After a massive explosion of extreme self loathing, rage, and depression, a ripped up arm and bruised wrist and lack of hair–I’m finally okay again. I guess I just needed to have a crazy fit to bounce back, fully. At the moment, the only way to achieve this, is my old same-old-same-old and rip apart anything on me I could find. I know, its a childish, but the rage… it needed to be released, and I just… I was just so angry.

But anyway. Now everything is kaaay, again. I mean, I now have so little hair it’s depressing but that’s my own damn fault. AT LEAST I DON’T USE SHIT TO CUT MYSELF, LOLOLOL.

The pain, blinding, only to later flicker and fade into a crippling feeling. Agony tears down my well placed walls, and I crumble, I succumb. Misery grasps me like a demon, and drags me right back into the dark depths as I scream and scream until my throat is raw. Until there’s nothing wet left inside of me and its only cracked pained sobs. Sobs that I’m hardly aware of.

Sometimes you can cry until there is nothing wet in you. You can scream and curse to where your throat rebels and ruptures. You can pray, all you want, to whatever God you think will listen. And still it makes no difference. It goes on, with no sign as to when it might release you. And you know that if it ever did relent… it would not be because it cared.

There’s the dull realization that I may just be utterly alone in this. I want someone to tell me they felt the same and really mean it, to know that you can’t just talk about it, because talking isn’t going to change anything. It isn’t going to change years of hurt and anger. Sometimes I doubt anyone has ever been heartbroken before. If they really were, then they’d know. So your boyfriend, your girlfriend, they leave you.
I’ve been there.
That pain will never come anywhere near the agony I’ve felt.
Can anyone really tell me they know how it feels to be really unwanted? By. Their. Own. Parents.

Does anyone else know what it’s like to spend the first eight or nine years of their lives handed off to different babysitters? Babysitters who had their own familys, children that they loved. Everytime, every new house, every new rules, everything always changing–nothing was ever the same, each babysitter vastly different from the first.

I hated them.
I was the good silent child. I was silent because I was angry, and I hated them. I dreamed of their deaths, how I’d do it. I would watch, I would learn. Nothing ever appeared to bother me, because I was a sweet darling.

Preschool is when the voice came. The sarcastic voice who was my only constant in my life, who warned me of things–who showed me things that would make sense in my little tiny mind. From there, I learned how to get people to do what I wanted, to say things I wanted them to say. I watched as I set everything up and it would unfold like a story.
Sometimes I could say the words in my head, and moments later someone else would say them. I could tell when people would trip moments before they did.
From preschool, the friends would line up, would whisper in my ear, would sit around me. The boys always wanted to be my “husband” or my “boyfriend”.
But all that mattered was the voice.

There was always that indifference. Even as a small child, I felt no attachments to toys, to blankets. At times I would have favorites, but it was a moment thing. Something brief. As I got a little older, I would bring twenty or so more with me in car rides, and make it so they could watch out the window with me.
I wanted someone to see the world the way I did. The beauty.
Nature became my only friend, regardless of the other kids who always played with me and called. Nature knew me best, and I would seek advice. The trees, I believed, would tell me what I should do.

I can still remember sitting in that car, up front because my mom didn’t care that I wasn’t suppose to be up front until I was 13 and I was only four or five–the mirror said so. She was stopped at a red light and I remember being so excited. Not only was I with her, but I actually saw her, and it was daytime and she was taking me out.
Now, I figure, its why I crave going out, just to be in the car.
Anyway, I had been so excited, and I wanted to remind her how much I loved her, in case she had forgotten–I had wanted to make sure she still loved me too. I’d ask, “Do you still love me?” and as a child, I must have asked a few times. I just wanted to hear it. But she became annoyed.
“Sarah, if you act this way with your boyfriend, he’ll leave you.”
I remember the huff, and the dismissive way she said it. I fell into silence. If, I thought back then, if that’s the way it is to have a boyfriend, then I want nothing to do with it. To be left just because I wanted to be loved? Her words kept me from getting romantic for a long time, kept me from even wanting it.

I remember when I was caught crying–how my mom would drag me into the bathroom and make me stare at myself, how she’d tell me how I was making a fool out of myself.
When Laura came I would be punished for crying, grounded.
I learned to cry in silence, to make sure to check myself in the mirror before leaving the bathroom, to practice smiling.

I tried everything to get attention. I taught myself how to fall without hurting myself. I’d wait until we were in public so I could run away and hide. I even did dangerous things. Nothing I did was ever good enough, nobody I ever was mattered.
On vacations, when I was younger, she brought babysitters.
When I was older then five, I was on my own. I explored the strange world.
My parents have forgotten me at stores.
I was always the last kid to be picked up from school, from camp.

The voice had taken up different names over the years, but he was always the same person. His personality never changed.
For the longest time, I wasn’t really in reality.
Still now, I don’t even fully know what’s real.
I had seen things. I had heard things. I had met people who.. may or may not have been all that human.
Horrible green dead people. Creatures. And a boy, who I now know as Nathan, have always been.
I never would say, but Nathan had been around since I was little too. Forever fifteen, forever stuck. I had forgotten him for a while until he came back one day.
He use to help me escape the nightmares, I remember. When things got violent in my dreams, he’d come for me, but he was always angry about it, always cold.
Sometimes I remember him with red eyes.
Sometimes I remember him with a hood over his face.
Sometimes I’m not sure if its even the same person from my dreams. Sometimes I’m not even sure if I ever met Nathan.

I was raised in a bad way.
Mom tried to get me to believe I couldn’t trust anyone. That everyone would always be against me.
I was raised with the understanding to befriend people, because “you never knew what they’d grow up to be, and they could BE someone.”
I was raised to, while befriending everyone, to never actually never be friends with someone who were “below” me.
I wasn’t allowed to hang out with poor people.
Sometimes they’d let me, but they’d trash talk the family and my friend.
Apperances=Everything.
Fake it until you made it.

And now, the coldness drifts over me. The chilled anger.

It’s… strange. It’s as though I had forgotten my own hurt, and all I can do is wait for it to lessen.
As for right now, I’m destroyed, emotion-wise. Right now I need to heal. I hadn’t need to do this in a while, not since 9th grade. But the time has come again, when they completely, and utterly, broke me. I had healed, I had patched up the little holes, I had fixed myself.
And now its all undone. I’m scrambling for my comforts, for my safe place. In and out of what I’m not sure is what I’m suppose to be in. But now I feel more alone. I don’t have what I had–its all on me now. Nowhere to hide. Nothing to sink into.

So, no.
I’m not alright. I’m far from alright.
And no, I’m not going to be okay for a while. I’m fucking hurt.
I wonder if nobody grasps the concept. I’m sure it doesn’t really matter.
It’s not tragic unless it happens to you.
And right now, I can’t feel anything for anyone. You’re upset? Good. Fuck you.

Let us be in love… tonight.

Wirr had agreed, offered even, as we strolled through the mall, his intense gaze flickering towards me affectionately–the poster of Nightmare on Elms Street directly to my left. I had been eyeing it before gazing up at the boy who so easily stole my heart. He nods toward the poster, I follow his nod and then burst into a grin, beaming up at him like the goddamn christmas tree.

Wirr doesn’t like scary movies, but he says, maybe it’s time to try them again.
I’m not sure why I’m always determined to see scary movies–I guess I want to be afraid… I want there to be something out there that can top what my mind already puts me through…or had put me through. Regardless of the constant, horrible, violent nightmares, I want to scream, I want to fear. It’s a rush. It makes me feel… more alive. Guess that’s better then doing random dangerous shit.

Within the first two minutes of the movie, I was the only person to scream in the theater. I don’t do well with things popping out at me–and I was excited. Good, this was good… scare me harder…

…But as the movie went on, fairly early on really… I couldn’t help but squeal at Freddy. I found him… attractive. Cute. His voice… oh god, his voice! I easily found myself admiring his voice, the low, rough darkly amused sarcastic snarkyvoice.

_██_
o_ರೃ INDEED

We waltzed into the AT&T store, and Eric R (who I shall remember forever because of ERIK and RIDDLE toGETHER) greeted us. Needless to say… he was a good salesman, and I think I shocked him so badly with my… weirdness? Because he was trying not to laugh, and then… he just broke down. LAUGHING AT ME. Though when mom and I are together… we tend to be really weird. And he was just weird enough to appreicasdfaf our weird. Win win all around. Fuck yes.

He informed me that I have an upgrade next month. And this is when I saw the Pantech Impact. The name… was beautiful. The phone… was everything. I’m a flip-phone gal. But… for you, darling impact… you have made an impact.

LOOK AT THAT! It slides out, but whatever, it’ll have to do. Like a newborn kitten, I wish to stuff you into my mouth and carry you around. I want this phone. I need this phone. Want your body, need your body! SING IT MY BLACK FRIEND!

He… swayed me into buying;

This. “Just return it when its time for your upgrade!” But I don’t want that, I want IMPACT! And though while I’d rather go phoneless for a month rather then pretending to love you, Nokia, I suppose I’ll try not to get attached to your cute text-alert. And besides, Eric really didn’t want me without a phone. And though I need to see what Molly and Tara’s statues on FB and Ryan’s twittering, I don’t need to for a month. It’s fiiine.

Regardless, I have it. I mentioned how all my pictures and ringtones would be gone, and Eric jumped in and said they just got something that would transfer it to my new phone–I waved him away. I didn’t need those pictures. And I could always re-record Brooklyn Rage and the Owls song.

I’ve tripped and landed face first into mud. I know! It’s basically Twilight! Only the characters have personalities. And depth. Mmm. Zombie love story. Of course it would be a happy-go-lucky goth girl who would befriend the zombie boy first. Pffft. And of course her best friend is a football player who is extremely popluar but is giving that all up because of his secret feelings for goth girl and respect for dead boy. He couldn’t be friends with her in public before, but now he’s completely fine with it and losing his status among the status-obsessed hierarchy which is High School. Because of karate. And his love-interest.

But it’s okay! They’re not really zombies! They’re “the living impaired”! Because zombie is now the “n” word. And OF COURSE Americans would have this, and ONLY Americans. And ONLY the teenagers. Daniel Waters is a GENIUS! It’s our special American hormones and fast food that’s bringing them back to life! We’ve all been so very blind!
Unlike how zombies the living impaired should appear are represented through movies, and other books, and drawings AND COMMON SENSE, these living corpses are just pale. Very pale. With a slight blueish tint. No rotting flesh. In fact, they don’t even smell.
Despite being dead, they’ve held onto the ability of thought and speech.
Usually it takes them five minutes to process what someone is saying to them, and then another three or four to think of a reply. Their speech is slowed down, their actions are slowed down. Which is good. They’re technically dead.
Furthermore, everyone either HATES them, pretend they don’t exist, or are horrified. Which is what is to be expected. So far the book, despite all its short comings, is as realistic as it comes, and nails the way discrimination is perfectly. Besides stealing the title of ‘zombie’, these living dead are sort of accurate. And I am pleased.
It’s been a while since I’ve come across a book that I can tolerate the writing of. Yeah, I know, I’m so picky and full of myself. Still, though… I’m sick and disgusted of these… UGH!

I came across something. Which made me rage a little. It spoke of how only sadness can make art, and how teenagers (usually) gain inspiration for writing with their love lives (or lack of love lives) and their music.
No.
Not me.
Though perhaps I wouldn’t be the way I was if I hadn’t become an emotional wreck over dearest mommy. But then, it led me to wonder, where did I gain inspiration? Every. Little. Thing.

I wonder where Elizabeth came from. How did she get her name? Her looks? Her personality? She just… was there.

E is my favorite letter, and there had been two others before her. Emily and Emma. Emily, then Emma then Elizabeth.
Emily and Emma were hardly like my Elizabeth… but they were useful while they were there. Though I wouldn’t touch them again. Ethan. Elijah. Edwin. Ender. Evander. Evangeline. They’re just all so… perfect. E-full.

SHUT UP AND DON’T YOU STARE AT ME LIKE THAT.

Typical American, right? I want, therefore I should have. Total A.I shit, I think therefore I am. Pfft.

It isn’t like before when I said, ‘eh, why not? Maybe when I’m older, maybe this.’ No, no, this is different! This is… new. I wasn’t never against the idea of tattoos, I just thought they were silly, since it’s a forever thing and I’m like a leaper. Leaping from one obsession to the next. By the time the tattoo would be finished, I’d be over it and wanting the next thing.

BUT! Penguins shooting laser beams at a city? Do want! I could have a little penguin on one wrist, and the city on the other! Nobody likes the idea, and I couldn’t blame them, it’s… something that doesn’t really define me.

I had always liked Bardo Thodol–just Bardo? I’ll have to look it up later, since I’m not really positive of it’s correct name at the moment. I’d get it on my left shoulder, I think… it really says a lot.
I was also thinking about getting ‘R’ on my left index fingertip, and, jokingly, Ryan said he’d get ‘S’ on his. I still think it’d be awesome if he did.

I also really like this, but I think I’d get it on my wrist. Or inside of my ankle/foot so it’d be facing inward and not… xD noticable.

And a new ringtone for my text messages! So late at night, when I get twitter updates from Ryan, or Molly’s constant FB status updates, I get:
Can’t beat my
Can’t beat my
No they can’t beat my Brooklyn Rage
(I don’t wanna be a furry)
It’s the Brooklyn Rage song, from Yugioh Abridged series. And being woken by that is a real fucker. Oh well.

Around Febuary, something… strange started happening to me, though I hadn’t paid much attention to it. It isn’t strange for me to get random dizzy spells, or feel nausea–and I had assumed Will was just being a jerk while driving to make me feel even more nauseous. Then, I had to pee, really bad, every twenty to forty minutes. I was also a lot warmer than usual–

It wasn’t until I started getting weepy that I realized, something was wrong. This wasn’t your average tear-fest–this was just down right pathetic. Will and I were playfully teasing each other, he called me “Small tits” and I started to cry. After calming down I said, “God these hormonal things are annoying!” to which he agreed, and that sent me off crying again, “You think I’m annoying!?” And I’d cry and laugh and Will was horrifed, and confused, because it’s fucking weird to be sobbing and laughing at the same time.

I was soon experiencing the stages of early pregancy symptoms–and right then and there I quit soda and fast food. I wasn’t sure what I would do, I was scared, and Will was so very supportive. I did the only thing I could, I turned to my mother.  Ever since she came back from the hospital in 2008, we had been… estranged. Laura had left a very haunting promise–she’d kick me out.
I sat down with my mom and told her everything that was happening and that I believed myself, well, pregnant. She looked at me sadly and said I was her baby, and always would be, and regardless of Laura’s threats, I belonged home, and she’d take care of me.
I realized then what a bitch I had been, and a mother’s love is something extremely rare. Only Will and Molly knew what was going on, other than my mother. I couldn’t, at the time, breathe a word of this.

Adoption would be my only option–because I had to be unselfish, I had to think about my baby’s future, and not my own want to keep what I’d have created. Will wondered if I would want to get married, and I said no, that a baby isn’t a reason to get married.

Only recently I had pictured what it would be like to be expecting–I’d be married, at least, and it would be such an exciting and warm welcome. Will assured me that Liz wouldn’t be disappointed, that she’d be understanding and loving–but this was not how it was suppose to happen.

Standing in my mother’s bathroom, she held the small pregnancy test in her hands, the hour-glass symbol flashing–three minutes, she said, to see. Three minutes to see what fate had in store for me.

Not pregnant flashed.

I was more than relieved.
Birth control is a whore. And while I’m use to having random symptoms, I’ve never had all of them at once. Especially not the hormonal one. Good lord, I got a taste of what it’s liked to be knocked up, and that’s something I’m willing to wait a hell of a while before having to endure. Especially since it’d probably be a lot stronger and intense.

But good news, Crazy updated! I was so excited. It even updated when I finally got to play the Sims 3, and since Laura had placed her desktop next to mine, I got to do both AT THE SAME TIME. Fuck YEAH. I made Elizabeth and Nathan–and Elizabeth is such a dumb fucker that even in the Sims she couldn’t figure out how to WALK AROUND THE MAILBOX. I was so thrilled by this. It took me three hours alone to make the two characters, everything had to be just right.

Also, I’m getting hooked back into some old obsessions. Lilith calls to me, religion is always fun.
And then Naruto just crept back up onto me–shit, I don’t even know how, but it was going strong. 40 some pages into the story with little Miss Blue–I was drawing her adventures as well…
And then Hogwarts was like, “OH NO YOU DIDN’T -snap snap-” So… I’m back with Hogwarts again. Dumbledore visits again, so I’m glad we got over our previous… whatever that was.

I saw Fourth Kind.
I’m terrified of owls now. The rest… I had trouble believing. Also, why haven’t I EVER heard of seeing owls, with all the BILLIONS AND TRILLIONS of cases that have been adbuctefdasfa? I have so much to SAY, damn it!
I couldn’t sleep anyway. I was so afraid I’d see an owl.
Now I have to figure a way to see the new Nightmare on ASfasf Street. Will won’t take me which means… WHERE WILL I GET THE MONEY FOR IT? DAMN. I could always get it from my parents.. and drag friends. bwahaha. And I’m well aware that the trailer left me unable to sleep for a few nights. I’ll man up, I swear!

Will has work now.
I know, I’m a total brat. A completely selfish little brat, and the first two weeks was awful. Working 3-11, on weekdays 9-5, two days off; monday and tuesday.
For the most part, I have spent EVERY day with Will, for a year and six months, for hours and hours. So FORGIVE me if I can’t relate to other people who only see their loved ones once a week or less, forgive me if I’m freaking out because I’m lonely.
But then… after I read things that make me laugh and watch funny videos, I realize, hey, it’s not so bad. I plan on being a housewife, and for the most part, I’ll be home all the time anyway.
Plus I get to read fanfictions and write during the time I’m not with Will. I fill the time with laughter and crazy-ass adventures. EXTREME laughter and crazy CRAZY adventures.

Speeding down the road, chasing after Motorcycle boy, Tara screaming, “FASTER FASTER!” while Jessica howling, “WTF ARE YOU DOING WE’RE GOING TO DIE, SLOW DOWN!” and me just cackling MADLY… fuck, it provides an excellent time.

So Kaggy died. Moving on.
No, I don’t mean, like ACTUALLY died. I mean KAGGY died. Jodie is there, but no Kaggy. She changed so I left. Well, nice knowing her.

Mmm. Sleep?

NAW, HOGWARTS.

So far, for Jewmas, I’ve gotte Hello Kitty knee socks, which I’m excited to wear, I’ve never had knee socks before. Hehe. I’m amazed that my parents remembered my current obsession is Hello Kitty. I also got a yellow rug for my bathroom, so I’m excited to take showers.

I marvel now on how I use to hate driving–how it use to be such work. But I like it, now that I’m finally alone. It’s like my own little time to be at peace, and have nobody around. Where I can think, without being bothered.

I can’t say that I’ve been obsessed quite like this in a very long time, since the days of Tom Riddle–maybe even since the days of Piccolo, if I dare. It’s… amazing. Oh Mister Spock. You sway me with your logic and your impassiveness.

Will says I’m in love, and I tell him, ‘How can I love a fictional character? How can I feel for a character–even remotely close to how I feel for you?’ Meanwhile, we both know full well that I don’t think Spock is just a ‘fictional character’ at all. He’s from the 23 century, oh yeees, he’s not yet born, see.
But he wouldn’t be able to make me laugh like you do.
And he wouldn’t be able to understand my illogical banters with you.
He just wouldn’t.
And yet I obsess. And you promise to dress up like him–you’d even go out in public like him for me.

I’m like a preteen, gushing over the stone faced impassive Spock, obsessing over every little thing about him, from his ears, to his eyebrows, to the faint smile to his dark eyes to his outfit. I simply can’t get enough of him! But…
Isn’t that so with all obsessions? I can’t figure out what’s so special about him that has me crazy for him.

But anyhow.

A few days ago, Liz, Will, Nicole–who was curled up on the couch with a headache, and I were setting up the fake blue tree. Will hates the tree with a passion, and glared at it across the room, with his finger in cold water, due to burning himself on the hot chocolate (Which resulted in him kicking a chair down and screaming angrily at it). Putting up the decorations, Liz and I found we have a common love—Spock. Will merely rolled his eyes at us.

So it took two Hydroxyz’s to get me to step foot out of my house. Going to the doctor? By myself? Oh no! Oh yes! I want to be more independant, I do. It’s just anxiety runs so much of my life, I dunno what to do about it. I can’t even get gas by myself. Or drive to school by myself–which I did today, ended up skiping math and going to Ihop with Wally and Eric. They treated me as a birthday present. Oh yay. I may be going across country this winter break with them. I dunno yet. I dunno if I wanna get a job.

I had a dream that pondarosa reopened. I guess I really miss working, this isn’t the first time I’ve dream about that place.

I feel as though my anxiety is getting steadily worse. I’m having trouble leaving my house–even to see Will. I don’t know why.

Easy. Everyone talking at once, and I feel like I’m home. Will simply would not sit down for the life of him. Constantly getting up to help serve everyone, acting more like the woman than I was. And boy was there so much to eat, that the both of us were full a day later. Turkey, stuffing, sweet potato pie, mushrooms–oh lord, I can’t even go on, it was so mouth watering good. And the lasagna… Oh my god. Liz dropped the first batch on the floor–and everyone clapped. It’s not a Thanksgiving, they said, if you don’t drop something. Thankfully she made two. I would have died I couldn’t have had any. Ahaha.

The traditions have changed, and I had assumed all families were the same. Instead of sports being on, it was video games, and let me tell you I enjoyed the video games a whole lot more. Though secretly I miss the sports being on it the background. But this new life… it’s more lively and full of energy. And Lu was there! And the stories she had to tell got me laughing so hard.

And then Black Friday came. And I, claiming I didn’t want anything to do with it, turned to Will with big eyes and pleaded we go out. Luck he loves me, he said turning off FF9. He bought, surprise surprise Video Games, and got me a new wallet. I’m so pleased with it. Ahaha…

I wanna get closer to Jessie, but I’m unsure as to how to go about that. We’re like family, aren’t we? And Laura assures me that Jessie loves me. He asks about me all the time, she says. So there. He has a similar sense of humor as I do, and well. I dunno what or how to go about it.

Driving is much more fun than I had thought it would be. I guess I like it more since I’m alone, and I don’t have anyone judging me in the seat next to mine. Though I still drift to the shoulder. I tend to do that a lot. Eh.

My legs are getting worse. I can mind the pain while drivng, and while walking, but now they hurt when I lay down or sit. Just… they hurt. They burn. It’s usually my right leg/ankle that’s the biggest problem. I don’t know what to do about it. And I’m not so keen on getting more medication. And more, my week-long headaches are back. I mean, they use to be a lot worse than they are now, so I don’t really mind them as much, it’s just annoying.