I don't know what to feel lately. I'm just, confused.
I have options. Too many options. Currently, in the 11th grade, I have a 97.1% as my GPA. I could go to any school I wanted to. I don't even know what I want to do. Am I to crazy to study psychology? I'd like to be a researcher. Neurology and psychology mix? Does that even exist? What about Computer Science? A career path with uber stability, because of the growing demand for Computer savvy nerds and programmers. And schools. If I go to one certain school, my aunt and uncle will take me in, and my cousin will be going to the same school, allowing me to carpool, not worry about board or groceries. Or the school that's 6 hours away, with cool programs and a breath of fresh air, far away from anyone I know. So confused, and with far too many options.
To worry about today, I am emotionally confused. I am teeter tottering from retardedly happy and bubbly to self-harming low. I am confused about my social life. I am confused about the people in my life, people I feel who are my friends, people who I wish were more, people who I'd like to get to know. Overshadowing all of that is my age-old social anxiety. I have no trouble making friends now or acting like a fool or letting my opinion be known anymore, but I have no idea how to pursue anybody. I'm so confused, and so frustrated.
I'm just... venting. I want to listen to breaking benjamin and lie in my bed. I want to write poems to hash it all out. I want to go for a run, and run until I collapse. I want to satisfy the itch that keeps nagging at my wrist. I have so much shit to do and so many decisions to make, and I can't seem to figure it all out.
Sometimes I wonder if I'm not doing enough, others I wonder if I work too hard.. Sometimes I wonder how people see me, and other times I couldn't care less. Sometimes I wonder if I work too hard, if I dedicate myself to the things I do too much, then sometimes I wonder if I could dedicate more time to the things I do. Sometimes I wonder if I'm too cheap, and others if I'll ever have enough money to survive on. Sometimes I hate who I am, and others I love the person I've become.
Sometimes I think I've got it all figured out.
Then I delve into that hole once again, and realize that the world isn't as clear as I'd hoped it would be.
My mood: very confused
We don't even have to try, it's always a good time...
... and then the dark beast drops in for a visit, and fuck the good times.
Who? What? Where? When? How? Why?
I think the worst one is the "why?".
I'm not even censoring *BEEP* oh shit I lied. What?
I feel like I should tell her and tell the world and tell the girl and the boy and the rest and my parents. How?
I love. Who?
Dying, slowly dying, bleeding out at a constant rate until my heart rate ebbs and I bleed no more. Where?
I'm in for it. When?
The most important question; why?
Am I making sense? Didn't think so. It's sad that I'm not drunk right now. Wanna see me drunk? Didn't think so.. I'm a bubbly drunk, I really am. I promise. Pinky swear. Cross my heart and hope to die. That last one is all to true. Instead I'll cross my ankles and hope to get a mild earache. Much better.
Country music. Gag me.
Go go go go on, fly away. See if I care. Tell me all about it when you get back. Just don't be offended when I can't stand to listen to your stories.
Won't you help me forget? If only for a night, or even for a moment?
Wait, I forgot what normalcy is...
I forgot what it means to make sense...
...what is sense?
Where did it go?
I think they hung up. I don't blame them. I almost wish I could hang up, hang in the towel, hang out my dirty laundry and hang out my hang ups.
Don't they know they don't want to be around me?
Wrap it up, throw it out, pretend nothing ever went wrong.
Wrong? What's the meaning of the word? To be wrong implies that it was once right.
Flame erupts and that's all you can see. Bright orange light dances in your vision. Echanted, you reach forward, quickly jerking your hand back when the heat becomes too much. That's the difference between you and me. My home is in the centre of the flame. I can't excape, and couldn't jump out if I wanted to.
Shiver until I explode.
Fuck I can't decide.
Story of my life.
Or is it?
All I have to live and think and breathe and eat.
But if anything, it'd be less.
That's how it works, if it works after all.
My mood: pretty skyfall
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on the clock but the part don't stop, no!
Time goes on, time goes on.
Ever notice that? Nothing can stop it. Time is like the postman. You can't stop the fucking postman. Neither snow nor sleet nor gloom of night stays these motherfuckers from getting you your mail. Okay so I made up the end.
The point? Nothing can stop time. Except the dead battery in my English classroom. It's always 8:36:47. Always. The class begins at 8:36:47. The class ends at 8:36:47. It's like the English room lives in its very own dimension of adjectives and Shakespeare, a timeless place of dictionaries and novels, where all students enter but none ever really leave, and The English Teacher's ageless, sexless face greets them every day with that same dimply smile that doesn't quite reach Their eyes...
But nobody else can stop time. Nothing is strong enough. Not happiness. In fact, happiness seems to speed up time, making those sunshiney moments end far too soon. Sadness comes close, slowing time so as to make it seem that every second is an hour, every hour is a week, every week is a year in you own personal chamber of misery.
Not even love. Love can't stop time. Love is powerful, but not powerful enought to effect anyone except the one who feels it. It won't even effect the one they love, unless that person also experiences their own type of love, completely seperate from the original love.
No, nothing can stop time, and so the clock keeps on tickingtockingtickingtocking until our dying day, and even then it goes on and on, tickingtockingtickingtocking until the end of time, when no one is left to count the ticks and the tocks. And yet it goes on, because time is a bloody stubborn bastard, who just has to have the last say in everything.
My mood: somewhat uhnotbadmaybe?
And so started the quest for perfection. You know as well as I how tempting perfection is, so how can you blame me for striving to attain it? Our scars faded as I sunk deeper and deeper into the pits of obsession, starving myself for the perfect body, starving myself to the point of fainting, and near the point of death. I was never perfect, even at my lowest weight. I was only searching for that link, you understand. I only ever wanted to feel whole, to feel real, to feel beautiful.
You made me recover. You made me eat and eat and eat until I wanted to kill you again, and you made me hate you even more. You saved me. You saved us.
And now you’ve made me love again. You see, I had lost the beauty of love in my quest for that link, and in my search for perfection. I forgot what it was to love, and I forgot what it was to live. You’ve opened my eyes to the fact that I am okay. We are okay. Still alive, stronger than ever, and weaker than ever. Everything I’ve done to you hasn’t changed a thing. I’m still broken, but I’ve got some heavy duty glue at my disposal now. I’m still gay, and I’m starting to accept that. I still hate you, but I’ve been learning to love you as well. I’m building my own link and I’m discovering who you are.
And today, it’s begun to sink in.
I think I love you.
And I think I want to start treating you right.
With all of the love you deserve (and then a bit more),
My mood: somewhat good
You know, it's kind of sad how many views I get on my stories and blogs and such... Not that it is so few, but that it is so many, and yet they just move on, look away without leaving a comment or a "what's up?" or something.
I'm not saying I want that; I'm just saying I'm surprised. I usually blog or write when I'm feeling down/suicidal/done with life, and yet nobody has a word to say. They look on, while I curl up into a ball and comfort myself with less than savory thoughts.
A blog is supposed to be about what's on your mind, right? Just a jumble of thoughts, themeless and placeless within the rest of the world of writing.
I guess I'm just rambling. Sometimes I need to ramble, to let it all out.
I feel like walking. I feel like making my way up the driveway and setting out on the road, just letting my feet carry me until the road ends, or until they can't carry me anymore. I just want to find distance, and find peace with it. I want to find isolation, but I want to find comfort in it, rather than loneliness. I am isolated now, but I am surrounded by people, and it really rubs me the wrong way. My physical being needs to match my internal being.
I don't know if that made sense at all.
But that's the beauty of it; it doesn't have to. This is MY blog. I'm the only one who has to understand it. Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one who wants to understand. I don't actually want to most days.
What does music say about people? I mean, music is important to so many people. What does the music they choose to listen to say about them?
Just a thought.
I think I felt it was going to rain today before there was even a cloud in the sky. I get like this when it's rainy; all broody and thoughtful. Sometimes happy. Sometimes depressed. Today; happily depressed.
You know how sometimes you have this one moment that sticks in your head and keeps replaying over and over again? I hope that if you have one, it's good. I hope it makes you smile every time it sneaks up on you. I hope it makes your heart ache because of how happy it made you, and how happy it still makes you. I hope it doesn't hurt you.
Because, as much as I want to hurt me, I don't want to hurt you.
Permanent internal damage. Yepp, that sounds about right.
When everything is damp, the world sleeps. When everything is damp, the world dreams. And their dreams are of lilting faeries and cackling crows. Their dreams are of glistening rocks and dry, dead leaves. Their dreams are of harmonic melodies and crashing waves, words, numbers, colors, textures. But most of all, their dreams are of dreams; their dreams, their desires, their wishes. And in that, I find humanity. In that, I find hope.
So go forth and dream, for without a dream, we are nothing; without a dream, we are not truly human; we are not truly alive. I want you to dream, and reach for the heavens. I want you to dream, and touch the stars, if that is where they shall take you.
I guess I'm struggling to find my dream, and in it, my humanity. I've lost it to the whispers of darkness and turmoil, and it's now my job to take it back, for fear of losing much more than I bargained for when first dealing with the devil.
It's there. It's there somewhere.
It's my job to find it.
My mood: very thoughtful
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I hurt myself today... to see if I still feel,
I focus on the pain... the only thing that’s real.
I thought I was stronger than this. I thought my happiness was tangible, unbreakable, uncrushable... and here it is, lying in pieces around my feet. Sparkling shards of what I wish I could be are scattered on the floor, just begging for me to pick them up, and I can’t budge. My body won’t move, no matter how much I want it, how much I know I need to have it, because I am irrevocably wrong. There is something wrong inside of me that keeps making me sad, and I have lost my control over it.
So I’m just sitting here, listening to depressing music so that I don’t feel so alone, and writing so I don’t lose my fucking mind. It’s a wonder I have collected any amount of a circle here on EP. You people see the real me, the depressed, hateful, reckless mess that never ceases her complaining, bitching, whining, when she has nothing to complain about except her own stupidity. It’s my own goddamn fault that I am this way, I know it. Whose fault could it be but mine?
I blame it on my body. I starve it and I harm it and I pick at it in the mirror, in hopes of finding something physical to explain the internal mess I have become, something I can see and label to show me how I’ve arrived at this place. And guess what? I haven’t been successful in my search. All I’ve managed to achieve is further messing myself up.
The fault is all in my mind. My mind, the only thing I can control, the only place where I am entirely me and it has betrayed me, destroying itself and its vessel (i.e. my body) in the process.
All I want is to let go, but how do you let go of everything you have become? How do you forget such a huge part of you?
I suppose I’ve lived in the sunlight for too long, and it’s time for the darkness to accept me as its bride. It seems I have never been meant for the bright side of life, as close as I am, as far as I’ve come. And if it’s not meant, then it will not be.
If I could start again... a million miles away,
I would keep myself... I would find a way.
My mood: somewhat sad
I have found myself in a hopeless mood this evening. A desolate cloud has settled over my mind and I just can't seem to shake it off.
70 pounds. I found out today that my cousin has battled anorexia recently as well. They had to restart her heart three times. 70 pounds is where she was at. Shes gained 40 back, though.
Its so damn sad. So why does it make me feel like a failure?
I finished another of my writing books today, and I was looking through it. Aside from the fact that it made me bawl, it brought some interesting thoughts to mind. What if I had stuck it out?
Would I be beautiful?
God, why is that in my head??
That's half of my highest weight. Half of me. "Wouldn't that be a dream come true?" I keep thinking. "to be rid of half of myself?"
I feel better, and I feel worse. I can't explain it. I'm not weak and shaky and useless, but I feel so huge. I don't want to reach my highest again, damnit!
And fuck my sister, just by the way. I hope they take her back into that fucking hospital. If she doesn't want to recover, to help herself, why should I bother helping her? IT'S NOT MY FREAKING PROBLEM.
I almost wish I had the guts to like, publish my journal/poetry notebook. They are like the saga of my life. Then people would understand. Then people would never look at me the same. Then I would have no friends. Nobody knows.
Bad fucking day.
I just, I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm doing it alone. I am just so tired of being alone. So tired.
I am so tired of being alone with my pain, alone with my secrets, alone with my torturous thoughts and my self-destructive mind. Being alone with my joys and alone with my discoveries. Alone with my love. Alone with my life.
So. Fucking. Tired.
My mood: extremely hopeless
"If you asked me / How I'm doing / I would say I'm doing just fine / I would lie and say that you're not on my mind..."
My mood: extremely emotionally purged
God, I've been so freaking busy!
My sister has been a month in the hospital for anorexia recovery. She's been doing decently, so they've told us. She is now allowed home for the weekends. We had a horrible episode last week. I had to fight with her for a half an hour to eat a handful of grapes after driving for nearly 5 hours from a volleyball tournament. I really hope she begins to understand the importance of her recovery. I'm not sure that she's taking it seriously enough.
My own recovery, on the other hand, has been thus far successful. I think I could almost maybe say I am physically recovered. Is it too early? I don't know. I have been eating about the same amount I gained on and haven't gained any more. Probably where I'm supposed to be. :) And (yes, tmi, but..) I even had my period for the first time in eight months! That's a good sign, for certain.
I've actually been happy lately. Like, before, I used to get sad or upset. I would be mad or heart-achey (because I have a bad thing with falling for the wrong people) or something of that nature, and that was the worst it got. But for a while there, I was so... dark. Like, my heart and soul were black. I was depressed and trapped within the deepest, darkest recesses of my tortured thoughts. It was horrid. I wasn't interested in anything. I was so solitary. I fucking hated my own existence. I thought about death and suicide too much. And calories and calories and calories. I was obsessed. I think it helped me forget about her. But god did it ever hurt. Actually, the pain didn't matter to me so much. It was the nothing. That was frightening. I would slip into a blank state. The only thing I wanted to do was lie there in my bed and stay empty. Just empty. Void of thought, void of feeling, and void of food. In the process, I became lost. I couldn't find me anyplace in the pit of darkness I had descended into.
I never want to be in that place again. It was so awful. It was so terrifying dark...
I can't even believe I could hate myself, how I could hate my life so damned much...
Now I feel happy. I've been actually participating in life; friends and sports and everything. Even though I hurt, it's an understandable kind of hurt. I embrace this hurt, because it means I am still all here. No matter how painful it gets, it's also kind of reassuring. To know that I can still feel the pain that comes with loving. To know that I am still capable of loving. For a while there, I couldn't even love... well, anything. Myself, my family, my friends, my pets, my life. Nothing mattered.
I was just existing. I want to live.
My mood: very back
I kind of fear this "leveling off" feeling I have. When everything isn't in turmoil, it only makes me anxious about what aspect of my life is headed for trouble next. And while I hate to let my sister's strife benefit me, it kind of gives me a cushion. In explanation, it's like this; if everything affecting me on a very personal level is improving, then I believe I am headed for trouble. My sister's medical issues and recovery struggle, while very close to my heart, is not my own personal problem. BUT it may just affect me enough to keep other things from going wrong for a while. Maybe I can get better while she gets better, without having something new added to my plate.
But fuck, seeing her in that hospital...
She's in the very back of her ward; the Pediatric Unit, South-East Wing. There are at least 2 other anorexics in there, and perhaps another who is almost recovered. She hasn't been outside since the day she walked into the hospital, March 1st. All she does all day is sit there, waste time, and eat. She's bed-ridden, not allowed to move to prevent anorexia athletica. She's not permitted to use the bathroom without a nurse present. She can't eat without a nurse present, and nobody else can be in the room while she's eating. Meals are 30 minutes, then they take whatever she didn't eat away (so she learns to eat in a normal amount of time) and the nurses stay for 30 minutes afterwards, to make sure she keeps it down. Snacks are 15, with the same set of rules following. The staff plays cards with her, she writes and reads, she does puzzles and watches movies, and there's almost always someone from home with her (she's 2 and a half hours away).
But God is she ever lonely. She's bored and lonely and homesick like you wouldn't believe. Mum took me and my other two sisters up to visit her yesterday, and we stayed the night in a hotel and visited her some more today. When we left last night, just for the night, she was so upset... She cried, she just sat there and cried and wouldn't do anything. That was hard enough. Then today, when we left for her to eat lunch, she threw another fit. My heart broke for her... And she ended up having a setback. She wouldn't finish her meal for the first time since getting there.
Needless to say, us sisters won't be visiting her again soon.
God, it just breaks my heart. I was so mad! All we need is for her to get better, and I know she can't get better any faster than nature allows. But we need her home, like yesterday. We're thinking two months. Two fucking months. She's thirteen years old, and she won't be able to come to her own home for two months.
There's a girl down the hall from my sister. She's a tiny little Asian girl, and she's anorexic, refuses to eat. She has a feeding tube. Cassie says every mealtime and every snack, she hears this girl screaming and fighting with her nurses. "I HATE YOU! YOU'RE MAKING ME FAT! I WON'T EAT IT!" And the like. It makes me so damned sad.
And she's a beautiful violinist. I walked as slowly as I could past her door whenever she was playing so I could listen longer. I just wanted to sit outside of her door and listen forever.
I hate being so helpless. I can't help but put myself in Cassie's shoes, because I almost ended up in that very same place. I can't help what she does and does not eat, and I can't help how long the doctors need her to stay down there. I can't help my baby sister, and that makes me feel so... helpless. It breaks my heart; no, shatters it. My heart is in a million places at once.
It's here at home, taking care of my family (cleaning, cooking, laundry, shovelling, fires, pets, support).
It's in the hospital, with my baby sister, willing her to get better and listen to her doctors.
It's with that little Asian girl, listening to her play a beautifully haunting tune.
It's with that girl's family; they have such a long road ahead of them.
It's spreading across the globe, just trying to accomodate everyone, just trying to make it a little bit better for all who are suffering.
My mood: somewhat sad
...today was a day...
I'm still trying to process what's going on...
...my little sister is on her way to a hospital tomorrow. And not a little hospital like we have here, like the one we were at today...
...like a big hospital in the capital of the province...
...it was just a regular follow up appointment for the two of us...
...she needed her coat, so I went in first. All went well, they're running more tests, no big deal...
...then it was my little sister's turn...
God she's so tiny now... where did she all go? I shouldn't call her my little sister.
She's taller than me.
She went in... mum and doctor came out... why are they taking so long? They're talking... sister creeps out... I go to see what's up...
Mum's keeping something from me, I could tell... Doctor D gets on the phone... Why is she calling a pediatricien? From where? Will someone tell me what's going on? Scare Tactics plays on the waiting room tv.
They go back in. They leave me outside to wait. I still don't know what's going on. I watch my feet in the mirror across the hall as I pace back and forth and back and forth and back and forth and-
voices...that's mum. She sounds like....yeah she's on the phone... Oh no, that can't be good. Calling someone in a hospital... that never means good...
...I peek around the corner and she's on the phone with her back to me. She turns. Her face is red. My mum is crying. I walk up to her. She hangs up and tears are pouring down her face. She takes a shuddering breath and I pull her head into my shoulder. My mum, my short little mum. I let her cry until she's done and she can tell me.
Cassie is going to the hospital. Her heart rate is super low (46, if that means anything to anyone), and they're worried. She's meeting with doctors and nutritionists and therapists. Tomorrow.
...She told me what I knew already...
...That when Doctor D wrote it down, that when she saw that word...
...it became too real...
and I can't help but think that it could've been me.
Sick, I know, that I'm almost jealous; I'm forced to recover alone, and she's being helped by a whole team...
..nobody even knows...
...But she's going to get better...
And I'll go on letting everyone believe that I am the rock of this family.
It'll be best for everyone. My mood: extremely !Z@#$&^*()_(*&^%$#@!@#$%^&*()
I'm sorry. Fuck I'm sorry.
I'm sorry for only coming to EP when I'm in a foul mood, or when I'm otherwise in one of the lowest of the low of all pits of emotions.
I'm sorry I'm not enough, too.
...I was doing so "well". I was actually recovering. But then...
...Do you know how long it took me to LOSE those pounds?? 15 of them, to be precise. 2 months. So why do they come back after only 2 weeks? Where is the fairness in ANY of that? No wonder I felt like a fat fuck today. Sorry, FEEL**.
God, she's disgusting. All skin and bones and ugly pallor. So why the fuck do I want to best her?
What is WRONG with me!?!?!? Like, I'm not asking in a "boo-hoo poor me what is wrong with me?" kind of way; I seriously need to know so I can fucking FIX IT.
130. Seriously. I'm disgusting.
I actually cried. I'm supposed to be happy. Recovery is supposed to make you healthy and happy. What the fuck is wrong with that?
It's too much, seriously too much.
It must be too much. That guy was sitting next to ME, but he decided to call MY SISTER pretty. It's got to be too much, or else maybe it could have been me.
fivefootsevenfivefootsevenfivefootsevenfivefootseven...what does that even mean?
They'll only love you if you love yourself, but how can you love yourself when no one loves you?
Your search- PERFECTION- did not match any documents.
Failure. That's what I am, that's what this all is. A failure. Complete and utter lack of success. I am. Life is. Recovery. Eating Disorders. Fucking Everything I've Ever Set Out To Achieve. Yeah that too. Fucking failure.
Stop it. Juststopit. We all know you're not perfect, so stop being not what you are okay youfuckingmodelyou. Why are you so perfect when I know you're not? How does that even make sense!?
Jesus FUCK what am I doing here?
Here, at this keyboard...
...here, on this planet, making sure I fuck myself up real good and thouroughly...
My mood: extremely fuckfuckfuck
I keep scrolling over and over again through my groups, trying to fiond the right place to say all that needs to be said. I just figured out that there's really not. There's no one real place where everything I need to get out can be laid dawn at once. Not even here, in a blog.
But I'm finally going to let this out. I was so close last time, a couple of weeks ago when I was at a really low point and I posted a couple of stories, and maybe worried a few of you... Crappy of me to come that close and go through with the big confession, but it is what it is.
Some of you on EP, even some in my very own circle, will be able to relate. Of course you will; that's what this place is all about, isn't it? Some of you will share my struggles, some will have overcome, and some will be discovering what I have. It's not you that I'm worried about.
It's the others. Those who judge. Those who see those words or see the faces connected with this and are frightened, disgusted, or too scared to seek answers or associate with the victims. It's them that I worry about.
But this is my battle, isn't it? Why should I be worried about what others think about it?
Regardless, here it is.
There is another... we'll call it "person" in my life. More and more every day since probably July, she has been running the show, calling more of the shots and leaving less and less to my common sense to decide. Some of you may recognize her name; Ana.
I don't know how I could've let this happen; let her happen. All of my high grades and knowledge, and yet I've let something like this outsmart me. I'm in too deep now to get out easily.
This was so much harder than I thought it would be, confessing what I've done, what is happening. Fuck. But that's the big secret I've been keeping. Funny right, "eating me from the inside out". Dark humour, eh? I need to go now, sort whatever's going on in my head out. I'm standing on the precipice of 16, and still all I can think about are thoughts that belong to her, to Ana. She's too big a part of me to ignore.
Is it sick that I'm talking about this thing like it's a person? Like a living, breathing girl?
Fuck, I need to shut up now.
The most all-consuming hatreds stem only from the strongest of loves. At least, that's what I have learned.
I sit here and write this with my unsuspecting family milling about around me, no clue as to the destruction that is going on right under their noses. My mother smiles at me, a little confused but none too worried as to why I don’t smile back. My sister calls me a moody bitch, with no way of knowing what brings the onslaught of these wretched emotions. My father hugs me, quite hurt when his embrace is not returned. They watch television, they eat merrily, and they bond as a family, without the slightest clue that they are everyday losing one of their own a little bit more.
In turn, the very member they are losing feels it very personally. She is indeed me, typing away her thoughts and feelings, attempting to make sense of the turmoil within her mind. I’m losing myself, I’m losing control, I’m losing my godforsaken mind.
I can feel my eyes become fiery, all the passion and hatred and emotion I feel portrayed solely in the pair of black, abysmal orbs suspended above my cheekbones. I feel my jaw clench as I work at remaining silent, at keeping myself from crying out in a primal release of fury and frustration and pain and suffering. I pull my hood over my head and push my ear buds home, sequestering myself from everything I wish to avoid. And no one notices, no one dares ask the angsty teenager what makes her so very unapproachable.
Not that I want anyone to ask. I’d just reply with a “nothing”, inflected with tones ranging from outright nasty to threatening. I’m not looking for help. I’m far from seeking attention. This is my own problem. No one can become a part of the mess I have transformed myself into.
Perhaps it’d be preferable to find someone to confide in. Someone I can trust besides my perfect sister. I know I can trust her; I just can’t help resenting her for everything she is that I can’t be. Not that she asks anyway; she’s too wrapped up in her newfound happiness to bother. I’m glad she’s happy, really I am; I just hate the fact that she forgets there are still people out there who aren’t, and can’t find it in them anywhere to want to be.
And there’s no way for me to grasp onto the elusive strands of happiness that hover just out of my reach. When I actually succeed in making that leap, I find the strands are far too slippery to hold onto for any amount of time, and, before I realise what’s going on, I’ve fallen back into the deep, dark pits I’ve come to know so well.
I’m being crushed. My posture is affected; my soul is encased in the strongest of prisons, my mind open only to my own understanding. When I finally it seems like I am incapable of feeling, I am reminded once again of how sensitive my heart is to emotions. When it seems like I am finally ready to heal, I am reminded once again of why I became broken in the first place. I see beauty for nary a moment, until fault becomes prominent and troubling.
I am alone.
I am dying.
I am unreachable.
I am untouchable.
I am invincible.
I am unbreakable.
There is no love to be found in those who surround me directed at the indecipherable mystery they acquaint themselves with.
There is no love to be found in this mystery for the very soul it is meant to manifest.
Nothing can penetrate these walls I have erected.
My mood: extremely everything
Listen... Not later, now. I command you.
Well... I just don't know. Then again, when have I ever known?
They say we should reach out when we know we need help, but I don't think I can do that. Reaching out would mean making it about me. Reaching out would mean bothering people with my issues. Reaching out would mean becoming someone other than the one who listens; the quiet one who's always there when you need it.
Reaching out would mean people knowing, and, contrary to what people seem to believe, I don't want people knowing. About any of this.
I don't want people knowing that my body is actually physically hurting for an embrace right now. I want someone to just sense it and give me one of those violent hugs that threatens to conjoin two people for good. I don't want people to know of the countless tears I've shed since her diagnosis. I don't want people knowing that my cat really isn't that vicious, that these scars are not because of her. I don't want people knowing that I'm terrified of going to sleep because of what my dreams hold for me. I don't want people knowing that I'm not actually 100% sure what my dreams hold for me either, just that it's everything that I won't let myself face during the day. I don't want people knowing that I have to struggle to hold myself together just to get through a day without being asked "what's wrong?" I don't want people knowing how much effort that takes. I don't want people knowing that the actual physical part of literally holding myself together so I don't explode is one of the reasons why I've been so dedicated to strength training. I don't want people knowing the reason I carry around cups all the time. I don't want people knowing the reason I passed on that meal or that get-together. I don't want people knowing what has given me these dark circles under my eyes. I don't want people to know the demons I have faced and continue to face every day.
Ignorance is bliss, right?
My mood: extremely defeated
Prepare to be hit with a barrage of wtf, strangers. That's exactly what you all are, except for one person on here... Nonetheless, no matter how close any of us get, we're all strangers. Unless, of course, some of you guys like meet up or something...
As part of the barrage of wtf, I must indeed include the current goings on. When taking into account every moment of my entire life, I am 100% certain that I've never beencrushed upon or something of that nature be neither male or female. I'm just a friend to everybody, nothing else. I'm that intimidatingly smart kid who gets all of the academic awards. I'm that kid on the sports team that doesn't really stand out, but isn't the weak link; does decently, is at all of the practices, all of the games, all of the pep rallies, and is always, always, cheering from the bench when I'm not playing. I'm the one who lightens the mood when we're losing, and I'm the one who leads the celebration when we're winning. I'm that kid who you're sure is on every extra curricular committe or in every group your school offers. I'm the kid that's a shoe-in for Valedictorian. I'm the competition. I'm the best friend. I'm the nerd or the geek. I'm the comedian. I'm the kid you just don't understand. The mystery. The puzzle. The artist. The cook. I'm all of those things, but never the crush. Never that girl you want to date. I've never been the girl on anybody's mind. Until, apparently, now. Yea, I'm definitely a geek. I still don't believe it. This guy is my friend. This guy is cute. This guy is one of the people I had been considering... But I was planning on it taking all year. He sped up the process, and now I have no clue what to do.
And there's still her, still in the hospital. I don't want to use her illness as an excuse to get over her, but it would be so much easier...
It's just too much for me to process.
SO! I'll ditch this topic. It's the first of october. I looked out the window this morning, and the big tree beside my driveway much have decided the time was right to shake loose and relieve itself of about a quarter of its leaves. Good riddance, summer. If you're going to leave us, you can't be teasing us with semi-decent weather anyway. It's going to be a dreary day; everyone is mourning the official loss of summer and good weather, since there's no chance of sun by the time october rolls around. Half the time, it snows at least once before the end of this month. Summer is a lost cause, as of today. It's dark outside, even though it's 11 in the morning. It's cloudy, but not in a cloudy way... Like, you can tell it's clouds in the sky, but it's just one long, never-ending expanse of grey up there. You can't make out singular clouds, it's just one cloud. It makes me wonder where it ends. Does it ever end? Maybe the world right now is covered in its entirety in one enormous cloud, with the only cloudless patch being the eye of the huricane that's coming. The end of the world, 2012 starting early, all of that bull.
I think I'm going to stay in my pyjamas today.
My mood: pretty freaking october
Previous PostsMuddled Mind, posted November 8th, 2012, 1 comment
No Less, posted October 23rd, 2012
just ****., posted September 28th, 2012, 4 comments
TickTockTickTock, posted September 12th, 2012, 2 comments
Dear Me, posted September 1st, 2012, 1 comment
Just Another Thought or Two.. Or More.., posted August 15th, 2012, 1 comment
The Rants of the Suicidal, posted July 26th, 2012, 1 comment
Hurt, posted June 18th, 2012, 1 comment
Hopeless, posted May 5th, 2012
An Emotional Purging/My Life In Lyrics, posted April 12th, 2012
Escaping the Darkness, posted March 30th, 2012
Hospital..., posted March 11th, 2012, 2 comments
Diagnosis, The Rock, Help; Finally, posted February 29th, 2012, 5 comments
fuckingfuck, posted February 23rd, 2012, 4 comments
The Big Secret, posted January 26th, 2012, 4 comments
Holiday Rant, posted December 3rd, 2011
Everything and Nothing, posted November 10th, 2011
Yes., posted October 22nd, 2011
Who Knows?, posted October 21st, 2011, 2 comments
Barrage of WTF, posted October 1st, 2011, 2 comments
Tip Of The Iceberg, posted September 23rd, 2011, 2 comments
Cleansed and Loved, posted August 17th, 2011, 2 comments
New Me, posted August 5th, 2011
Beach BABAY, posted July 28th, 2011
Admission Time, posted July 20th, 2011
Anyone Know What I'm Talking About?, posted July 16th, 2011, 3 comments
In The Beginning, posted July 2nd, 2011
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