3 (12:06:41 AM): LOL

Super Robot Monkey Team Hyperforce GO

SkankinSnarf: I freakin hate it when someone comes up behind me with a whistling tea kettle. I know how you feel Rin.

It was a real oh shit moment, you know? The kind where your breath catches in your throat, where you can feel your heart literally stopping in place. The feeling you get when you hop in the bus and you suddenly realize you’ve forgotten that essay that was due.

I was sitting in Taco Bell, just having finished my first taco, eyeing the rather nice ass of dark-haired stripper kneeling on the bed, her large white high heels calling out to me as the tattoo on her butt remained unreadable but interesting on Will’s dad’s cellphone–when it hit me like a cold splash of water to the face.

I forgot to celebrate Tom’s birthday! Nine days after the fact, it had just hit me then. Every New Years I bake him a cake, and slap up the ‘70′ candle or however the fuck old he’d be, make everyone over sing. And every year starts off great.

No wonder shit went down right away. How can we have a good year if Tom Riddle is pissed at me? And right away Nathan and Elizabeth start.

Fuckin’ Fable 2. Though I have to say, despite the nightmares, Left 4 Dead is WAAAY better. Oh my god.

I’ve come to the startling realization that I miss the Bastard, meaning the cash register, of course. He might’ve been a real asshole jerk to me, mocking me and playing prank, but he was reliable… kind of. And I miss him. We had our moments, and he used to please me sometimes by ringing up $19.43. Mm. I miss talking to him.

Right now my main issue is to get the medicine cabinet to stop talking to me. I’m not sure if the pill bottles are being sarcastic to me or not, but everytime I walk into the kitchen, they start up from their hiding spot. And when I take two, they tell me to take more.

One will knock me out. Two will make me drowsy for a day or so.
But I want to take more. That’s why I’m not trusting myself to go near them anymore, not while they keep urging me on.
I’m pretty sure its sarcasm anyway.

There was a time, I remember, where the nurse’s office was an awful place, cold and cruel, the walls gooey and threatening to claw at you, the beds old torture tables with pillows on them, broken and bent and rusted as the death curtain hung around them, and the bitter old woman sitting there.

I’m not sure how my entire life got turned around, but I suppose it’s art’s fault. ‘Cause when the anxiety gets to bad, I flee, and suddenly… it’s become my safe haven–with it’s soft heavenly glow lights, and it’s warm comforting buzz… I lay there in the deep green gushed beds, listening to the the security radio and their bouts, the soft murmur of complaints streaming from kids that often visit.

It’s really nice to wake up and know who I am, to know who everyone is. It was our, Snarf and I’s–or is it me?–, first gym class, really, since I’ve gotten back on track, and it’s nice to be able to talk to her, and know who she is.

And while everything may be dandy for me, the world just keeps falling apart. Well, at least I feel more now, huh? At least I’m back.

Oh Quantum Immortality, how you slay me.

We can live like Jack and Sally if we want
Where you can always find me
We’ll have Halloween on Christmas

Jack and Sally had always been, and forever shall be, once secretly, my favorite couple. Even through my anti-love days, they had always played a role in my head. I wanted that. I wanted a crazy relationship–feh! It’d be more then a relationship, I would never belittle myself with something called a boyfriend, it had to be so much more–it had to be one. And I wanted that stream of togetherness, the entire world as one person when we were together, to be the dance at the tip of sanity, where reality played in the background. I wanted Halloween on Christmas, I wanted to break free.

I had unwittingly found what I’ve been searching for. And while my main reason for existance seemed to fit all together when I slammed myself into Molly’s life, laughing and pissing myself as I went, I tripped over someone else along the way and tumbled down a hill I didn’t think I could find. It became something I forgot I needed.

When I found Molly, I felt a sense of ease, you know? Like I was put here to watch after her, make sure she’s happy. And then I stumbled into Will.

Laura tells me not to make him my entire world. My pride fuels up and I scoff, sticking my nose up, when something dark inside of me stirs. I had unwittingly made him my world when I glanced at him, I had doomed myself. I remember the horrible sense of dread I felt when he first drove me home–I remember sitting in the car, one foot out, my fingers clutching the handle, my eyes flickering in his direction. I laughed nervously. Please don’t let me go. Please take me home with you.

School days revolved around the end of 3, the end of 4, sometimes the end of 5th, and 7th period, along with 9th which was spent outside with you, where I’d stammer and try and make small talk.

Snarf once mention she knew how passionate I was about time with Will–I hadn’t realized I was until she said so. I don’t mean to be, but it’s just… I’ve never met anyone before where I needed to be near them every second. It’s as though I’m racing against a clock, like I may never see him again. It’s unhealthy, I hear people say, and it must be if it hurts so goddamn much when I spend a moment away.

I almost hate myself for what I’ve become–I loathe the realization that something is missing when I’m by myself, that when I’m not with him and I laugh to something funny I have to keep myself from looking around to see if he found it funny because he’s not there. Everything I argued against has happened to me.

Since the beginning, I had followed him wherever he went in his house. He soon started saying I’m like a little puppy dog–and I noticed that half the time, I don’t even realize I’m following him. It’s gotten to the point where we do everything together–even go to the bathroom.

Frankie told me that I was like Bella and I became devestated at the notion.

There’s a place I tend to go to when I become sad. I can’t explain why, but it’s always been my secret hiding place. The bathroom. I lean against the wall, bring my knees to me, and sit there–preferably in the dark. I also have to be near the door–of course, I’ve been hit in the face a few times.

And that’s how Will discovered yet another one of my secrets. And just like how Nathan used to, he sat down next to me, and glanced down. He asked if I was hungry, I said no, not anymore. Then I told him I felt sad–I’m always beating him up. He tells me that he deserves it because he eggs me on. And then he said,

“Sarah, we’re going to spend the rest of our lives together. What do I care of scratches and punches?”

Sometimes I have trouble believing he really wants to marry me, but then I note–I really want to live with him for the rest of my life as well, so what’s so odd about it?

What I can’t get over is how… I just seem to feel like I’ve known him all my life. That I’ve kissed him before I knew him. What I can’t seem to wrap my mind around is how well he seems to just know me. And what bothers me is the constant need to be around him.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve always held my own hand whenever I sat down. My fingers would just lace together, it was a habit that was near impossible to break. Then came Will. And suddenly I didn’t need to hold my hand, it felt fine.

I believe in reincarnation. And things are swaying in that direction, and I’ve admitted to things I never really wanted too.

My reasons for being massively in love with Tom Riddle. It wasn’t the fictional Harry Potter’s Tom Riddle, but the Tom Riddle version that I made up in my head, the one Nathan and Vincent both come from. The Tom Riddle who only has Tom Riddle’s name, Hogwarts, the time period and nothing more. The Tom Riddle that Jayden broke off of and turn colder.

That boy. That boy that had lived inside my head since I was younger. The one that used to be Sirus. Maybe I’m just delusional, maybe I’m trying to connect things that aren’t there.

Maybe everything that has happened inside my stories are happening now and I’m too proud to admit to any of it. I’m watching scenes replay before me. And all my habits, and all my secrets, and the things I’ve hidden from even Molly…

Oh and sweet Molly.
I had been thinking about it a whole lot more, and I couldn’t lie to myself. While Will may make the world fade and reality play, I’d always need my Molly. I’m a whole lot more unstable without her. And while Will can make me laugh and make everything wonderful, he can also make me angry or sad, and Molly’s always a breath away to make me forget my unhappiness. She’s always a breath away to heal whatever damage has made me stumble.

And while hurting over something–maybe Dennis, or just an anxiety attack, it isn’t Will who comes to mind first, it’s Molly, and I go searching for her, because she knows how to make it all better just by popping up and going, ‘o.o’ on aim or in messages, and relief trickles followed by her knowing, almost motherly, ‘Are you okay?’ and out spills whatever bothers me.
And then ‘ ‘_’ wat’
I wouldn’t be well off without Molly. I think I’d be a lot more broken up and ruined.

And my lovely Molly, love Doug, love him with everything. You and I have a special love, you know, different then romantic love, or family love. You and I… we’re just faggots. We have fag love. So love him, love him more then the world, it’d make me happy if you did. It’d make me happy if he realizes it and returns it.

D:< But I’m tellin’ you right now, he better beware, because whatever involves you, involves me, and I’ll be lurking in the shadows. Doug isn’t allowed to hurt you. And I wouldn’t attack him ever, because that would upset you, but he’ll become aware of my warth. And he’ll know and fear it.

And Snarf, you warm me with your happiness. And your love. And your FAJ. I don’t have much to say, you’ve been doin’ better from what I can see, but I’m biast, and to me everyone is happy. FOREVER. -STARES AT EVERYONE EVER.- o_o;
But you, you are my sister, my best friend, and I love you. And while I may go on and on about bizarre things dealing with Will, and my faggot love for Molly, I will never have anyone like you in my life. You’re my family, and I’ll remind you of this for always.
I remember when we had creative writing, and you’d tell me of this game–FUCK I LOST–and FAJ and Kami and Jason and vent–is it called vent?–and the video games… I knew. There was something about FAJ. And when you told me he won the game–SHIT AGAIN–and you respected him, you were sad, and you wouldn’t admit it, and I wanted to beat him up because he tricked you.
BUT NOW I WANNA BE ALL, “HA HA YOU GUYS LOVE EACH OTHER YOU BOTH FUCKIN’ FAIL FOREVER”. But that wouldn’t be nice and I think he’d be angry you told me such activities.
But, yeah. I could totally take him in a fight. I COULD TAKE HIM ALL THE WAY TO THE HOSPITAL SO HE COULD PAY MY BILLS. -Sobs violently.-
You, Snarf, you’re an amazing friend. You’ve dealt with more then I’d ever ask of you to handle. My crazy rages, Jayden coming out to be a bitch, mortal kombat in the computer lab over an essay, me telling you to go kill yoursefl… Jesus Christ. And not to forget my lost in interest with reality and being out of it for a few months.
And still, you take my hand, and lead me down the halls like the protective older sister, and pat my head, and make me feel happy. I always want to hear your stories, I always want to know the joy you feel, and I always want to be there for you.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it until you get it through your head.

D:< YOU’RE NOT FAT, OKAY? You’re lovely. You’ve got this kickass attitude, you’re spunky, you’re so outgoing, you’ve got this ease about you, you’re mega cool, you’re so very beautiful, and your hair is so pretty and soft. You’re AMAZING. And you deserve the world.

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.

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Two months.

…and thanksgiving.

Spending time with Will is always amazing, regardless of the situation–but Thanksgiving.

:/ If everything is so amazing, why is there so much anger for people I didn’t even have to see?

lol i cnt let go bc i h8 dos asholes n mi dey wuz rely gr8 n evrythg iz amzning

And when did my life start revolving around him? My pride and hypocritical tongue snap an angry retort but the bitterness lingers like a terrible taste in my mouth and the truth is as bright as the sun.
It’s not about the fucking boy!
Oh, but it is.
I’ve wanted to get out of the house last year before I even met him.
To run away because that’s all I do, and now I can run away to someone.

It’s been a long time since I’ve wanted to be saved, hasn’t it? So sure Piccolo would scoop down and fly me away, or at least someone, I had waited. But after 10, the dream start to flicker. When I hit middle school a large part of me died.
And that night, Will, what you said. It brought it all back.
You’ll protect me. You’ll save me.
Clutching onto your hoody’s sleeve, trying my best not to cry over something we both know isn’t actually there…

I always throw myself into my passions, because when I get involved with something, I always put my entire self into it, with everything I have–but it’s never been with someone real. As much as I love Molly, I hadn’t put myself fully into it, I always held back. And I’ve always ran away. And she’s the closest who has ever gotten to me, she’s the first person that I’ve loved more then myself–she’s taught me a lot of things. She’ll always be my best friend, and honestly, if the world ended, and it was just us, I could be happy.

Two months, two months, and everything I said is killing me. All I do is spend time with you–and when I’m not with you, I’m struggling to keep up the same level of joy I have when I’m with you, and I wish you were there, to share the laughs–and the laughs never seem good enough without you, and its like…

there’s this emptiness. I can survive, sure. But there’s like something missing.

Thing is, I want to be able to function better. I don’t want to be so dependent on needing to be around you. It’s just like how you said you felt, I’m addicted to seeing and feeling you. Oh lord, I’m addicted.

I’m sick and angry and confused.

And everything is going beautifully, and we bicker and make up quickly–it isn’t like we’re utterly obsessed with one another and see each other in a perfect light, naw. We get along like…

like my parents.

It’s like I’ve known you all my life.

And I don’t want to say anymore. I don’t want to go down there. It’s been two months, why should we talk of marriage?

I hate thanksgiving.

I do. I hate it because I hate the people related to me. I won’t give them the name of family, and I won’t forgive them. I resent them. I resent their silence. As far as I’m concerned, we’re not blood related, and nothing but my mother ties me to them. And their awful silence.

Sitting there at the table, all in our false mockery of thanksgiving, I usually end up just drowning myself in whatever liquid there is around–last year it so happened to be wine. I hate them. I hate them so much I’m miserable. And I hate things that bring me misery.

I hate them. I hate the silence. And I won’t shut up about it. I fucking hate the silence that they give to me, the silent staring and the play. We just sit and play the little game, and I’m laughing my fake laugh, and smiling my hateful smile, and wishing I was anywhere but there.

Sometimes I wish they’d just die.
Usually I wish on the way there we’d get in a car accident. Maybe the impact will kill me or at least keep me far far away from them for a long while.

I feel so trapped and I just wish I could run away. And I’m tired.

Does he look like a bitch?

It’s proof to show that I bleed for this
I’d cut myself to shame
To get to know this masochist
Who’s stolen my first name

hypocrite; definition: me.
As Kaggy says, it’s just who I am. And it’s what I do. The word, it’s suddenly a verb and an action and the one thing that can describe me best of all.

I’ve come to terms with myself. Yes, I want to marry him. Yes, I want to spend the rest of my life with him.
But tomorrow will only be your two month anniversary, how do you know?
How don’t I know? I know. I know. I’ve told him things I couldn’t even admit to myself. I never hesitate, I always tell him the truth, and the whole truth, even if I know it’ll cause an argument.

My god, I know. I don’t ever want to be with anyone else.
I have become cliched.
I have become a hypocrite.
I have become everything I scoffed off.
You have said everything I wrote off needing to hear. You have said everything that I needed to hear. You have said everything I begged God to hear before that part of me died away.
Every sweet word spilling from your lips, words that I had once cringed at, and became disgusted over, have me captured.

You are my future.

This barely beating heart of hurt.

And when the hurt comes there’s an argument,
A fight to save a smile
A small attack on human tears
To dry them for a while

It’s the art of how we grieve

I wish I could be daddy’s little girl. I keep lapsing out. And my dreams are of those that could have been reality. I’ve read two different sets of text messages, had two different sets of conversations already. I was about to get up and write a blog about being daddy’s little girl, and how I crawled into his lap and cried. And he’d give me advice with out getting angry at my offenders. And his big hands stroked my head, and he was so warm. So warm like Will. And he made me feel so safe like Will.

When I get upset–is upset a word I could use, is it the correct word for the near dead emptiness to what I feel?–like the way I am now, I just simply can’t doubt. I read that people do. But I know, still, in the agony of it all, the pleading, that the way Will feels has not changed. It could, and I’m sure he’d tell me if it did.

Everything is so plain and hollow, emptiness playing a dull note of nothing. I’m preparing myself for tomorrow. For the lies, for the smiles. The easy laughter that will pour from my mouth, the deception that I’ll spew like some sort of actress on a stage of reality.

And they’ll eat it up. They’ll eat up my charade, my facades, my world of pretense. And I’ll smile, and I’ll laugh on cue, and I’ll be their little small friend.

I’ll be Miss Sunshine, Miss Happiness, Miss Mindless.
And I’ll do my gee golly best to cheer up everyone else.

Because I would never wish the echoing hollow agony upon anyone else. It’s amazing. Only three people can drive me to this point with a single word. My mother, Dennis and now Will. Eh, and I suppose Snarf did help.

But.
I simply can’t remember just how I got this way. I just remember the sweet terrible agony grasping me and tugging me into my old suicidal thoughts, my fingers itching to run across my skin, to grasp my hair and pull or to wreck my cheek. My mind begging me to grab whatever I could and plunge it into me.

But fuck it.
I worked to hard to get where I am. One tiny slip up, and what better am I then someone who cannot function? I worked through the paranoia and the agony to get where I am, and I’m not going to be apart of those people anymore. I deserve this title of normalcy. I deserve to be separated from the title of Schizo.

So drill it, so drill it
So hard I feel it
So drill it, so drill it
So hard I feel it
So drill it, so drill it
So hard I feel it

Snarf mocks me for acting like I’m happy when I’m not.
What else am I suppose to do? Walk around crying? Walk around sad? Walk around so everybody knows I’m so unhappy? Then what? What will happen then? Nothing.
Because nobody can soothe me with words. And there was a time when I cried and nobody gave a shit. Because if you’re sad, the world doesn’t care. I have spent to much energy into being who I am, I have spent a lot of practice in being happy and nobody can take that away from me! I’ll fake it until I make it. I will not wallow. I will not allow myself to falter.

And maybe that makes me weak. Weak because I can’t even allow myself to show how truly feel. But goddamn what good will it be to be sad? What good, what good?

I think I’ve pretended terribly this year. It bothers me when people ask me what’s wrong. What’s wrong? Nothing, my silly friend, I’m simply tired.

What am I without words? I am nothing. And I can’t find it in me to write like I used to. I can’t find it in me to do much now, really, when my dreams tend to be so much sweeter.

So am I really that pathetic? I let people run my life, and I always have. And I always will. And that, my dear Snarf, is what Will was referring to. I go out of my way, whether it be for the misery of my own self, to make them happy.

And in my paranoia, I figured you both were playing a game with me. I figured you enjoyed the taunting game of seeing how far we can bend Rin until she breaks.

I don’t have anything to offer now. Wait until I’m better until I can pull myself back up.

And I was so right. Will is going to destroy me, and I’ll be left to pick up the pieces of my shattered resistance. I’ll have to refix everything all over again. But I know Molly will be there to help sew each piece together when it happens.

I’m giving up.

I can’t deal. I just can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t. You win, I’m sorry. I just wanted to show you, just wanted to show you what infatuation was and how it didn’t apply. If you were in my shoes, and I said to you, ‘Eh, I think FAJ is just infatuated with you and it’ll all go away soon’ after seeing him with you that one time at the mall, wouldn’t you be inclined to prove me wrong?

It wasn’t an attack against you. It really wasn’t that big of a deal. Okay, yeah. I do love Will

I do

I do

I do

And everything is ruined and everything is angry and there’s so much noise and I don’t understand why you keep saying these things to me. Why do you think you’re so replaceable. You brought up Kathy I’m not Kathy. You need to learn to love yourself and see your own worth.

I’m sorry.

And I can’t take it anymore. This pain has doubled since last night. Amazing how I said I didn’t know what sadness is. I remember why I’m antisocial. I remember that yeah, I don’t know sadness. I just know the crippling agony, of my thoughts getting fuzzy and loud, of yelling, of rocking back and forth laughing to myself as it all closes in on me.

I can’t deal I just can’t fucking deal and I can’t take it I can’t take it I can’t take it.

It’d be so much easier to turn off my phone. Why Will, why do you do this to me? Your silence and your anger and your little comments and Snarf’s anger and hurt and everything and the ajksa and the thoughts…

all the thoughts spinning at once, every way to possibly kill myself

and I know I’m going to start hurting myself again. I want to so bad, I can remember how good it feels. I deserve this. Dennis was right. Jayden was right. I deserve all of it. And I’m so happy. Thank god. I enjoy this pain. And I’ll do it. I’ll fucking do it. I want it.

I want the pain. It’s what I get. I shouldn’t have been so happy, I should have just acted, I should have known better, I shouldn’t have been so selfish. And I’ll enjoy it.

I won’t draw blood, I never have. I’ll just bite myself, and I’ll find things to stab myself with.

And I’ll be a broken mess, and nobody will know, because its like before. Between Snarf and Will, I’m almost how I used to be. I felt something to break.

Twice in one week. I just felt the snap. And I’m so broken, I can feel the crunching inside. And I’m happy and I’m hungry to hurt myself again. And I’m going away. I’m going far far away.

I’m a hypocrite. Hypo hypo hypo hypo hypo hypocrite. I say I can handle a relationship.

Mmm, haha.

I’m so broken. Do de da.

It’s so delicious. I’m so ruined and I can still laugh on cue, and I can still smile and act like everything is happy and wonderful.

Because I’m a liiiiarrr. And I’m so fucking filthy. And I deserve everything I deserve it.

So you win, Snarf. If you want to be replaced, okay, I’ll do that, just for you. I’ll do whatever you want. I’m a writer, aren’t I? Yeah. I can do that. I can. I can. And then you’ll be happy. You’ll be so happy you won’t have to deal with being upset by me anymore.

And okay Will. You win. You can do whatever you want. I can’t, Will, I’m so ruined. Keep being angry at me, keep saying those things, keep leaving me to wonder what I’ve done.

I’m going away now.

Infatuation’s cackling laugh.

I try to stay on top of you
To hold your body down
Your shaking seems to hinder
Every grasp that I had found

Moving every inch around you
To defuse your private bomb
I stretch myself surrounding
And protecting you from harm

Infatuation: A foolish, unreasoning, or extravagant passion or attraction.

Yes, I’m an obsessive person, and I leap from obsessive passion to the next, I throw my entire being into it, and I will always have a soft spot for it. This rules out infatuation. Because infatuation is always short lived, and my feelings for what I write about isn’t.
And that’s all I have to compare to infatuation when it comes to this topic. Love, infatuation, lust, desire, needing–it’s all new to me.

Snarf, I love you, but I do not think you have any room to judge or put a word to what Will feels. You’ve seen us together, what, three or four times at the most?

“When infatuated, we are thrilled, but not happy, wanting to trust, yet suspicious. There are lingering, nagging doubts about our “partner in infatuation” and their love for us. We’re miserable when they’re away, almost like we’re not complete unless we’re with them. It’s a rush and it’s intense. It’s difficult to concentrate. And most infatuation relationships have a high degree of sexual charge around them. Somehow being with them is not complete unless in ends in some type of sexual encounter.”

Will is extremely happy. I hate to talk for him, but it’s true. And he trusts me. He trusts me, as I trust him. I’ve never felt more comfortable with someone my entire life. I may be not be as happy when I’m not with him, but I’m not miserable, not in the the least. I can keep my happiness a certain level, true as it may not be as bright.
And we can go an entire day with only small pecks on the lips. We don’t have to full out make out in order to have a wonderful day. I can curl up next to him and his sister and watch Get Smart. Or hang out with his family. Or have him hang out with mine.

Some of the “symptoms” of infatuation are; feelings of panic, uncertainty, overpowering lust, feverish excitement, impatience, and/or jealously.
Panic, when I’m worried. Panic, when he’s worried. Other then that, there’s none of that.

While you’re infatuated, however, you’re ‘blind’ to your partner’s faults, weaknesses, and failings. It seems your partner is perfect in so many ways.
I do think Will is perfect. There is nothing I would change about him. Even his silence that drives me crazy, I’ve grown to adore it more and more. And his anger. I can’t help but like that too.
I am not blind to his faults. I just like them.
And Will most certainly isn’t blind to mine. He knows I don’t, ah, fucking think. But he says there’s nothing he’d change. And there’s nothing I’d change about him. Oh, and he knows my weakness–and he exploits them at times.

Infatuation makes you ‘dumb’ because you lose touch with things that are really important to you in your life, like your education, your parents and family, your friends, your career, your goals, your values, and much more.
This thing is really making me believe I’m infatuated with my writing. Eh.
Again, no, for me and Will. My education is still first, and so is his, if he’ll ever get to school. His future education is still very important to him, and we’re working on his college thing. My family and his are still important to the both of us. My friends and his friends are still important.
For Halloween I hung out with Kaggy, something we always do, and he hung out with his LOL BFF Dan.
And trust me, his career is extremely important. Sometimes he chooses getting ready for work over hanging out with me. Oh boo hoo sob for me, right? And his values are still in check. As are mine.

You aren’t there. You don’t know. Please don’t judge how he feels based on nothing you can see. I understand how much you care for me, but…
You don’t see the way he looks at me.
Or feel the way he caresses my cheek.
The way he kisses me so tenderly and gently.
Or how he refuses to let me outside of the house without something warm on or without shoes on my feet.
You don’t see the concern and wonder.
You don’t see, you don’t see.
I could list a thousand different thing. I could list all the small things he does, I could tell you all the sweet tenderly things he says, I could list all the mocking, all the amusement, all the laughter, I could list the silly fights and how easily we get over them.

You aren’t us, you have no say.

Scorched.

We ain’t got a whole lot of money…
How about a five star Happy Meal?
Every day with you is just like a party.

Drama is a word I play around with but when it hits, I falter along with it. Usually I keep my head and I keep my calm. Despite my belief in magic and petty things and alter universes, I need logic, thus my attraction to anyone logical.

At first I was puzzled and baffled, my mind unable to keep up with the words running from your mouth, the anger and distress that you were sputtering out, spilling onto me like a rushing wave. I recoiled, my mind pathetically scrambling to keep up, my thoughts speeding and crashing painfully into one another like a clumsy mess of goo.
I only understand two things, you were angry and it involved Will. I could not process just as why you were angry, all that kicked in was the sudden urgency to help soothe whatever forsaken you, all that I could understand was that my best friend was going off like a bomb of emotion and all that mattered was that you needed to be happy again.
I quickly came to assume you were angry at me.
And came more confusion. The hurt. Then the distress to make you understand how important you were.
So, confused, uncertain, I followed.
And retreated due to class, feeling extremely confused and upset.

Later came anger. Much, much, later. I was going to go home, I decided, and write an angry blog.
But as I contemplated what I’d say, I realized that I had really nothing I could be angry at you for.
I was going to use FAJ at first. I was going to go on and on about how I could listen to your happy stories, yet you could not listen to mine without feeling angry or jealous–
When I realized that there was nothing wrong with that at all. I was happy to listen, I loved to hear how happy he made you, and I loved to watch you glow, and smile lazily.
And I realized that we had a good and honest friendship. And I was, despite feeling bad that I made you feel bad, happy to know you can tell me how you feel.
I could not blame you for your jealousy. You and I are different. And while people matters don’t concern me in the least, and being jealous would be like being good at math for me, I still loathe to listen about Twilight and I can’t explain myself. I’m only terribly jealous when it comes to writing.
I had absolutely nothing to complain about when it comes to you, Snarf. You are one of the very best friends I have, even if you do get upset easily. But that’s the thing, I love you for you, and I love you for how upset you get. You wouldn’t be Kelsea without being your emotional self.
And out of the people I know, you’re my older sister, you’re my family. And I cherish you, no matter how you feel about something, no matter what you will ever say. You look out for my well-being and you’ve done nothing but care about me.

That thing you said, ‘you have other friends‘.
Yes, I have other friends. But I don’t have another Snarf. I don’t. And I don’t ever need one.
I think you think you’re replaceable. Well you’re dead wrong, there will never be anyone like you. You don’t realize how brilliant you are, and I wish you would. I don’t want other friends when I’ve got you. You crack witty jokes, you’re positively kick ass, you know all the right things to say and do, you can cheer me up with a lopsided cheerful grin, you give great hugs, you’re so pretty and I adore your hair.
Your birth family all fucking suck. And I’ll say it again, you’re going to make it and they aren’t. Snarf, I’m your family too, okay? And I’ll be here for you until I’m thrown 6 feet under. I will always love you and I’ll always be here for you–even on the days we bicker over silly things, even on the days we don’t really like each other much. ‘Cause I love you, I do, I do.

Of the universe by my side.

Do I really need a reason?
Is it really such a big deal?
It just seems like the right situation
To say how I really feel.

All that happens is Happiness.
Happiness- when I’m with you.

There are only a few factors in my life that I’m sure of, things that I’ve known since almost day one.
I know for the motherfuckin’ fact that my purpose on this beautiful little planet is to keep Molly’s glow alive. To keep her smiling, regardless of who I’m with, regardless of who she’s with. It’s something I’ve sort of always known. Back when we hardly knew each other, I felt that pull, that need to protect her, to make sure everything was alright.
I might not have the ability to love her the way she loves me, but I love her with everything I’m capable of. I love her the only way I know how to.

Since I was younger, waaay back when, even as the idea of having children had no appeal to me–still really doesn’t–back when I must have been seven or so, and up, I could still see glimpses of things that made me head turn.
Maybe it’s just the writer in me, or maybe it’s something I just know, but these things I’ve seen, they’ve always stuck with me.
Like the three kids. I’m not really sure of gender but I do know that one is a girl and one is a boy–I’m not sure which kids belong to who, either if the third is a friend’s child, or what…
But I’ve seen them in my head all my life. I sort of know their personality. I don’t know their names. And I don’t really know what they look like.
But the boy, the tallest of the three, has the same hair color as Molly and dark blue eyes–sometimes. I just know… that hair, it looks like hers. I’m not sure about the eyes.

I’ve always seen myself–single parent, I had thought, now I just realize, that the scenes I’ve seen are just very limited. I don’t know if I’m gonna be married with kids, I just know I’m gonna have kids.
And I can still remember being in this pretty kitchen, the window above the sink, counters around, wood flooring and a wood table with flowers on it…
Talking on the phone to someone very close, laughing, as the kids run around, playing under the table.
I remember the girl I talked to over the phone had brown hair.
I’ve been trying to figure out who, and I think it’s Molly.

I can see us laughing and carrying on in an Italian restaurant.

I can even see us being old on a bench somewhere bitching at kids.

I don’t know if Will is going to be in my life still, but I really hope he is.
I don’t know if Molly and Doug will get together, but I sure would like them too.
And I can see thanksgiving.
I really can. Not as clear as I can with the other things, but its still nice.
I can see Doug pulling a little girl with dark hair and fair skin onto his lap, she’s probably around four, dressed in a purple and white dress with a bow and black shoes, trying to tell her about his communist lies, while I scoff and Molly smiles adoringly, Will pulling the turkey out of the oven because he’s a faggot cook and the two boys chasing each other around, ducking under tables, while pretending to sword fight with sticks. I think the boys are 8 and 7, though I’m not sure. Maybe one is 6. Maybe the other 10.
It keeps switching around.
Things keep changing.

But I do see constants.
I do see Molly with her hands on her hips glaring out a window while its raining. It’s night. And I’m leaning back lazily in the chair next to her, telling her to calm down, while she’s getting annoyed and worried. Waiting for him.
That one is the closest to our age. We can’t be past 23.

I dunno. But I do like these thoughts.

I can see a beach scene. I’m annoyed, Will’s annoyed–we don’t like beaches much, and the children are laughing and running, playing by the water, and Molly’s laughing and chasing after them.
And then she’s next to–I guess Doug?–holding hands and cuddling while Will and I try and sneak off to be dirty.
And I can see Will pouting, being sulky and silent, staring narrowly at me as if it was my fault.

And Christmas.
And the lights. The red and green flashing and dancing lights hanging outside a house with a brown roof covered with snow. And up the porch. And there’s a big tree in the living room with lights dancing, and flickering, and presents underneath in ever different color, shiny and appealing.
And there’s the loud laughter, and spoons hitting plates, and the warm murmur filling the air, and the different smells filling the house–
And Molly and I are attempting to cook and laughing as we fail terribly at it, Will growling and swatting us away from the now smoking stove, telling us he’s gonna hit us if we don’t shoo.
And Doug is trying to guess what’s in the boxes with a little boy, rattling a few things as Molly pokes her head through the doorway huffing, ‘don’t you touch that!’ and only receiving identical smiles.
And me calling her a pussy for not being able to stand up to the smiles.
And then Will pulling out the small hose to the sink, threatening to squirt us if we don’t get out of the ‘damn kitchen’ with Molly throwing her hands up and crying, ‘but we’re women!’

Word count: 0; saving draft

Break my body with the back of your hand
Doesn’t make sense from where I stand
Baby, baby why you wanna mess it up
Sooner or later I’ll find my place
Find my body better fix my face
Please don’t ask me
How I’ve been getting off
No please don’t ask me
How I’ve been getting off

I haven’t been as passionate as I could be. No, no, I’ve been actually editing my posts, shortening them, keeping things out. Because I feel awful and rotten when you tell me those things. I know you can’t help the way you feel, but what is there to compete against? You’re in love. In love. Something that I could probably only dream of understanding. When you say you get jealous, I wish I could take back all the words. Jealousy scares me, I want nothing to do with it at all.

Two days ago I was positive that my anxiety was started by Will’s silence. He had some part of it, yes, but not fully. I couldn’t even get out of bed this yesterday. I hate the helplessness, the fear strangling me, wrapping around me so all I can hear is the loud thumping of my own heart beat and panic takes control. Sleep did nothing to soothe me and I struggled not to burst into tears as I made my way to the couch. Fear exploded, and I curled up, rocking back and forth while repeating constantly that I was fine, while I did my best to reassure Molly and Will.

Secretly I think it’s because I can’t deal with arts and crafts. I need to drop that class, I just can’t handle it. We’re gonna start doing dyes next and that alone makes me feel so nervous and anxious. I’m going to puke.

I love it when you take control. I love it when you tell me I’m not allowed to talk to someone. ‘Nobody much older than you, no assholes and you’re not allowed to talk to shit heads like Frank’. I love how protective you get. I love it when Molly gets that way too–but I don’t know why you affect me more. I just wanna cuddle you.
That man from pondarosasafasf. Turns out he’s over 40.

‘i wish i was younger and could have been the one to ( realease ) your inner desires’
‘back at ponderosa  when you worked there and i came in and flirted with ya i often thought to myself  dam if i was younger i would soooo  DO her’
‘.. would you have let me ?/ if you were not in a relationship’

You told me to get rid of him–Molly wanted to curse him out. Snarf figured he liked me like that awhile ago–and I figure that I keep leading people on. With Frank. With Charlie. It’s as though I really am what Shane said all those years ago. Sometimes I just feel like such a manipulative lair.

I am manipulative. And I do spin the truth constantly–but never to people who matter. Never to Snarf, never to Molly or Billy or Sarah or Kaggy or to you, Will. Never ever. And I’m the biggest hypocrite there is. I really am. I get very passionate about a topic, and the way I feel about it can reverse in a matter of seconds. I say one thing, do another, and believe strongly in somethings else entirely.

Kaggy once said that’s what she was jealous of. My ability to throw myself entirely into a passion. She says that I have the ability to passionately argue against something and then turn around and argue just as passionately against what I had been defending to somebody else.

Because in the end, all that matters are my words. And even the times Will unwittingly makes me unhappy or sad, I also think, well at least I have my stories to fall back into. At least I can just leave for awhile. Because I’m a coward. I’m a coward who can’t face the ugly truths in the world, I’ll do anything to make sure everyone around me is happy, to make sure that I’m happy no matter what, even if I have to lie to myself.

Laura says I’m selfless. She says I put my friend’s feelings before my own. And yeah, I do. But usually not for the same reasons. For one, its easier, just easier to do what people want, and for second, I’m actually very very selfish. I want to be constantly surrounded by the illusion of happiness. It’s for me. All for me.
Will and I sort of got into a mini fight about it. It bothers him that I try to make everyone happy even if it’s ‘bad’.
He says I shouldn’t have to hide my emotions.
And he was also annoyed that Snarf ‘bitched’ him out about making me worry. I wondered what he wanted me to say. Sorry my friend cares about my well being? I suppose I should be annoyed at Snarf for doing that, right? Since Will is my boyfriend and all. But I’m not. Snarf can do whatever the hell she damn well pleases, she knows what she’s doing, and it’s her right to say whatever the hell she wants. And I bet she didn’t even ‘bitch’ him out, as he put it. I apologized on her behalf, I did, but I can’t help but feel that Snarf was just being the older sister I see her as. Though I do feel bad. I just want Will happy, that’s all.

Today made me happy, regardless. I was overly thrilled with how things went with Snarf today. It made me, if possible, even more giddy. I feel like I have my best friend back. I feel like I’m gonna come out of this faster then last year. Please, please, antisocialism, go away.

Protected: Little house wife.

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Silence, silence, silence.

Oh god, Will, why do you have such a hold on me? The mere mention of your name in text by Molly, after so long of silence, made my heart flutter and pang so longingly. And the beep-beep, 1 message received–I get so hopeful.

And then you do reply. You do talk to me. One message and you vanish again, and I just can’t take it. I’m in such a distress state that I doubt I could even see you if you wondered, because I’d cry. I’d cry Will, I really would. Nothing has worked.

Nothing has worked. Laughing can always cheer me up. I’m so empty and lost without you and I can’t stand it.

What the fuck? Why am I like this? Who the fuck is he to have this power?

Scattering insanity, brink and around again.

Anxiety. It’s the one thing that consumes me completely, spits me back out half way and then tugs me back in so I’m drowning in it. And it doesn’t take much for me to start loosing interest in everything and everyone around me, it doesn’t take much for run away to kick up in a loud screeching bang, it doesn’t take much for the irritability to creep up, snapping at anyone who tries to communicate with me. No, I don’t want to talk about it!

It’ll start off before 3rd, when I peek a glance into the Film Studies class and see a missing William. Disappointment , longness, yearning, emptiness, and sorrow follows quickly, but I’ve gotten better at staying cheerful.
Then, if he doesn’t respond to the texts, I start to get panicky around fourth period. Lately, I’ve been able to shove the feeling down. Around sixth I’m starting to become a wreck–Snarf’s silence adds on to it, and suddenly everything is much harder. Seventh I try and sleep it off. Eighth, now I’m full blown stuck in anxiety. I text him again. Twenty minutes–
why
Why what? Why I am worried, Will? Gee, I don’t know!
im sory

And then silence.
Silence. The dreadful painful silence that drifts, hanging over me like a heavy fog. It drives me crazy. For an hour, I’m struggling to try and find normalcy. Every little beep-beep; 1 message received, and I’m begging that its from you. I’m dying for it.
Sorrow and anger clash and for fifteen minutes I’m furious with you, and then it fades, and anxiety is only left.

yeah im fine. im not sleeping anymore im sory.
Relief washes over me, and I cling to the message, desperate for anything.
Why are you sorry? Alright, as long as you’re okay.
mkay

Mkay. I decide to leave it as that. His mkay. Nothing I have to say matters. And the anxiety crashes into sadness. And the ache returns.

Silence drives me crazy. I don’t fear him ignoring me, I don’t fear anything that involves him being angry with me. My mind takes me to the worst place possible. He’s hurt. He’s dying. He’s dead.

But the way he makes it seem like he doesn’t want to talk. It stings. And I still don’t know what’s going on.

I don’t do well with Silence.

I never have. Silence is the one thing that makes everything horrible, silence tells me something is terribly wrong, silence from anyone is the worst thing anyone can possible do to me.

Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
Silence. The awful silence, the cold goo like silence that clings and clogs the air passages, wrapping around the throat and dragging downward. Silence like the murky water waiting so close by. The silence.

It hurts every part of me.
And it hurts more when the need for silence is implied. mkay.

I’m going to bed and I want to be left alone until I remember how to be happy.

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The sky explodes, and only you know.

Well you’re not brave if you still keep the letters
and you’re not sane if you don’t want to get better
and you’re not drunk if you can stay in your lane

Love.

Molly wrote about it–it was nice. It was lovely. So I want to talk about it too. Regardless of how I am in this relationship, I do have some thoughts on it, and I believe it is way to soon to even know if I could love Will yet or not, despite my confusion.

Love; it’s a choice. A decision. It’s when you choose to spend the rest of your life with that person, even on the days when you don’t like each other–even on the days when you two don’t even love each other. Love is a commitment and a promise. It’s wanting to always be near that person…

When things become difficult, it’s sticking by, it’s not giving up, it’s understanding.

Well you’re not awake but you haven’t been sleeping
and you hate god but you don’t believe in him
and you’re not scared but you still got you’re eyes closed

It’s adoring their faults, their flaws. Being able to argue and not hold it all to heart. It’s the warmth and security.

It’s when you put them before yourself. When their happiness means the world, and makes your own happiness explode into a smile. It’s the smile that twitches upward when you see them smile, it’s the laughter that seeps out. It’s taking that person as they are, and loving them no matter what will happen to them. Through sickness. Through fights. Through life changes.

Well it’s not fixed if you love it broken
and your cell phones at the bottom of the ocean
and you’re not drunk if you can stay in your lane

I don’t know much, I don’t. But I do know that I like it best when Snarf glows, when Molly glows. I like their happiness, and I want them to have it forever and ever.

I don’t want to think about tomorrow, I don’t, I really don’t. And you say such wonderful things. About how you wish I was there always. And you’ll wait for the day that I can stay at your house always. Does that mean you’re thinking about me moving in already?

You say my body fits perfectly against yours.

What’s love, Will? What’s love? Is it my desire to make you happy? And to be the only one who can make you the happiest? Is it when you kiss my hand as you’re driving because I tell you those things?

Is it when you scoff and tell me you’re off to go buy gas with your two dollars and come back out with your hands behind your back, lean down to kiss me and shove the pepsi bottle into my arms? And then softly murmur for me to ‘go sit down‘ back in the warm car?

Is it love when I refuse and stand out in the cold with you just to lean up and kiss you softly on the cheek?

Is it love when you tell me its annoying when people bitch about their problems and you don’t have the patients for it, but then turn around and say you wouldn’t have a problem with it if I did so?

Or do we just really like each other? I think we do.

If it was love I would know, and so would you.

I won’t say I love you unless I’m positive. I won’t say I love you because it’s a very large thing for me. You’re my darling, Will, honest to god, I wouldn’t want to be with anyone else, and at this point, I really don’t want to be with anyone else ever.

I’m trying to run away, and I’m getting antisocial, but I find myself running away to you. I like how I can keep you calm, and I like how I can pull you back from your anger. You could break me in half, and instead you softly tug me to you and hold me.

I don’t know about marriage, and I don’t know about next year or next week or even tomorrow. But why should any of that matter? I’ll count the days as they come.

Well you’re not brave and you’re making a lane shift
you’re not lost but you’re missing your exit
and you’re not scared but you still got your eyes closed

Mid-sentence fractures.

But something happened it’s so strange this feeling
Naive notions that were childish
Simple tunes that tried to hide it
But when it comes
We all fall in love sometimes

The thought of being antisocial sounds so delicious right now. I keep giving myself excuses. I’ve gone three months without relapsing, I deserve this! It’s not like I’d be gone-gone I’d just be emotionally unavailable.

I’m not an independent person, I need someone to hold my hand. It’ll be like that I’m thinking until the rest of my life. I need someone close by all the time, so I can know what reality is the one I should be in, to have reassurance. To be by myself for a full day in public would be taboo. It’s the biggest no-no I can think of.

That doesn’t mean I don’t like my space, or that I don’t like to see the world for what it is, to be on my own without any hovering.

I wish I could say I was okay. I don’t know how to ask for help, and I don’t like talking about me, I don’t like sharing my problems, and I have no problem writing them I just don’t want to hear them being sputtered back to me. I’m fine so far. Right?

I just didn’t really know where I was for a few periods. I just kept zoning out–like I was in a dream state as everyone around me just…

For a while I didn’t believe anyone was real. It was all just so fake, everyone was pretending so they wouldn’t know.

I’m not sad, I’m not. I just don’t know what’s going on. Like I know who Snarf is, I just don’t know her, I can’t remember why she cares about me or why she’s talking to me. I don’t know why we’re close. I just know its suppose to be that way. And I know I like her company.

I got half way through a text message to Molly–telling her something was wrong, that I felt like I was lapsing out, when I deleted it, because, I figured, if I was lapsing, I wouldn’t know. I wouldn’t know.

Suddenly I was with a pretty boy who was laughing, a warm smile on his face, sitting on his bed. And for a moment I couldn’t piece together that I was with Will–like I knew, but I didn’t, and I just admired him for a moment. He just seemed so different.

Everything just seemed so different.

And the walls in the gym were breathing and the windows were dancing, and I wasn’t sure who was talking.

I keep forgetting how I’m suppose to be. I just keep forgetting where I am and who I am and why.

It would be so much easier to just leave. And I want to, so badly. I just know that I’m not allowed.

And I don’t mean to be so dark about it, and I don’t want attention to be focused on me, because I know I can’t handle it, and there is just simply nothing at all to say. There’s nothing to talk about. I do not want to talk about it. I haven’t ran away yet, and I doubt I will. I just need to get to January and I should be fine.

There’s anxiety. So much anxiety, I think it’s coming all from Molly, and then there’s worry for Snarf, even if I’m having trouble remembering her, and there’s Will, and between all this, my mom is a nutter, we have no money and we’re gonna move, and there’s college, and keeping the charade up for the not loved school friends like Sango and Lauren and whatnot.

And the three people who keep me strongly tied to reality are constantly talking to me. Molly and Will seem to easily keep me in when I falter, and Snarf looks after me when I start to slip, she just seems to know and I remind myself to not falter so much. They keep me together…

And yet I’m still slightly manic. Oh good, like my mother. My speech is awful and I bounce from topic to topic and there’s so much. Just so much.

But I’m fine, I’m fine.

Because I have enough sense to write this, and I have enough sense to keep going to classes, and I have enough sanity to not fully fade out and I haven’t ran away and I’m alright and I’m okay and everything is going to be fine, because I’m handling it.

Protected: The day Will hit his sister.

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Lights flickering; shattering on pavement.

Fantasies made of the devil’s glare, and I won’t stop myself. Guilty may I feel, I won’t let my mind be stopped. Thoughts were made to be thought up.

Time Square.

Soft white puffs of breath dance in the twinkling twilight as chilled fingers lace together, lights shimmering all around as the world turns on normal pace yet all a blur in the background, the noise like distant static. Four smiles donning four flushed rosy faces, laughter echoing off the sleek glass buildings that reflect faceless masses of strangers.

Lights. Twinkling lights. Flashes. Patterns. All dancing in the darkening city that glows like a glow stick, warm against the December weather. Holiday music swimming and playing in the air, warm light spilling into the sidewalk from back-to-back stores and markets. Warm greetings and laughter.

“…I don’t even know how many times you Bostonian’s fell!” Playful mocking. Smiles flickering to life like candles on the couple’s faces, a blush creeping up on hers as he just grins, rolling a shoulder up into a shrug.

“We’re not from Boston,” she murmurs, still shy in manner. Brown locks falling into her face. He absentmindedly pushes them to the side, his fingers gliding across her cheek. They share a look.

“What? Sorry, couldn’t understand a word you said out of that heavy accent of yours.” The New Yorker replies with a catty grin at her best friend, causing the other to snort.

“Coffee.” The accused Bostonian throws out causing the New Yorker to grin.

“Cawfee.” She replies sending her friend into cackling. The boy beside the New Yorker smirks and draps his arm around her waist, tugging her closer.

“You’re being restarted,” he mocks huskily, and she grins back up at him, tilting her head to the side. He drags his gaze away back to the watching couple. The girl amused, the boy not so much. “She’s just being a dick and acting like she’s all from the big bad city.”

Ice skating had gone well enough. The two out-of state couple laughing and tripping over one another, cackling and exchanging soft spoken whispers and long admiring gazes. While as the New Yorkers mocked one another–until the girl shrieked and clutched onto the boy, whining about not being able to stay upright. Pervert jokes soon were shared by the four of them. Then hot chocolate came as an echo of ‘but you don’t like chocolate!’ protested from the out of state girl and New Yorker boy.

Magical, the new yorker chimed as they crossed the street. Simply magical.

Snarf.

Cheer up. Please? I may not know what’s going on, but I don’t need to. You’re allowed to have your own stuff, I just wish I knew how to help you.

I miss hanging out with you. I miss the laughing and I miss watching you tell me about your boy, and I miss the way you make me grin and I miss the fun we have and I miss hearing your stories. I miss holding your arm like you’re my older sister keeping me safe–cause that’s what you are to me, my older sister, someone I look up to and admire.

We haven’t been hanging out much. I know, it’s mostly my fault. I’ve been getting so distant with you its so horrible, I just… run away. It’s easy to run away from things, you know? I suppose you do know best. You live in a place that isn’t easy either.

I want you to know… that nobody could ever replace you. Because nobody is Kelsea. And nobody could EVER, EVER be as great as you are.

I don’t know why you don’t see it. I think you’re simply divine.

The world may be ending for me, and everyone might be on fire, and blood could be gushing from my arm–but your happiness will always be on my top list, and I will always want to hear what you need to say and have to say. You need to know that if you have something going on, it means a fuckload to me, because I want you happy. Always. I’m selfish, Kelsea. The world can go fuck itself for all I cared.

You’ve been one of my very best friends and nobody could ever replace you. Not Will. Not even God or whoever is running the show. I appreciate everything you do for me, even if it’s a simple hug in the morning.

I live on drama. I like trying to help everyone. Molly’s drama–should I not call it that? Love-triangle thing? WTFLOL-thing? might come up as one of my top things but you’re very close by.

My mother might be crazy, but so is yours.
My life might be chaotic, but when is anyone’s life normal?

Putting it frankly, I can cope will. To brag, I can cope better then you. Problems that might be a shrug off for me, will be painful and emotionally drastic for you. So your shit… it fucking matters to me. And your happiness… it means everything to me.

Snarf, you’re my best friend, and I love you. And I’m tired of being distant from everyone–I don’t mind Billy and Sarah as much, but I miss you.

Lets hang out soon?

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Skipping dinner.

Sanity is a pretty ugly word. And when slammed in the face of realizations, I know I would never last a day on my own. Tick tock tick tock sanity is lost.
I’m convinced that nobody is left sane.
Whether it’s the sudden wrathful anger, the lurking depression, the lack of reality…
We’re all nuts.

And I’m sorry there is so much drama.

Mollyburt x3: So play any good games lately?
SADISTIC BAGEL: games bore me
SADISTIC BAGEL: ever since i realized that everything is profected through a television
SADISTIC BAGEL: a metal box
SADISTIC BAGEL: it doesnt feel right
Mollyburt x3: Oh. Well, I recently started playing a really cool one.
Mollyburt x3: I lost the game, though. Sucked balls.

I r Kira LOL: D: FUCK.

SADISTIC BAGEL: i dont play that anymore
Mollyburt x3: You can’t not play it, especially if you know the rules!

SADISTIC BAGEL: sorry im just not dumb enough to waste my time with that
Mollyburt x3: But you’ll waste your time with DRUGS? >_>

…o.o Anyway.

I’m sorry there is so much drama. I think it’ll always be this way–conversing through text if not on aim.

You’re the person I’d text if I was having a bad day. You’re the first person I’d text if Will unwittingly makes me cry. You pull me back up when I am unable to do so.You’re the person I end up laughing hard with until the wee hours of morning and you’re the person I can cry too, and you’re the person I love to take care of most when your life falters. I often realize how easier it is with you so close in my life.

Snarf’s troubles worry me. But so do yours. I’m always selfish, wanting everyone to keep a level of happiness that they can’t normally have.

You worry he’s hurting himself. You worry your thoughts are awful. No, your thoughts are yours, you’re allowed to dream up whatever you wish, and you need to accept them for what they are. You have feelings for your best friend, and nothing can change this.

Fights are always bound to happen, don’t take it to heart, you weren’t doing it purposely.

He slapped himself in the face and ripped out a good portion of his hair. I see some bald spots where the rest of his hair is thick. And Lynn stopped him.

He’s losing his mind, and I know its scary. I’ve seen something sort of that too. I can remember times when I lost it like he has–maybe not damaging like he has, but…

You need to trust he’ll be alright.

And you need to know I’ll sputter out anything I can about someone I don’t know. Anything to keep you calm.

They aren’t my friends but you love them, so their well-being means a fuck of a lot to me. If you’re upset, then I want it better. I want it fixed.

It’s amazing how so many things can go on and the world still turns. Am I going to one day get married to a boy like Will, and converse with you through text while checking up on Snarf’s blogs? Probably. Because I’ll never let you guys go.

Right now everyone needs to calm down. Everyone needs to accept whats going on, and everyone needs to realize its going to be okay.

But bathe me in lies, I’m a hypocrite.

Mischa says,

That I’m being rude. She says that I’m not letting you live your life, Snarf. That I’m putting way to much expectations and pressure for you to be happy. She says that Laura is doing the same thing to me, and I have to let you do your own thing, live the way you want, without flipping a shit. She says that I’m being immature, that it should be expected of me to support you, and not get nuts just because you’re upset.

She says I need to put more trust in your ability to make the right decision for yourself, that I need to let you just be. And if you get jealous or upset or sad or angry, its perfectly natural and extremely understandable.

She says that I need to live my own life, and that I have my own happiness to think about.

o_o

Paranoia.

Paranoia, guilt, fear. Running over and over again–I just feel so sick and so skittish. Like I’ve done something horribly wrong.

I’m still extremely guilty for upsetting Snarf. I feel extremely guilty that I get to see Will everyday. I feel extremely guilty for being upset that she’s upset. I don’t have the right.

I don’t know how to make anything better or right.

Therapy.

I hate talking about me. I also hate making it seem like a sob story.

I just want you to be happy, Snarf. So fucking much. And I’m going through so many emotions at once–angry and bitter and happy and upset and lacking.

And then you aren’t happy. I just want you happy. I know you can’t see your boy, but you gotta push through, you gotta try and work things out.

You gotta.

Ask him if you can visit. We’ll drive you.
D: Be happy.

Yes, but…

You’ve known FAJ a whole lot longer than I have even known Will, Snarf. It’s different. You two have been through a lot more, you two have grown as a couple, even if you two weren’t a couple. When I talk about how impossible it seems to love someone with knowing them only one month–two months?–I mean from my point of view. Especially when it takes so damn long to even allow someone in, for me. And here’s this boy I haven’t know long, but he’s becoming closer and closer to me.

It’s not fucking fair. I NEVER ever asked for this. I NEVER EVER wanted this. I didn’t go looking for it. It just smacked me across the face and held my head under water.

I don’t want to upset you. I don’t want you to be jealous. It ruins my day completely when that happens, and I admit, I force myself to lapse out, because I just can’t deal with any of it.

It isn’t fair. You love FAJ, it’s different. It’s so fucking different. It took me weeks just to get used to Will’s hands on me. I would come home and cry and cry and cry, and hate myself, and cry some more because of the memories–memories I can’t even remember–that would stir. The shame, the guilt, the feelings of worthlessness. I felt so filthy just from a simple caress.

I also wanted my first time to be on a dirty bathroom floor, my back scrapping against moldy tiles. I wanted to be hated, to be ripped apart, to be fucked so hard I cried. That was my ideal fuck. A stranger, I wanted a stranger to be my first time.

I have seven years of self worthlessness installed into me. I have a childhood of lacking mother. Of lacking family. My mom is the only thing I’ve ever wanted. Instead she chose work over me, and I was left to play with the hallow toys in the nice pretty house as a replacement for her love.

Once I love someone, I love them for always. And I’m not just saying that. I can’t just get in and out of relationships. I will always love Dennis, no matter what he does, or what I do. If I love Will, I simply will always. I still care deeply for Jamal, even if I no longer see him.

Yes, I see Will everyday. But that doesn’t mean I know who he is everyday. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel filthy. That doesn’t mean I don’t cry four times a week. I always said I never wanted to be in a relationship. But I never really gave one of the biggest reasons as to why.

I’m broken. I’ve lost so fucking much that all I can do is try and be happy. It doesn’t take much to send me hurtling back into hell, but I pretend everything is okay, because that is all I have left, Kelsea. It’s all I have left. I have myself.

My mother broke me a long time ago. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the ability to love anyone the way you do FAJ, or the way Molly loves me. Yes, I do love Molly loads–the most I can. But it can never be enough, because I can’t.

My level of happiness is so high, you say. And its because I don’t have anything left anymore. And that’s why I avoided close relationships.

I’m angry at love because it ruined me for a very long time. I’m angry at love because I don’t understand it. I’m angry at it because I can’t stand the idea of being cliched. I know. I just can’t.

I hate admitting how Will helps keep me tied into reality. I have to come out of it for him–just like how I stick around for Molly.

I don’t like pleasure so much–sexual wise. I still rather have it hurt me.

If anyone should be jealous, it should be me. You get your family, and they’re all alive. You have your father. You get attention. You can fall in love without worry. You have your mind. You know who everyone is everyday. And you probably will never kill yourself.

Not saying that I will… but I think its awful that lying next to Will I still have that little noise in the background. Wouldn’t it be so easy if I could just…?

And here comes my anger toward Venny. No, I don’t like fucking Star Wars because Will likes Star Wars. How dare she think my opinions change just because the person I’m dating likes something certain? I’m not going to like everything he does if I didn’t before.

But yes. I am happy. I am. I can be happy while my life is a total mess. I’m allowed. My mom is crazy, we have to sell the house, we have no money at all, I’m having trouble staying in reality lately–everything is dandy.

And I’m not being sarcastic. The only thing that matters is that everyone is happy and we’re all alive. Despite everything I tend to say, I think its possible to stay 100% happy. I have a boy who takes care of me, I have my mom kind of, I have my best friends and I’ve got my Molly.

I don’t care what it takes, I’m going to be happy, no matter what. I can’t wallow, what is there to wallow about? I refuse to stay sad about things I cannot control. I don’t have to. Snarf, I know your boy is busy, and I know it’s difficult. But don’t let yourself fall to darkness. Believe me when I say I’ll kidnap you and leave you stranded where he lives. I’ll fucking find his place and then you’ll have to be around him when he’s busy.

Protected: Amour-propre.

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Her son is gay. D:

It’s amusing. I suppose all schools are like mine–where politics run the main topic of conversation. Half the kids are angry that Obama won, and the other half are angry that they other half isn’t accepting. Fights have been breaking out today–and I was only in school for four periods.

Cat fights in the halls.

“EXCUSE ME?!”
And one friend, loud and angry, will start screaming about Obama’s plans to change our country and the other one will shout back, and they’re fight.

I’ve been hearing, “SARAH CAN FINALLY GO BACK TO FUCKING ALASKA!”

And now most Republican-siders argue, “McCain would have won if there was a different VP!”

All I have to do is turn to one of my right-siding friends and say, very calmly, ‘We’re doomed’. And they’ll go off on a rant.

‘WE DON’T HAVE TO WORK GUYS FREE HEALTH CARE THANKS OBAMA!’ in a sarcastic tone, scoffing.

Socialist.

It’s like having a black straight Dumbledore running the country.

Filthy fuck.

Mollyburt x3: You’re filthy. ;D
I r Kira LOL: D: -Turned on.-
Mollyburt x3: D:< This is why you’re filthy.

Take away my control, and I’m melting–soaked, damp, whimpering. I like almost cruel words. I like when you grab my hair and force yourself deeper into my mouth, regardless if I gag or not. You know better then to ask if I’m alright, because I’m so fucking wet, I’m only more turned on when you fuck my face, forcing me way down, forcing yourself into my mouth with each thrust, my head slammed against the wall, my fingers clawing at the bed and the wall, at your pelvis bone. Your fingers tighten around my hair and I moan helplessly.

But I can make you cum this way. And I drink it down like the filthy little hungry whore that I am. In fact, I’m the only one to make you cum just by blowing you. But I don’t want the satisfaction. I don’t want the control. I want to be your filth.

You narrow minded fool.

Your voice so low, like a growl. I almost whimper at your tones. Your eyes dark, spilling and dragging me in. Becoming a mere fly in your elegantly spun webs, I squirm. You’ll eat me alive. Eat me alive, burn me to death–devour me.

Abuse me with your witty words. Sear my flesh with your warm fingertips. Mark me. Push me. I’m yours. I want it. I want it. Hurt me, hurt me! Hurt me so good. Call me your filthy whore and slam me down.

Your mother turns her back on us and you shove me over, pretending to fuck me from behind, and I clutch onto the counter, trying to shove back a moan.

I want to be your filthy fuck. I want to be so fucking controlled. Blindfolded. Handcuffed. Put me on a leash. Make me bleed and make me taste my own blood in your mouth.

Some of the things I want…
Oh I’m awful.
Dominate me.

Sliding glass; cackling lullaby.

It’s remarkable. Seemingly, no matter how close we get, we suddenly get closer. I’ve always written off soul mates, but Molly, you really are mine. I probably couldn’t get anywhere without you backing me up, helping me with advice nobody else seems to know how to offer. You know me inside out and you’re miles and miles away. We have a special connection. And all this time, when I suddenly felt like something was off, I had forgotten for a while that we were so synced, I had assumed something was wrong with Will.

No, it was you.

There are best friends, like Snarf and Venny and Billy–and then there’s you. My soul mate. The person who knows me better then myself. Who know when I’m feeling off even if I say nothing.

I tell you my secrets I can’t even tell my diary. I tell you all my truths.

There is nobody I’d ever love more then you. I’d love them differently, yes, but never like you. Because you’re my Molly. And now that you know about Will, I have someone to cry to when I get girly about things.

And for you, that boy.

D: NOW I’M DISTRACTED.

o_o

fuk lol

hi molly

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Confusion;distraction.

Cheerful mode kicks in whenever I get upset. It’s always right on time, too, like there’s a timer going off, or bread is popping out of the toaster with a ding. Only… I’m still upset, and unsure of how to not be. So I’m trying to play the part of the happy kid, while crying hysterically, which makes me laugh, so I feel awful and cry harder turning my sobs into hiccups of cackles sending confusion to slam into me. I just don’t know what to do. I just don’t. I need a distraction, and I dunno what will distract me because I’m too upset to want it.

And I just can’t stop crying. And I want to hate myself. And I’m confused. And I’m scared. And I’m sad. And I’m so so sad and I can’t stop crying and I’m unhappy and angry and sad.

I’m just so fucking sad. And I want to feel happy. And I can’t remember, I don’t even know who…

I dunno.

Fail.

It’s called failure. Crack is the sound that echoes off the ribcage so violently. Inflicting pain is the one thing I fear, and hurting Molly makes nightmares look like a summer’s dream. Only once before have I ever felt like the world has had to stop, and this is my second time. Why is the world still moving? Why is life still going on?

I wanted to keep everything happy. It’s selfish. When it comes to happiness, I don’t care what I have to do to keep everyone that way. I feel like something thats dirty, I feel awful, I feel like a snobbish bitch. I didn’t tell you because you get so upset. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t think it was important enough. I didn’t tell you because I so desperately want everything around me to be happy I’ll go crazy if it isn’t–especially you. It’s only what you deserve, the happiness.

It’s selfish, but I wanted to be happy. It’s selfish, but we weren’t, aren’t, together. It’s selfish, but I do like him. It’s selfish, but I wanted to be so fucking happy, I wanted to be taken care of.

Once, just once, I wanted to be the girl. Once, just once, I wanted to be the one in the fairytale that I’ve refused to go along with for so long. Once, just once.

I keep ruining it all.

Break my body, with the back of your hand.

Its a fine line between pleasure and pain
You’ve done it once you can do it again
Whatever you done don’t try to explain
Its a fine, fine line between pleasure and pain

Thursdays are always my favorite days; and yet here I am, cringing at the sight of my own mother. The flat line of yes mother, of course mother echoing, scratching, and repeating constantly. Call me selfish, but I don’t want to deal with a raging hypersensitive nut.

I don’t want to hear her paranoid accusation. I don’t want to hear that creeping cruel anger that bites at the end of her tones. A quick snap, falling back into her irritable mood, her anger flaring, her paranoia.

Fuck this and fuck that.

Yelling. Screaming. Throwing things. Yelling. Screaming. Paranoia.

Is this my future?

This is bullshit. You don’t know anything.

Her sarcastic cruel sniping replies. It’s like she hates us.

Anxiety.

There’s something sickly nerve wracking like the realization that you might just have lost someone who you love. I’m going to be sick, I’m going to be so sick. I need to know, I need to know. I need to know I didn’t do any damage. Paranoia and fear always takes me–it’s the only thing that catches my breath now. Whether or not Molly is upset, and if its me who caused it. I need a sign, I need a clue.

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I realize now…

…That you cannot save me.

Self destructive. Self loathing. Pity party.

I just have no idea what I’m saying or who anyone is. It’s just too much right now. I brushed against something worse then hell and I’m sorry. Sorry I can’t be strong for you. I just don’t want to be.

Voices overbearing. Jayden makes me think he’s right. Good.

Good.

It’s way to early to start acting this way.

And yet, a single word from you, and I bounce myself back up.

I don’t want to be my mother.

Anger tones filters through the phone: Come on, why are you two playing this game with me?

I didn’t mean to not pick up.

We haven’t spoken in days.

It was just yesterday mom.

I have a plan. You promise you’ll help me? Promise? Promise? I want to write a book! About my life. Yeah we’ll be millionaires then we can do whatever we want and have whatever we want.

Okay, mom. Okay. I’ll help you.

I knew you would say that. Lets leave. Let’s go to the UK.

I have to go to college mom.

But I can’t wait that long. Lets go during your spring break.

You aren’t yourself. I can tell just by those tones you use. I know them so well, I grew up with this. I knew when you’re on your off days with that voice, when you’re delusional and paranoid. You’re so fucked up. Look what they did to you. Them and their medicine.

I hear them dragging you away from the phone, you screaming like some kind of mental patient. Let go of me let go of me.

But you’re not. You’re suppose to be my mother. You’re suppose to be taking care of me! I don’t want your stupid genetics, I don’t want these problems, I just want you to take care of me!

You were never there for me. I have never been comforted by you. I only had myself, and the friends doctors swear aren’t there. When I was young and I’d cry, you’d laugh or ignore me.

The babysitters took care of me better then you.

I love you so much, and you constantly break me apart and hurt me.

People tell me I’ll be strong.

That they’ll take care of me.

That I’ll escape the madness.

Fuck that.

Fuck it.

I’ve yet to meet anyone who can help me. Your words cannot soothe me. Your hugs do little to comfort me. Your promises that I’ll be fine are shit lies.

Most of the time, I struggle to remember everyone’s correct name and face. You can’t tell me that the madness hasn’t caught up to me.

But who can be blamed?

Not my friends. I usually don’t tell them when I’m feeling horrible. I go to school, happy-happy, crack jokes…

Sometimes I think of asking for help. Just to go to a teacher and spit out my problems, or go to a friend.

But then I decide to hear about FAJ instead.

I remember that Snarf can’t help me. I know Dennis and Sango and Jessica would just make it worse. Venny can’t be comforting. Kaggy would shrug. Molly would be dramatic.

It’s just so much easier to appear happy and care free then allow myself to admit how fucking upset I am.

I’ve been thinking about killing myself again. It would just be so much easier. I feel absolutely silly with all this crying I’ve been doing.

Snarf reminded me on how much of a monster I really am. For awhile, I forgot, I forgot that Jayden is right, I forgot how awful I really am. Dennis and Sango were right too. I’m always wrong. I’m always bad. I’m awful.

I’m so fucking awful.

And I can’t even try and kill myself, because then that would let people know how upset I am. It’d draw attention, and I’m very tired of that. I just want to have a mother that it makes me feel so sick inside. I just wanted to be loved.

I know within minutes all these feelings will go away. Because that’s how life is. I can loathe my every existence, and weep silently in pain–but it can’t last.

I have to take care of Molly. I need to be happy for Will. Indifferent and stupid with Kaggy. I need to help cheer up and be supportive of Snarf.

And no matter how bad it ever gets, I know I should be happy and thankful. I have wonderful friends who love me, a mother who is trying and Laura who needs me.

I refuse to wallow.

I will not be pathetic. I refuse to be like all those melodramatic sniveling twits who can’t hold themselves together because of minor bumps in the road.

No.

I’d rather be fucking crazy and out of touch reality then unable to pick myself back up.

I’m happy and I’m fuckin’ alive. I refuse to just ride out my life merely existing. I will overcome. I will be strong.

I am not my mother.

Eh.

So I’m having a mini melt down. Between my mother, thinking of Dan (it’s bound to happen) and having a crisis of not knowing what to do–eh. I’m bad at thinking clearly.

I guess what threw me over the edge was the knowledge that I upset Snarf. I’m stumbling a lot lately–and all the pressure is causing me to… well, some days I just have no idea who she is. I even forgot her name at one point today.

Reality is not my friend.

I guess I was mean. I was sarcastic, I hope a lot, cause when it comes down to it, I want FAJ to remember me as the nasty short girl. I don’t want my friend’s love interest to think of me other as a sarcastic rude bitch.

Maybe I don’t even know who I am anymore. I’m trying to know myself. The name Rin seems like a distant memory, and Sarah is even further. Sarcasm. I’m actually very sarcastic.

Or am I?

It could be a defense.

I blame my not eating on Will being there–when in reality, I’ve just lost interest in eating. I say he’s a distraction–when in reality, I have no idea what’s going on.

Or do I?

I’m so confused as to where and who and what I am and why and when.

I just know that I didn’t want FAJ to like me.
I just know that I see Snarf as a role model. She’s so blunt and out going and can say anything and smack Will around and such, so I guess…

I guess today I tried being a little more like how she acts.

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Hey.

Talk to me. It hurts. A lot. You’re my cousin, and I need you.

Pause, hit play.

And then, I’m utterly drawn, and wondering how I could possibly, possibly, write such a thing about him. I had the perfect excuse, too. Laura being horribly sick enough to be taken to the emergency room–I play the sad voice on the phone. Sick, isn’t it, that Laura’s illness is a mere pawn for me to use and get out of things, and the fact she’ll need surgery. I’m indifferent to the point that she is unwell.

Come over.

I shouldn’t have even picked up the phone, what was I thinking?

I’ll comfort you.

And the words I had written the night before fade, and I’m his again. So I allow him to pick me up.

I never wanted to sleep over. I never, ever, wanted too. I didn’t, didn’t, didn’t.

I say, ‘Laura’s ill, surgery… I should be home for her.’

Tell your mom no.

Okay, I don’t want to go home anymore. And I call.

I never drink tea. I hate it.

So he made me some and I drank it and lied and said it was good.

I don’t like running around.

So I played Valley Ball and that game with the little birdie.

And out came the girl that follows Dennis around blindly, laughing endlessly all day long, selling out everyone, save for Venny, Snarf, Billy and Molly.

And I couldn’t remember why he was a bad person. The jokes, the teases, the obvious cruelty a mere thing to giggle over.

I haven’t escaped.

Elevator music.

Laura is right. I am afraid.
I’m a coward.
I’m afraid of what he’ll do if I try and leave.

Am I allowed to call it Stockholm Syndrome?;

Stockholm syndrome is a psychological response sometimes seen in an abducted hostage, in which the hostage shows signs of loyalty to the hostage-taker, regardless of the danger (or at least risk) in which they have been placed. Loyalty to a more powerful abuser.

I might not be a hostage, but mentally, for four years, I felt like one. I wasted four years of my life, from 7th grade until 11th, succumbing to his every whim. My excuse–”He makes me laugh”.
I owed him.
He made me better. Taught me not to be a cry baby.

Because that’s what he’d tell me when he made me cry. That I was a pathetic cry baby. If I tried to step away, they’d crack horrible jokes. Pull horrible pranks. Go through my locker and destroy my notebooks, call me a bitch for not including them in the stories, rip them up in front of me and laugh. Laugh. For two years I wished I could kill the both of them.

I hated them. And I was always, always the bad person. I was always wrong. I was always stupid. For two long years, I was scum. Brandon didn’t understand why I couldn’t talk to him.

He didn’t understand that Dennis didn’t like him, which meant I’d get in horrible trouble if we talked. I tried telling him,

“Look, I’m… I’m in a good place now. They include me in the jokes, you don’t understand.”

Because I learned laughter was the only way. The only way to escape.  I was shit, and I had to laugh at myself. So I did. I let them rip my clothing–and I’d cover for them. I fell, I’d say.

Then, suddenly, I didn’t want to escape. I learned that I was shit to everyone, nobody cared when I was shoved to the ground and mocked, that teachers turned their heads and looked the other way when they were cruel. After a while, friends stopped trying to help me. They only could give me words, and words couldn’t help me. Nobody could save me.

Dennis was my only salvation. I was terrified of being caught out with other friends. I’d struggle to make excuses when he found out, cried and begged him to forgive me, made up lies and made it my friends fault so he’d allow me in his good graces again.

If he didn’t talk to me, I’d become suicidal.

Suicidal. Killing myself seemed the only option. And nobody but Dennis knew. He’d laugh. He’d mock.

I’d betray everyone for him. I’d spill all their secrets to him just so he could laugh. I hurt people. I did horrible things and pretended to be someone he wanted to be so I’d escape it all. His wrath.

If he called, I’d answer and spend hours on the phone until he decided he didn’t want to talk anymore. Two years of hating him, two years of believing he was everything.

I always knew… when people on TV would ask the abused wife, ‘why don’t you leave?’ I knew. Because you can’t. You’ll always think it’s getting better, you’ll want to stick around for the laughs.

He told me nobody would love me like he did. I’d always be alone, and he’d always be the only one who gave a shit, that in the end, he’d be the only one around.

Funny.

I went from being abandoned to being in an abusive friendship, and all the while I was absolutely crazy. Genetics. People. I don’t think, despite all I say, that I’ll ever believe I’m worth something that Molly tells me I am. I’ll never be able to believe the pretty words she tells me. Because of Dennis. Because of Mom.

I just wanted to be taken care of. And that’s why I want TB so badly.

I wish I knew how to ask for help, but all I have are my words, and I know I’ll devour myself in them. I know I’ll end up… like that.

Why doesn’t anyone realize I’m really, really, hurting inside?

And then I remember… because all I have is my lies and my laugh. That I’ve made so many facades. Nobody can ever know.

I spent so many years wishing I could escape, when I was younger it was because my mother was never around. Then it was because of Dennis. I’d dream that I’d land somewhere else, and I could finally cry because he couldn’t get me anymore. That I’d be safe.

I’ve spent my entire life wishing I was someone else. Somewhere else. In a world that only exists in my head.

Things can only get better, and I intend on fixing myself fully. Until then, I’ll continue to play the part of the happy teenage girl, and when I falter, I can always blame PMS.

And nobody will ever know. Because I know how to be happy.

Being sad is cliched anyway.

Scratch that.

You hate everything that has to do with real life, don’t you?

The question was, by all means, innocent by nature. How could she know? But the realization struck me.

Yes.

It’s a fine line between pleasure and pain.

Break my body, with the back of your hand.

What happens when it all goes awry, you ask. Thus lies the true nature of the hideous roleplay, huh? Starting something with the intention of keeping your own feelings out of the loop. Shamelessly slapping around the word love from comment to comment, to person to person. A tricky game, almost like the one you can play, but less so. See, the differences are, everyone goes in knowing its a game, a lie, a thing of pretend, knowingly. Everyone pretending to be something or someone they are not.

And the fools end up believing their own lies. End up loving someone who doesn’t exist. At least everyone has been burned once, fallen in love with something that had never existed.

I realized the game of roleplay was much like the way the high school popularity structures are built upon. The drama is certainly the same, I can tell you that. So instead of the football jock growling and saying, ‘You’re dating that hockey player?’ to the pretty cheerleader…

The lion says, ‘You chosen that wolf to be your mate?’.

And in roleplay flying is possible.

But everything is based on rumor, on lies, on cheating, on she said he said nonsense, and if you haven’t logged in for two days–well, obviously, you’ve been gone forever, and your lover probably found someone else to comfort them from the horrible lack of love.

However, I do realize that if there ever was a hell, I’d have a first class ticket for the lies that spew from my god awful mouth. Don’t worry, though, we’ll hang out, ’cause, obviously you’re sinning too. Pfft. I think everyone who matters will be down there. Venny, and obviously Billy. God does hate those gays! So we’ll find a mall for all of us to hang out in. And my face will always be beat red, cause I hate the heat.

And yes.

I’m stalling. These ramblings, my trying to justify the damage I’ve done. Maybe it’s why I avoid dating people for the real. I know I’d be a psycho ex girlfriend. I’m complicated. Not in the way you are, but in the crazy kind of way.

I’ll make it simple. I lie. I pretend. For them, I pretend. And then I run away, because I can’t stand the pressure. It’s too much for me to keep up. It’d be one thing if it was simple roleplay, but I have an awful feeling that they slipped through and started to care.

I hate those words Snarf.

I hate those words, and I hear them so much.

You saved me.

I can’t save people. I know because nobody bothered to save me. Not one person tried back then, when I was killing myself as I walked around. People used to be cruel when I remembered they could hurt me, and hurt me they did. Face down in the dirt, struggle to get up as the oh so funny duo laughed mockingly, pressing their foot down on my back. And not one single person cared.

Yet I hear it so many times. How I’m the light, how I help people, how I saved them.

They’re fooling themselves. Because the only person that can ever save you, is yourself.

The zombies are marching…

I’m sorry.

Truly I’ve said such a thing many times, drummed my fingers across the sleek black keys, and uttered sweet endearing phrases of romantic sonnets, all for the sake of having you calm down after I ripped you apart easily, made you shed tears across your pretty little pale unloved face. Daddy doesn’t love you and your mommy forgot you, but a stranger posing as someone who could love you soothes you with sweet tender sentences, sputtered across your page like a lullaby you always prayed to hear.

What good is my apology…? I feel nothing for what I do except for the occasional aggravation toward the same sentences of deep longing and teenage agony that sputter from their end, and the sickness I gain when drama kicks up all from a loose tongue. Sickness and anxiety.

I find myself indulging in what I do, absolutely fascinated with the mere thought of molding and creating, unsurprised when they reply with what I thought they would. Ryan I remember when you told me you weren’t a character in my story book. And I smiled to myself, because that’s the response I was counting on.

Every word, every action, everything planned out hours or days ahead of time, and I smile as it all falls in place. My tendency to forget that they have feelings and that they are real makes me cruel, though who is to be blamed? When we play in a reality which starts as fictional, can you really take it to heart?

So, La, La, La, La, La, La, La

Moments before I have to leave, again, I find myself yet again puzzled by the romances of life. Putting it lightly, yeah, I’m confused as hell. Am I so broken that nobody left has the ability to make me hurt the way Snarf does? Or is it that I’m now too cruel and empathetic to allow anyone to? I had sworn when I was young, clinging to the towel holder, my body wrecked with sobs, that I’d never let anyone hurt me ever again, let alone a boy.

But what about a girl?

The thing is I’d do anything, perhaps even murder, to maintain my level of happiness. I’ll cheat, I’ll lie, I’ll take any easy way to make sure I’m surrounded by joy, because I know I’m weak and will shatter–only to, of course, blind myself into believing that I’m, once again, overly happy. Lydia you filthy bitch, you were right. I am the mindless one.

It’s perplexing. Aren’t we suppose to be children? Then why is it, then, that we’re thrown into situations in which adults are suppose to be in? And then they wonder why children get knocked up. Make up your minds, what are we? Laura thinks I’ll be a wet noodle, back boneless.

But I’ve been through psychological shit. I’ve seen my friends through worse. Don’t think so, Laura, don’t think so.

I don’t know why Snarf has to suffer. Bound by something she practically can’t control. What good is no to a nymph? Love is such a tricky thing, and it’ll make us all mad. My mother made me loose my sanity. Beautiful Kelsea, will FAJ make you loose yours? We’re still young, don’t break apart for a guy now, your life still offers so much.
And yet…

I don’t want you to say goodbye to him. I think he’d be good for you, despite everything that’s going on now, I think he’d love you like nobody else would. I pretended to hate Kami. Why? Because I knew he wasn’t the one for you. I always knew it was FAJ, from the start of the year when you told me about the game you played, how you wanted to scoop him up, and see if you could get him. There was that spark.

I like FAJ and you. And I wish it could be a forever sort of thing.

Corn is now hilariosusdfasd.

So Snarf wrote an entry about FAJ visiting her for her birthday. It made me happy, cause it’ll eventually happen, and then she won’t have to be sad anymore.

D:

I am filled with an understanding that I have nobody to turn to. There is nothing left to say. I cannot reach out for help because there is nobody who can help me. Petty words for unwanted tears. And I can’t help but wonder if I’m in a breakdown.

How can I become so believing of whispers that have no bodies? My refusal to call them voices strings back to the belief that Mark is fucking liar, and my desperate denial that I am okay. On the subject of Nathan–’You’re just kidding, right?’ Of course Mom. I’m kidding, don’t worry, I promise it’s just a teasing joke.

As far back as I can remember I’ve sought to be anything but normal. Like them. Like them. Now I struggle to appear normal. Not like them normal, but weirdishly normal, like how they other kids do it.

I want to make it clear that I have no desire to talk about it, simply that this is what’s going on, and I can’t get myself help, because when it comes to reality, or whatever it is I believe, I simply do not want any.

Words can not soothe me. Maybe because I don’t want them to soothe me. Or maybe because I’d rather suffer then become something cliched, something that needs a reassurance from a mere stranger over myspace, or the empty helpful words from a friend. How can someone help me, when they’re neck deep in their own shit?

o_e

I’m filled with an unreasonable desire to run away.

Flibbertigibbet.

Snarf mentioned that I haven’t ‘written in your blog in a while’, so here I am. She doesn’t know I have a few others I write in, but then again, that’s the point. I felt like replying with, ‘that’s because it’s getting worse, and writing about it makes it final’, but then that’d be dramatic, and I wasn’t sure who I was really talking to anyway.

I think it’d be easier to just kill myself. Not because I want to die, or because I’m sad, or anything else that people want to die over. I’m just really anxious about the first day of school. Not the second. Or the third. Just the first. Because that first day will determine a lot of things. Like a routine I’ll follow and the maybeness of being in a class with none of my friends. Since the end of July, it’s all I’ve been able to think about. Just killing myself. Just so I don’t have to face that one day. Or drop out of school completely. Dunno.

We went to the movies a few days ago. To see the Dark Knight. Her third time, my eighth. I didn’t want to tell her I didn’t have a good time. I didn’t want to tell her I had no idea what was going on in the movie, that I wasn’t sure why I liked it anymore. I tried to pay attention, but I kept hearing them in the back of the movie theater. I knew I wasn’t alone, then, I knew then something horrible is going to happen. She had left, before the movie started, to go to the bathroom. That’s when the seat shook by itself. I kept hearing scratching sounds. I didn’t turn around.

As much as I try, I can’t remember what the Joker looks like. I keep going to see the movie, but afterwards, I forget it completely. All I can remember is the animated version of Joker, the one I grew up with.

Mom knows something. She’s buying a TV, took me to Ruby Tuesdays, told me she’s sorry she always disappoints me, and says, ‘Anything for my baby’. I can’t handle being around lots of people. I couldn’t even go into a Taco Bell. Too many people. I’m getting angry a lot now, too. I don’t act on it, but I feel like I just want people to shut up.  Sometimes I just get so annoyed over nothing, I wish I could just smash someones face in.

I hate you, go away.

But it must not be me. Because I don’t want to emotionally damage people. I don’t do murder. I’m not cliched like that.

I don’t know how to reach out and ask for help. I like to keep it nice and silent inside of me, and smile to everyone else, and give the laugh I always give. I don’t want anything to be a big deal. And I hate that worrying people do.

I kid myself when I say Jayden can’t control me.

He says, eat chocolate. And I eat chocolate. I hate chocolate. It makes me gag, it makes me sick, and the smell makes me want to puke. But he says eat, and I eat. He’s got me so well learned that he doesn’t have to even say it sometimes, because I’ll just do.

It’s getting harder and harder to put the right emotions on my face, and say the appropriate thing. I keep forgetting which people I’m suppose to answer too, so I don’t speak at all much. And I don’t have anything left to say. The thought of hanging out with people is so emotionally draining that I don’t want to, but I fear the lack of memories I’d gain from not going, or the story opportunities that I’d gain.

It’s getting harder and harder to wake up. I keep trying to run away in my sleep. That’s why I don’t want too. I don’t want tomorrow to come, and it will if I go to sleep. Because I’ll stay asleep. And tomorrow will turn into the day after.

Theres someone new following me, more boldly, and more in plain sight then the others. The shadow of him looms by the side wall across the cash register, but when I look, nobody is there. Or he’d be in the back seat and I’ll only realize he was there when he leaves.

I’m terrified I made Jack real. But I doubt that’s the case.

I keep hearing cellphone music go off. All the time. But it’s always something else. It’s symbolic. Maybe it’s death around the corner calling.

See this all would be fine, but I just don’t feel fine. I don’t feel like acting anything. I just want to be antisocial, angry, mean, and cruel. I just want people to die again.

So maybe I’m worried Jayden is coming back. Maybe that’s what I’m telling myself to justify it all.

It’s okay though. So far, absolutely nobody has noticed.

Relief is mine.

This.

All I know is that if I write it, it’s real. It’s all so real. Jack has been added into my world now, and I say Jack because everything must be coded, because I’m afraid to let people know what really is going on. No, I’m afraid to let Jack know that I know that he’s there.

Someone once asked, I’m pretty sure, what it was like to not know what it is to be in reality. So I’m trying to put it in better words.

Thing is, I’m confused. I’ve been confused since Mark labeled me.

Used to be simple. I’d pretend everything was fictional just like how everyone wanted. But now that its true. I’m unsure if when I’m pretending to pretend or if I’m pretending to pretend that I’ve pretended.

Shouldn’t I be feeling? Shouldn’t I? I nearly ran the car right into another–whoops, another lie, sorry, I sped and stuff.

Okay, look. I’ve driven the car three times now on the road. In highways, whatever. Shouldn’t I at least feel something other than indifference? Or am I feeling something and pretending I’m not?

I can’t tell what is real.

Sometimes Dumbledore comes around, or am I pretending he is? And then I’m I pretending to pretend that he was? Or what? I don’t know. I don’t know.

When I say I lie, or like when I say I start a story and then remember it hasn’t happened, I just don’t know. I don’t know which one is real. And then I worry if I’m lying about not knowing. I’m confused.

I’m unsure if yesterday happen. I’m unsure if minutes before happened. I’m unsure about everything, all the time, forever. Until I forget that I was unsure in the first place, because sometimes I just forget. I could tell you something really important and then forget I even said it.

I’m constantly worried about the people I talk to because sometimes I wonder if they’re even there at all. I wonder if I should mention dead bodies in the bathroom stall, but I don’t. If they’re there, it isn’t my business. But then now I wonder, did I really see anything at all?

I need someone who is real by everyones deffinasfatasf to be with me.

All the time.

In public. Because if I don’t have that person, I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I am. I think I must’ve imagined it all. Maybe I just walked here. In school I wonder if I even go there, if I’m just someone who accidentally got on the wrong bus. I’m unsure if the class I have is mine and I wait for people to go in the class before so I’m sure.

If I’m out with someone and they walk away for a moment, I doubt the reality of the situation. I’m confused. Was I even there with them to begin with? And then I think, well, maybe I’m just pretending to be confused.

Because I don’t know.

I can go to school, and somedays, I won’t know who I am. I see the faces, and I don’t know them, but they know me, so I smile, and I stay quiet. Usually I agree with whatever someone says. Because I don’t know.

Billy once wondered why my stories were more important than him, than my friends.

Because I don’t know, Billy. I don’t know any of the reality of anything and my only constant has been this. The words. The soft voices that comfort me or mock me. And even then, I don’t know with them either. But when I write, everything is important.

Hard to explain. Because it’s real? It’s real.

And I’m happy. My choice, and that’s what I choose, I choose happiness. And the funny thing is…

I know I made myself this way. I know I made it so I’m unsure which reality is the real one. I know I did this.

Because I know I’d rather be like this then linger for one moment in reality, where everyone is miserable.

And Sarah, you take my blues away!

Rin! Is this how it feels? To not know the difference between reality and fantasy?

It’s remarkable how a few words can cause me to fall hurtling towards reality, bounce back on the thin layer of need to run from it, and shatter into the nothingness of the forever of why.

I don’t know, Snarf. I just don’t know. If I remembered how to be real, I’d tell you. To not know? I guess. Maybe you’ve been pushed into it. The madness, I mean. Because I get confused too. Which part of the pretend is the pretending part of false realness reality in my fantasy?

I can tell you, though, when I remembered it fading. The line, when I noticed it. I was in 5th grade, and I told someone. “You know the line between real and fake? It’s getting thinner. The fantasy is overlapping, flowing into everything.”

Such words and I feel like I’m shattering. Not in a bad way. But in a “WHY?” way. We’re all broken. We’re all mad.

They say when you’re in love, you become crazy. I guess that’s why I feel so sane and right with Molly. There’s nothing left to take away.

I don’t have the answers for you, Snarf. I don’t have any advice left to give, because I don’t know. I flatter myself thinking I’m brilliant, that I’d be a good therapist, but sometimes, I just don’t know anything. I need more information. I don’t know why he’s doing what he is. I don’t know why. But I know why you take it. You’re submissive. And you love him.

Nothing is real, Snarf. Because nothing is fake. Reality is based off of fantasy just like there is truth in lies. Make it your own truth. Find a way to cope. You love him, and you don’t have to let go, and you won’t, because your heart will cry. And maybe he’ll see you really do love him. And it’ll be good. But then it’ll be bad. Because we’re all human.

But if he ever fucking breaks your heart, I’ll kill him. You tell him that. Short Jewish Schizo girl will force feed him his own organs.

I live on the corner of Win and Science.

Okay. I’m not angry.

Maybe annoyed. Mildly so. I can’t find the chocolate I bought. It’s 3 AM. I want it.

I assume mom hid it.

So the thoughts running through my mind are these: Destroy the kitchen. wake her up and demand where they are. Kill her horribly for doing this to me. Cut up my arm.

I’m not a cutter. Never cut in my life before. But there’s always that little voice.

I’m not a murderer. I’ve stopped thinking about killing the people who love me years ago. I feel awful for admitting that it crossed my mind. I feel bad, because I think the word is ugly. I feel bad because I love my mother.

But I want my chocolate.
Funny thing is..
I hate chocolate.

Smallville to Metropolis: 22 hours, 16 minutes.

My resistance was something that never really existed; no matter how hard I struggled with shoving it from my thoughts, the idea of it all lingered in the back of my mind for days.
Days.
I’m completely and utterly helpless to the feeling that keeps rising, and although I feel as though it’d be a betrayal to what had originally started, to how things are suppose to be, I’m finding that I’m caring less and less about that. My selfishness ruins deeper than I had first imagined, and the sort of damage that this will cause–I doubt I want to think about it. Sometimes it hurts to think of you.

I’m afraid it’s boarding obsession, and the realization of just how far I am is shattering. You’ve hooked me, snaking yourself around my mind until you’re all I can think about, high of my own idiotic giddiness, plagued with the stirring ache that I doubt what I want will happen. That I’m afraid to make it happen. Like I had said, I’m terrified of the backlash it would cause. I’m torn between decisions. Between how forbidden the situation has quickly become. I’m almost ashamed.
Where has my loyalty gone?

A sickening thought, was it ever there?

I find you’re presence is seductive, luring me from the safety and certainty to questionable bounders, and I question all motives behind this desire.

Manderson Cooper’s Mother.

Maybe I’m dramatic, or needing a reason to explode. Yeah, that’d sound about right. Lack of Molly–put there’s something more, isn’t there? The rage lurking beneath the easily placed lazy smile. The hurt and anger and the darker type of sadness that spurs up like a flare of heated rejection only to simmer when realization is formed.

But I don’t think it’s very funny to fuck with someone whose confused with reality to begin with. I’m a little bit more than anxious over people’s ability to know just what it is I’m doing and writing without being there, and for a long time now I’ve been trying to tell myself that nobody could see what it is I’m doing, that I wasn’t constantly monitored.

I don’t think I’m a freakin’ crazy person. I think everyone thinks this way. And I think I’m pissed off.

It could be the obvious reason too.

Forever, apart of.

If there’s anything that I hate, it’s feeling sorry for myself.
I don’t do mopping, I don’t do emotional. Nah-uh. Like she said once, yeah, I’m the master of happiness, whether I feel that way or not, and fuck this, I’m not going to drag myself into agony of an obsession.

Over my pining.

Over you.

Darlin, I may want you, but I’m not going to cling to the pathetic hope and constant desire that I’ll take that forbidden leap. Plunging face first into this new adventure may be something that will destroy any hopes of having everything simple, and God knows I’m already complicated to boot. Though my aching need will always be there, and you’ll always be strung through my thoughts like the snake you are, slithering your way into my life, consuming what I used to know.

I’m going to pull an Elizabeth. Yeah, I said it.

Crazy and obliviously happy.
Mark, you might have FUCKED UP my life, but you can’t break me. Your words are nothing but a leaf floating in the breeze.

[...Look at me, look at me, look at me, I'm a winner;
You're a winner!...]

The hell, anyway.
We’re all mad here.

I’ll keep pretending my lies aren’t truths of fictional reality.

And so…

‘…The thought of that makes me feel ill, that you’ve mastered how to fake happiness like that…’

Out of all the things I do, of the lies I spin out of love of the fictional, of the facades I play with, like my mother wished, I became the master.

‘You’re hiding it somewhere, but you’re hurting …No amount of pepsi or silly songs will ever change that. ._.’

Even through the long drawn out conversations, my mind half distracted with the agony of the psychological abandonment issues, there is only one constant thought, only one objective.

Is this flowing with a story idea? Can this work?

‘…Yeah well, your health and happiness is worth a fucking shitload more than a story.’

Maybe, but its how I get by. I don’t think that’ll be something you can understand. Maybe my ability to make myself crazy and turn everything into something fictional has what helped lose my sense of reality. Maybe it’s me who made me crazy, and I should stop blaming genetics.

But I grin to myself, and I laugh. Through the tears of it, I crack myself up.

I’ll later tell myself it was Nathan that made me cry, not my mom. Not her fucking abandonment. I marvel at how easy it is now to pass off being okay.

I marvel at how nobody fucking knows, except Molly. She doesn’t even see me everyday, but she knows me better than anyone else. Even Jayden. And I go to school. And I laugh and laugh and laugh no matter how I feel.

I laugh while I’m crying. I laugh and laugh and laugh.

Just because my mom leaves me, and I cry over it, doesn’t mean I’ll wallow in it. I’ll just laugh. What else can I do? All that matters is the plot line. Half this blog is dedicated to the lies I can’t stop saying. It’s another facade in a series of them. And I wonder to myself…

Where is my reality?

Fuck. I hate this fucking shit.

I say I don’t understand. I say I can’t grasp the concept of why anyone would want to kill themselves. At times like these I wonder if I’ve been lying. Imagine hating your life so much you just want to end it all.

So maybe I lied. I might not understand wanting to die….

But so help me god, for as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to suffer. Because I’ll never be good enough for you, mother dearest! Fucking never. You always yell things at me.

“That’s it, I’m leaving! You can be here by yourself!”

“I’m leaving for the mountains!”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving.”

That’s all you ever do. Is leave. Is fucking leave me here. It isn’t sadness I feel, I’m passed that. But the pain is unbearable.  You’ve broken me so many times, and then I always get so hopeful. And I’m always, always waiting.

Whether it’s me being the last kid at camp, waiting. Or the fact you forgot me at the babysitters house. Again. I understand you have to work. But what about the other times?

Your absence is the only thing that makes me sob upon thought of it. Why won’t you just love me like you should? You’re the one who was fucked, you’re the one who had me, so you’re suppose to take care of me. Stop trying to make me grow up.

At one simple sentence you have me miserable and broken. ‘Change of plans, I’m staying over…’

I’m not coming home, you’re saying. Again. I feel betrayed. And my tears won’t go away.

But that’s okay. I’ll use it for a story. I’ll pretend Nathan made me cry instead. I’ll pretend Elizabeth and Vincent got into a fight. I’ll pretend everything is alright, because that’s what you TELL me to do. So I’ll grin. I’ll grin and fake it until I make it.

Deoxyribonucleic acid.

For a very long time I knew the source. Of what threw me other the age. I knew the source, and I knew why I’d get in a rut the way I would. I knew what, back then, caused the tears.

And then there was a period where I forgot. My denial. No. It wasn’t so, I just simply… forgot. Pushed it all away. And it became my truth for three or four beautiful years.

But I remember now.

You are. You always have been. You’re the only one with the ability to break my heart, to make me cry right on the spot of remembering it, you’re the only one with the power to break me so I can’t fix myself or escape reality.

Whatever reality means.

Everyone always talks about the romances of their lives, and being ruined from that. Not so, I think. I think the broken up relationships just reopen wounds from our own parents. Because nobody can hurt us like they can.

And I don’t mean the ‘You can’t do this, you can’t do that’ bullcrap.

The silence.

The lack of.

The drinking.

Parents ruin their children. And we love them. Most of the time they don’t even mean too.

I hope you never know how much you’ve destroyed me. Because it’d destroy you. And that would kill me.

The secret organizations operating in the hotel…

So the lions want to date me. Which means I’ve been trying to get away from my house. Every other night I’m at someone else’s. Because I can’t be here with the lions.

[xsilentxshoutx: Tell her to bug off, you have zebras to eat.

xsilentxshoutx: Lay down the law! Too many zebras to eat, too many safari tourists to frighten, too little time to play games with a fellow lioness!]

Lately I’ve been feeling… bad. Which is exciting! Could this be… sadness? I’m a little confused about it, but the confusion isn’t as big as usual. Maybe because I’m not crying. I’m pretty sure its like self pity attention-seeking comfort me, yet leave me alone type of thing. I just feel… bad. Awful, really. Like…

Left out?

Yeah. Like feeling left out. But I’ve been lying about the reason to everyone. So chin up. This should be exciting.

And it’s also… GENETICS!

Yay, science!

…And how!

Practice, Practice, Practice…!

I r Kira LOL: I’m…
I r Kira LOL: Roleplaying as a Lion
I r Kira LOL: DON’T JUDGE MY LIFESTYLE
I r Kira LOL: and my Lion is black in color.
I r Kira LOL: BUT IT STILL SOUNDS SO RACISTASFAS.
SkankinSnarf: I don’t question your insanity.

Damn right!

So yesterday was the Fourth of July. And I’m madly in love with that holiday–oh, no, not because I’m thrilled we’re free from England. That’s lovely too, but not what I’m ecstatic over. It’s the Fireworks. And, I mean, technology the war ended 1783, November 25–but hell. That’d be like having Bondfire night and Independence Day all in the same month, so fuck it. England and America can’t share a month! Garh!

Right, so. Back to being madly in love with the Holiday. It’s my favorite you realize. Fireworks. Boom. It does something to me… everything is suddenly more magical. I can’t explain, and I won’t.

So I made sure I was at Venny’s house. I was avoiding the fireworks. Because I knew I’d be thrown into a sort of depression if I was home, hearing them go off–and of course I wouldn’t want to be there. It’s tricky to explain, but I can’t wait for next year!

I showed Venny my lion rp myspace.

She’s disgusted.

“What’s the world come too? GOTHIC SIMBA?”

The world is finally right with itself.

Work went swell. I like them there when I remember to socialize. They think I’m a cute little girl, so its all sweeeeell.

I’m excited about Snarf. Tomorrow she and her boy go out for a non-date because he’s 20-something and she’s not. He’s so silly, and paranoid, and is so badly aching for the forbidden fruit that I laugh on the inside.

I hope he kisses her. Because she deserves her Prince Nerd. Not at all like the other one. He was sweet for her, but I didn’t like him, he had no spark, he couldn’t make her happy enough, I thought. And I don’t like him all for the sake of needing someone to not like.

So, her boy is taking her to Ruby Tuesdays -Smacks Billy- And a Movie. WALL-E. <3 I’m really thrilled. I hope she doesn’t throw herself into a depressive anxiety over it, or worry and ruin it with her dark thoughts.  I’m sure she’ll pull through fine. Maybe he can convince her that she’s pretty. Because our words won’t be anything in comparison to his. Their romance is beautiful, too.

She’ll get the milkshake, and maybe they’ll share it. A small cute little booth for them two. Then a movie. And it’ll be dark. The world will be forgotten. Resistance falters. He’ll only be half consentrating through the movie. Maybe they’ll hold hands. Maybe she’ll lean her head on his shoulder. Maybe he’ll kiss her.

If he does, he’ll be hooked.