miss the looks he made
the way he laughed
smiled
smelled
i miss the way he was

stuck.
just a dear in headlights.
danger’s coming dearie.
jump out of the way.
now your roadkill.
they only care about their car.
not you’re pulse.
guess that’s on you.

It was okay in the beginning.  love. life. living.  now it’s just redundant and abusive, mentally challenging and emotionally devestating.  here we are ladies and gentleman… progressivly getting worse.  and nothing will ever change.  nothing will ever change.  it’s not supposed to be tulips you see… it’s not supposed to be tulips.  it’s supposed to be hard…. some people are just too lucky and that’s damaging.  I’m not damaged…. I’m just living life the right way- the hard way……………..

Til Tuesday, I’d say it’s slightly upsetting.  But what can i do about it?  Nothing.  Fuck it.

another pointless one.

So, today I will go have my fifth laser treatment on my face.  Another round of pain, irritation, and fear of public situations.   Why do i continue to subject myself to this bullshit?  Is it because we’re all obsessed with our looks?  We’re all concerned with out the outside views us?  Most people think that’s why I do it.  Why do i do it?????

 I’m sick of waking up in the morning, and putting on makeup to avoid questions from students and friends, even adults, about the redness and bumps on my face.  I’m sick of the comments and degrating jokes.  THose that don’t have severe acne, can say they understand, but really they have no idea the emotional effects cysts cause.  The selfesteem damage is critical, and one might care to notice… I lack self confidence, I’m insecure and it’s effecting my relationships (yet another reason).  And finally… cysts hurt like hell and stay around for weeks upon weeks, leaving horrible scars (and i’m terribly scarred from it all- which is the worst of it all).  I have to watch my face, make sure i don’t knick it, bump it, touch it, or it all gets worse.  I’m sick of having my face on the back of my mind every second of the day.  I’d like to walk in a room, and people look at me and think and say nothing.  I don’t care if they think I’m cute or ugly… I just want the reasons to crtisize to fade away.  I don’t want a reason to be stared at.  5 years and counting…. I’m sick of being the freak with acne.  So I’m searching for MY cure.  So I can start living a life with less anxiety and stress.  So i can go out with my friends carelessly, so i can feel beautiful when he looks at me, when we’re intimate (instead of thinking- he’s turned off… look at the ceiling so he cant see your face), so i can go swimming and not care bout makeup washing off (I didn’t swim once over summer), go to the club and not worry about sweating it off (i haven’t gone to tiger heat club in a year).  It’s taking from my life… so Im going to take it out.  Simple enough. 

I was walking to class today, and looked over at the stadium.  I watched as runners did sprint repeats and endurence reps.  I think now, I’ve never missed the asphault benieth my feet more.  It feelts like yesterday, I remember things we did, said, laughed about.  I rememeber being on the infield, waiting for my heat to start.  The way it felt when you did your 10th hill repeat and got to walk back down.  What it felt like to see the flags, to hear the crowd, to hear my heartbeat fighting to push.  Moments like that moved in slow motion, like a video in my mind… I hold some of those races by each lap… mentally.  AHHH i miss it.  I’m waiting for the courage to start again…       

And when I do, I’m going to show them, I’m not completely burnt out… not yet.   

‘with true attachment comes decreased desire and hence decreased need for straying to satisfy lust’
-pierce. j howard, ph.d

 (i so knew I could be faithful… I so knew it is possible to never want another.)

now it’s… are you attached?  or do you just WANT to be?  or would you rather not at all?

More… later… (class)

Today, and presently, my friend made humor of a title: clinically insane.

I wondered, if one can become ‘insane’ can they become ’sane’?  I researched it.  Good news, some mental illnesses can go away if you get the virus early in life, teen years through your mid20s.  It it brought on by big events, changes, thoughts.  Depending on the illness… one may not have to worry much about always being considered so. 

Now it’s; do you believe them why they say so.  Or are you ‘crazy’ enough to ignore the accepted definition.  Are you strong enough to fight against the title, and whatever may be suggested to help?  Do you ever wonder… how can you find the mental strength fight your own mind, when it is, in fact, your mind that’s messed up?  How can one have war against itself… with itself??  Unless you considered the abnormality to be an advantage.  To see the world in a way most can’t. 

or you may consider the ‘broken’ part of your mind, a million men revolting against the one thing that reigns power over it… the heart.

sometimes rebellion saves.
other times, when done by uninformed men, can be the worst thing one can do.

[yes i found a way to relate human nature to politics... he's rubbin off]

Life is my ball of confusion.  I like to bounce in on the ceiling, it comes back faster though, naturally. 

where am i today?

I’m sitting in class, trying to define love so when he asks me for the definition again, I will be able to answer.  A long time ago, I dumbed it down:

 what it is to love, for those who have failed to be blessed by it, is no more than living your life to the bea of anothers heart.  falling in love is tearing down your walls to salvage that beat long enought to live.

i’m not really sure if I could make it anymore understable than that.   That is waht it is to me.  and so, to love him.  I am willing to crawl around every obsticle, including our past, to keep him close.  it is his beat, that gave mine a reason to stay so steady- and at moments race.  His tounge boils my mind, and rage is commonly there.  But we fight to stop fighting, to get back to right where we were… and wherever that really is, is where we belong.  I believe that.  Life may tear us apart and bring us back together at a whim.  no matter who holds his hand at the end of the day, I will always be hoping to.  reguardless of whom he looks at, I think deep down, he’ll always look for me in their eyes.  that’s love.

when a person gives you reason.  when a person helps you see a purpose.  when one inspires you to create.  to question.  to wonder and inspire others to do just the same.  when one touches your life in such a way, that you’ll never be the same, and would have never been that happy just to say “goodnight, i love you”.  3 simple words, words that make the world spin on its axis, slightly crooked, but perfect. 

how do you define love?

do you think it’s possible to be in love with more than one?

i’m a firm believer in, ‘you can’t fall out of something you fall into’
lust can often be confused.
love… can never be lost.  although, most get lost in it (hopefully you don’t get lost alone)

LIFE IS BEAUTIFUL.  BECAUSE LOVERS MADE IT THAT WAY.

I

Saying hello to the goodbyes.SUICIDE.   

… Suicide is now the third leading cause of death in the United States among persons under the age of 24.  it is estimated that no less than 300,000 young people will attempt to kill themselves this year.  More than 6000 will succeed.

That was written in 1993. 

I found myself dancing on the edge of an easy suicidal escape.  I was flirting with that fine line between sanity and sheer madness.  I think I must have been confused about the importance of the air I breathe, and the sun that beats down of my face with great heat.  I forgot the beauty of temptation and risk.  I misread his lines, and therefore I was sent back into shock and depressive thoughts.  So I sat there, typing away, attempting to work, with tears streaming down my cheeks.  But they didn’t notice, they were all sucked into their own monitors, absorbed in their own thoughts- most of which I’ll never have a chance to have.  I didn’t work the way I usually do; I didn’t make the normal quota.  But, I sure as hell did try.  It’s hard to focus on the important things when you’re busy focusing on the important things.   All I could think about was his words, my anger, the promises, and different ways of departing.  One stood vividly in my mind, but I knew that great pain would come out of it.  I knew it wouldn’t be swift and easy.  I knew I’d suffer, with plenty of time to regret it.  Besides it had already been attempted by a friend of mine.  And, I don’t like to be a copy. 

I’m not a ditto sheet in a drawer.

            I don’t ever remember being that serious and absorbed into thoughts like those before.  Never actually thought I’d be willing to leave.  But, I was serious, and I might’ve done it, if she hadn’t of talked to me.  If she hadn’t of given me a few pieces of hope.  I honestly think I was ready to leave.  One huge, permanent vacation, a view of the greener grass on the other side, a dance with the devil, yeah I was ready.  I knew what the thank you letter would say too:

 Thank you for your support through all of this.  Thank you for the good times.  I shall remember you all, and hopefully we will cross paths again.  Good luck in life, Goodbye. 

Short, sweet and subtle.  No scary words, no reason to cry.  I added a splash of hope, because I know that that’s what I would want if I had to have a letter.  See, people get carried away.  How many times do we have to say goodbye, and since when does it need to be personalized?  Generalizations do the trick, they really do.  That way, nobody is left out.  Nothing is confused or misconstrued.  I would add one PS to it though, one massacre of a PS:

 I love him. 

            Now, that doesn’t mean that I was leaving solely because he ran from his fears.  Although, I won’t deny that it had a lot to do with it.  That makes me weak, so very weak.  But, emotion gets in the way of many things, and I won’t be ashamed of the nature God has given me.  I won’t fear my stupidity, because I know I’m honest. 

The truth is… lies keep us breathing.

            So, anyways, I was crying.  I thought of all those I wouldn’t get to say goodbye to, and I realized I didn’t care about half of them anyways.  But, there were some that I would care about, that I did worry about.  Some of them were very random.  I don’t hang out with them, or show love for them, but some people that I have been in contact with are very important to me, and they might’ve never known.  I don’t know if they ever will, even though I’m still here.  I’ll keep it quiet.  It’s not important, and some of them might already know.  Maybe it would be best to keep it under wraps anyways, if they knew they were important to me then I’d have to live up to it.  I’d have to be there for them, I’d have to show that they were important, and I’m not up for the responsibility.  I’ve just recently realized I can’t even be responsible for myself sometimes.   Then again, who can? 

It scares me that I was so ready to leave.  I was so content with the idea of no return home.  I’m starting to scare myself. 

I’m lost in lies and can’t find my way out- but that’s a whole other story.

I’m starting to think it’s almost normal to think about suicide, well, what is normal anyways?  If I were normal, would that mean I was abnormal? 

Normality.  I’d rather not participate.

            I wonder if I’m mentally ill because I thought about killing myself, because I though of the procedure and the repercussions of my actions. 

Because, I honestly wanted to leave.

What’s wrong with searching for a quick escape?  So, it shows my in ability to solve problems.  It shows my pathetic attitude towards life.  But, it’s real, and I’m real. 

I use to be a cutter.  I use to slice and dice so to speak.  I’m not really sure why I did it now.  I don’t remember my motives; I don’t understand the scars.  But I hate the scars.  I hate them very much.  I look at them and want to cry.  I can remember each incision.  The worst of the many was a horrible day.  He made me mad again- although I won’t blame the purple slash on him.  But I cried as I cut, and then I bled for what seemed like forever.  I held my arm in a towel as my dad talked to me, he didn’t notice.  He doesn’t notice much of anything anyways. 

Is he even a father? 

I doubt it. 

But when the razor grazes your skin, you’re not thinking death; you’re thinking sweet revenge.  Because out of all honesty, it’s not really relieving.  The true, unscripted thoughts of a real life cutter (recovering from the stupidity of self mutilation):

‘Damn life can’t get any worse”

-Find the razor, find it quick

“Don’t do it, don’t dice”

-Put it on your skin, you know it’s right

“Dammit I didn’t feel that”

-Holy shit you’re fucking bleeding on the carpet

“What are they going to think”?

-Shit man, that’s gunna leave a mark

“FUCK IT STINGS!”

-Why did you do that?

“Dammit that hurts so bad now”

-Why are you still crying?

“Where the hell did I put the Neosporin”?

-Is it because you’re still sad?

“I wonder if they make a band aid big enough”

-Or because you arm hurts?

Lost.

Lost in the hope of relief.

When we cut, are we hoping somebody will find it, and ask about it? 

I think so.

I’ll be honest.

I know so.

We’re searching for a savior.

We’re searching for safety.

Even if it is from ourselves.

Save me from myself; before I do something stupid.

Then I found love.  What am I to say about that?  I found it.  But I can’t do anything about it.  So there it will sit, unused and dusty on the corner table in the lounge of despair. 

What a waste.

But it was worth what it was when it was worth something at all.

            Why do we all fight so hard to be so damn complex and original.  Original is nonexistent in our world of creativity.  Face the facts; you’re the same as the next cute guy walking through the mall of reality.  We’ll never stand out, but never fit in.  We’ll never be what we’re taught to be.  Ourselves. 

But I’ll strive to make a mark, only because I’m avoiding the truth, I will never be remembered.  My gravestone will wither and crumble, and my name will be lost in the dirt of history.  Maybe, I’m okay with that.  No, I’m not. 

            I wonder if he’ll come back. 

I wonder about other people now.

Wonder what it’d be like to give in.

Give into the temptation.

                                                                        But I don’t want to.

            Love keeps me focused on the past.

And I’m haunted.

I’d like to sleep tonight.  Wait Wait.  You can’t.  Insomnia, have you forgotten you’re a victim of a broken heart?  Sleep doesn’t exist in your pretty world… pretty shitty world. 

Don’t be bitter, don’t be sad.

Let it go.  You know you’ll have to tomorrow anyways.  You know he’s still lying.  You know you’re no more than the others.  Nothing better, nothing brighter.  You don’t shine bright enough to keep him.  Somebody said you’re not good enough.  He must’ve heard them.  So much for love.

Love is the fallacy that killed the human spirit.

This bounces all over the place.  Are you ready?  Are you ready to get lost in what is ‘me’?  I’m not ready.  Lord knows I’m not ready.  But hell, I’ve been stuck in here for eighteen years.  Will somebody please get me out? 

I’m stuck in a glass box looking at a world that’ll never understand.

Not because they can’t.

Because they’re ignorant.

And their lives are naturally harder and more important.

Let’s all be selfish and cry for

ourselves.

Let’s cry because we won’t get our way.

Let’s cry because life isn’t fair.

LIFE ISN’T FAIR.

So shut the fuck up and smile, because you still get the breathe the polluted air.  You still get to drown in your own waste.  Smile you little bitch, smile.  You’re heart is still beating, after ever damn ingested hamburger, and every strawberry shake.  Let’s all smile, because we wake up to follow rules.

I’m not pessimistic.

I have faith.

Faith in tomorrow.

Faith that the sun will rise.

I will breathe.

I have faith in a love that was misplaced.

Because you always find what you’re looking for when you’ve stopped looking for it.

Did you lose your keys?

Start looking for your wallet.

And your keys will be there on the dinner table.

Plain as day.

Now where the fuck is that wallet?

There may not be a damn thing that makes sense.  So take what you will.  Read what you won’t.  and remember, you won’t remember me, you won’t remember this, or that.  But you will die just like me.  And nobody will remember you either. 

Grow up.

Grow in.

Grow into reality.

We’ve been waiting for you.

You afraid to die?

YES      NO

(circle one)

You believe in God?

YES      NO

(circle one)

You pray for safety?

YES      NO

(circle one)

Are you insured?

YES    

(circle one)

Then you’re scared.

Is this what love does to people?  Breaks them down.  How easy is it, to find love?

 The single persons survey: -How to find your soul mate on the back of a cereal box- 

Name:

Age:

Birth date:

SSN:

Ethnicity:

Height:

Eye Color:

Weight:

Body type:

Favorite color:

Favorite song:

Favorite place to fuck:

Favorite food:

Favorite side of the bed:

Do you shower daily?:

Yearly income:

Insurance carrier:

Place of Employment:

Length of time at present place of employment:

Number of employer:

Life’s goals:

Biggest mistake you ever made:

Fantasy:

Number of ex-spouses:

Kids?

How many:

Criminal offences:

Outstanding tickets:

Drugs:

Drink:

Smoke:

Bust size:

Length of dick:

Width of dick:

Sex drive:

  SUBMIT  

We’re all searching for love.  They’re all searching.

So I guess I’ll let him search too.

I’m content.

I’m 18 years old, and I don’t know much.

But I know us.

  He doesn’t, he’s not ready.  And I braced myself this last time.  I didn’t cry this last time.  I braced myself for the impact of rejection. 

I wonder what it’s like to get it all.

Wonder how it feels to be so lucky.

Wonder if it’s luck at all.

Luck… exists?

(I’d like to believe he loves me too much to be with me. 

But I wish he needed me enough to stay.)

So what has this been about?  Suicide and lost loves.  Maybe now you see that importance in my mind, death and a life without.  And I’ll get over both, because I’m already over one.  Not that one.

Moving on.

She’s hidden in the lines.    I questioned my defeat that day.  What I did wrong, which turn was incorrect, why I didn’t solve each problem accurately.  The purpose of a mistake is to learn and grow from it.  I’m not a plant though- you can water me all you’d like, nothing good will come of it.  I don’t like objection, I don’t like mistakes, especially learning from them.  My inability to cope has taken me here, and all the while I thought I was strong and sensible.   

I realized today, I was far from it.  

Change, it’s inevitable and horrifying, if you let it take over.  I’m going to grab change by the balls and scream, “do you like that?!” into it’s ear.  My suffering and depression- shown throughout this ‘book’ was proof of my inability to deal with change.  I’m done fighting people for their idiotic mistakes, because I have to work around mine.  I am the only one that can pull myself out of the hole of ignorance. 

My depression so to speak was derived from many different things.  My family, my lack to succeed in running and school, my inability to cope with my brother’s aggression, my sexual struggle, and finally the boy that made me collapse 10fold on the floor of hatred.  That was the last straw for me.  That put me into a place I never thought I’d go to.  I was slowly slipping, the fights and arguments took me there.  The break up pulled the last Popsicle stick from my bridge of my reality.  I fell through the cracks of sanity, if only for a moment. 

I had never felt so alone.  I loved that boy with every ounce of my heart.  My heart shattered and then I realized… I don’t need that piece of shit heart anyways.  I saw him change, too.  Once upon a time he was everything I wanted.  He was the cutest boy I’d ever seen, and funny, and talented, and understanding, smart, and almost flawless.  But since I got on the plane, he was no longer him.  He was trashy and vile, hateful and deceitful, manipulative and forgetful, and he didn’t care about himself anymore.  He became trash in my eyes, and sometimes when see him now, he’s sinks lower in my mind.  The love I had, is gone.  Not dead, I don’t think.  But right now, it’s gone.  Because; he’s gone.  We lost each other.  He lost me, he lost himself (only to realize he found himself), and in turn, I lost… well, the love.

This may have all come from him.  This new thought, this new me, may be his fault.  My world was based so much around him and ‘us’ that it took a huge toll on my thoughts.  He saved me once, and then he ‘killed’ me.  He lingers on these pages, because he lingers in my heart… the broken one.  Everybody I love lingers.

Years ago I lost my family.  Months ago I lost him.  And somewhere in the mix, I found myself struggling to stand.  And right before I drown in my own self-pity… I found the side of the pool.

The things I hope you all come to understand…