Happy belated May Day. Hope you all had fun with your maypoles and whatnot. Which reminds me of a certain fairy festival approximately one year ago. Maybe someday I'll find something to think about that doesn't remind me of you. But I haven't yet.

I came here to say something specific, that I jotted down something like 10 hours ago, and here it is:

When I get a puppy, I'm going to name him Jack. And everytime I look at him, I'll think of Jack Daniels, which I will remember as your favorite liquor.

And I'll probably cry, every night, for the rest of my life. But the only alternative is death, and I don't know why but I continue to choose to live as half a person.

When I call the puppy, "Here, Jack!" I'll really be calling for you. And you will continue to not answer. But damned if I won't keep calling, waiting, hoping. Bleeding. For you.

All I have left is my faith, my hope that this is meant to be. All I can do is wait for everything to fall into place, for things to right themselves.

So there it is, like it or not, take it or leave, I'll be here waiting.

You are the first person I have ever trusted enough to wait for.

So today was the day that I realized:

Never again.

As long as I live. Fuck. I will never do this again. It's just too much power to give someone else. Fuck love. You can kill a person unarmed -- all you have to do is take out the heart. Fuck that. I'm done. There isn't one person on this earth that I can trust completely with that kind of power. We are all self-serving prick bastards. Not a damn human on this earth truly loves me, save perhaps my mother. And the only reason I have to believe that she loves me is that she honestly puts her happiness before mine. She would die to insure my future.

Fuck you, Bonnie. Fuck your lies. Never again. Love doesn't happen to people like me. Only regret, and pain, and betrayal. Thank you for letting me know that I don't mean shit to you.

So a note to myself: today is the day I said no, I will never fall in love again. I will never care for another human being the way I let myself care for her. I will never put the interests of another before my own, because ultimately they will fuck me over. Because ultimately they don't rightly give a damn. The cornerstone of humanity is self-interest. Fuck this race. Fuck this emotion. Fuck all emotion. I fucking quit.

The sadness of knowing that I will never feel love again is overwhelming, by the way.

So yes, I do want to commit suicide. You would too.

Do not fucking judge me.

If Sarah Mclachlan was here, I would spend several hours crying on her shoulder.

And then I would melt her down, and shoot her like heroin.

I could melt you too, if you were here.

I made up my own drink! Everyone should try it: you just mix equal parts cheap vodka, sour mix, and hypnotiq. It's great.

Try it.

Now.

Rock bottom is bruising your knuckles against the steering wheel until you can't form a fist anymore, all the while hoping your car will spin out of control.

Rock bottom is knowing that there are a shitload of people hoping you'll make it through, who love and support you, while you're only hoping that you won't make it through.

Rock bottom is sobbing violently until you can't see the road anymore and screaming at the sky through the roof of your car, "Why do I always get fucked?! What the fuck did I do?!"

Rock bottom is wishing only for the simple finality of death.

Rock bottom is me.

Wow, it's been a while. Okay, enough on that...

I have created what I have decided to term "The Phases of Enlightenment," 'cause that just sounds extra-spiffy. Enlightenment of what, I have yet to decide. Probably love or something corny.

Phase 1: A feeling of hopelessness sets in. Desparity reigns. One wonders if they are doomed to eternal misery and solitude.

Phase 1.5: One begins to feel a sense of urgency and argues that their time is running out and that they could, technically, die any day now.

Phase 1.X: Rejection of the world as a whole. A sort of externalization of one's own self-loathing. Adoption of a "fuck all y'all," devil-may-care attitude.

Phase 2: Acceptance of the fluidty of life. A resolution to a reality that is in no way static. Also accompanied by a realization of one's own inability to control EVERYTHING.

Phase 3: Frustration with one's own inability to control or affect major change in one's life builds to a head and is channeled through the mind into one inevitable conclusion: that suicide is the only answer, as continuing life in an eternal state of misery is pretty much just a waste of time.

More to follow upon discovery.

I think I rate a little beyond the third phase right now. I'm kinda comming to terms with my own limited power, learning to adapt a little, accepting the fluidity of reality, trying to give myself over to the "will of the universe" so to speak while at the same time rebelling against my own lack of control. It may end in suicide, it may end in enlightenment. Suicide might be enlightenment. Who knows? Pretty much no one.

Everyone stopped listening a long time ago, huh? Yeah, end rant.

I hate when you think and you think and you fucking think and you run yourself around in circles and you stop. And you're dizzy. And you don't know what the fuck to think. And there aren't words. And there aren't feelings. And you don't even feel dead. You don't feel anything. You aren't even numb. Worse than being unable to feel is being unable to realize that you can't feel. That is nothingness. This is nothingness.

Am I even a writer? I don't know what I'm feeling. I can't feel what I'm feeling. Am I numb? Am I dead? Who the fuck am I? What am I? I can't write anymore. Because I no longer know what the fuck I'm talking about. I don't think I'm even talking about anything. I'm no one. I am inexistance. I am nothing.

I don't understand. I don't know. I can't see. I can't hear. I'm not in my own skin. I don't exist. I'm not even observing anymore. I think I'm just waiting to die. I'm just biding my time until I die. That isn't even it. I don't know. I'm waiting for something. What am I waiting for? Is it a person? Is it an event? Is it a feeling? Why am I still here? What am I holding on to? Why can't I kill myself? What the fuck am I afraid of? I don't understand anything.

I am so fucking dizzy.

I'm not here.

I can't fucking stand myself. I can't sit and think and be alone anymore. I have to be doing something, always. I'm fucking watching a movie or playing some fucking video game or reading something or doing something. I can't fucking STAND myself. I can't handle myself. I can't take my mind. I can't think. I can't even hear what's going on in my own head. I'm so fucking dizzy. I don't know my thoughts. I can't hear them. I can't read them. They won't fucking hold still long enough. I can't concentrate. I can't remember. I don't fucking know. I don't fucking feel.

I only know dizziness.

First, let me explain my mood: it's a beach, because I feel the way the sand must feel when no one's around to expect it to be warm and beautiful.

Imagine this is an Ani Difranco song:

I've decided that the reason I stopped writing lately was because I started blogging. You see, blogging allows me to bitch about the way I feel without having to format it. Poetry is just blogging... in style.

Sometimes sentences and paragraphs just aren't enough. Sometimes they just don't speak the way poetry speaks. They can have all the rhythm and rhyme you can come up with, but they don't communicate it as well as all those seemingly random breaks and pauses and mid-syllable breaths.

I want to write. I want to tell you that I love you. But I guess I don't understand it enough to put it to words. Which is odd, considering how much it's been brought into question lately. Oh well. It's not enough, but I love you.

Will I ever see you again? I'm starting to think that the answer is no.

Given any more thought to what I mean to you? Do you care that if you lose me you lose my voice and my laugh and my warmth? I hope you do. It's the thought of losing those things that terrifies me. You frighten me, because you're the only person I really would die for, and it's not even because I'd want you to live, but because I would be too terrified of a reality in which you're dead. At least now there's still hope. I can still look at you, sometimes you even let me talk to you. If you died, well, that would be it. Hope would be gone. You would be gone.

It's that sort of reality that makes me hate myself, even though I know that that's not an unusual thought process. Can't I just sacrifice myself for your survival? Why must there be all these motivating factors? You know, if you died for me it would be the same as killing me.

I want you to think about why you read that poem "at least 5 times." I want you to think about why the possibility of our future together interests you instead of repulsing you.

I want you to talk to me.

I want you to be real with me. We've been together too long for walls and lies and distance. I don't want you to hide from me. I will never find you ugly, no matter what you do, because in retrospect I always understand you. I get caught up in my emotions in the moment, but every time I look back I can see what I wasn't looking for at the time.

Self-control isn't in my vocabulary. I'm sorry.

Be real. Be honest. Feel. Live. Exist.

Do everything I have such a hard time doing.

If one day you wake up and you breathe in the air and it just seems as if the world improved a little bit over night, then you should know that that means that at some point in the night I developed the balls necessary to kill myself. Because the world will be a better place without me.

I just had a religious epiphany. If I can't have faith in a deity, I can rely on my faith in an emotion. If I have faith that love perseveres, that it really does conquer all, that it always finds a way, then I don't have anything to fear at all. Shut up, I know I'm a hopeless romantic. It doesn't matter. It's true, it really is. All you need is love.

I think the Wellbutrin is kicking in. I asked my therapist if becoming happier as a result of the Wellbutrin could be considered actual happiness. You know? Like, am I really happy or is this shit just fucking with my chemicals and making me feel happy? He said that the Wellbutrin is more letting me let myself be happy than actually making me happy. I just feel a lot more fulfilled lately. Am I happy? Or is it making me happy? Am I coming to terms with my life and learning to appreciate the positive aspects, or is it just fucking with my head? I dunno. It's confusing.

This drink is really strong. And I'm not supposed to drink with the Wellbutrin. And I DEFINITELY can't drink and take the Ambien, 'cause apparently that'll make my heart completely stop. WoOOoo... Maybe I should try it sometime.

That shit's kinda cool. I'm anxious to take it again 'cause I wanna see if it'll make me hallucinate again. I had some nice hallucinations. I really felt like you were right next to me on the bed, like I could just roll over and start running my hands through your hair. I dreamed that I was safe and tucked away in your arms. It was really nice.

I miss sleeping with you. I miss burying my face in your hair, and lying naked with you, and sweating with you, and having every part of my body in contact with every part of your body. I miss waking up to you, and cuddling up to you, and waking you up. Waking you up was always fun. I can't tell you how much I miss the way you taste.

I don't know why I'm so happy. I guess you just make me happy. As long as you love me, I'm happy.

It's snowing for the first time this year. I'm realizing that I'm gonna be spending Christmas without you. And that's a thought I can't help but rebel against. I don't want to be alone. I don't mind being single. I just can't stand being without you. You don't seem to understand, let me spell it out for you: I love you. I want to be with you. And you want to be with me too, I can hear it in your voice. Part of you wants to be with me. The rest of you is too busy indulging your damn hormones to catch up. We were together for almost two fucking years. She doesn't even care about you. I'm willing to die for you.

Every time you open your mouth it's just to lie to me.

Give me a reason to keep breathing.

You are every negative aspect of humanity rolled up into one person, if you can even be considered a person. You killed my girlfriend, and you've destroyed me. You took my life and led it 'round in circles with false promises and outright lies. You have utterly devastated me. You are a murderer.

I am jaded and spiteful. I am angry and edgey. I am a product of your indecision and neglect. I am dead.

I may be bound straight for Hell, but I guarantee you'll beat me there.

I was trusting and loving. I cared about you. I loved you.

You were gentle and caring. You loved me too. You were happy with me.

Now you're dead. And so I am. I'm the only one left with enough humanity to mourn us.

If I'm emotionally dead why shouldn't I be physically dead too?

I'm so fucking SICK of people asking me why I'm not happy. Why the fuck should I be happy? What the FUCK do I have to be happy about? My life is fucking SHIT. You treat me like shit. I have no one to talk to, nobody wants to fucking let me talk. You'll tell me allllll about your fucking life and your fucking issues, but the second I wanna talk about me you don't fucking wanna hear it. And every time I say something you don't wanna hear you start fucking screaming at me and calling me names and telling me how much of fucking manipulative bitch I am. You're the fucking bitch, asshole. You wanna talk to me then you had better fucking LISTEN. You make me sick sometimes. I just wanna go throw up or kill myself or something. You take advantage of me, you know that? You'll talk about your issues because I fucking let you, because I'm a fucking idiot. But you won't let me talk. And I need some goddamn support. I'm all alone out here. I don't have anyone to lean on. I can't talk to you, I can't talk to my family, I can't even really talk to my fucking therapist. I can't talk to anyone. Because you don't care, and everytime I talk to my mom she bitches at me for not having a goddamn major, and it's just pathetic to say that my only emotional support comes from a 30-something balding man I don't even fucking know.

FUCK MY LIFE.

I'm drrrrrrunk. I wanna be trashed. 'cuz you're still in my fucking head, bitch. I want you out. Get out! Yeah, you heard me. Get the fuck outta my head. You're there when I let my eyes close. I can't get rid of you.

I wanna fucking cry, but I'm afraid if I start then I won't be able to stop. I can barely see. Not drunk enough. I don't want to see anymore. I don't wanna hear anymore. This drink outta do me in.

Fucking call me, damn it. I need someone to talk to. I need to talk to you. I'm really sad. I might kill myself. I'd like to talk to you. Fucking answer your phone! Message me! Hell, I don't care. Fuck. I wanna hear your voice. I don't wanna die without hearing your voice one last time. I miss your voice. I love you. I dunno why. You asked me why, and I don't know. 'cuz you won't go away, maybe. 'Cuz you're in my head. 'cuz you're beautiful, and incredible, and I love you. And there won't never be no one else like you.

No point in living. I think I have enough alcohol here to take myself out. Don't got any bullets, or a gun even. Got a knife. Just got it sharpened. Can't really kill yourself with a knife, though. Need codine. Or something else what's stronger than advil.

Call me before it's too late. 'Cause it's about to be.

There, that's pretty dramatic. I'ma go now. Good bye, cruel world! Cruel monstrosity that is woman, that is love! Oh, woe is me. I am so fucking pathetic. I really ought not to live. Maybe I oughter find out whether or not my worst fear's gonna come true. That would be interesting.

Whatever. Good bye. Call me, well there's no point...

If I'd have known then what I know now, I would have done everything different. If I'd have known that someday you wouldn't be right there next to me, that someday I would lose you completely, I would have done everything completely differently.

If I could go back and do it all over, every mental "I love you" would have been verbalized.

I never would have had sex with you, I would only have ever made love.

Every time there was something for me to do besides spend time with you, I would have refused.

I would have bought you more flowers.

I'd never have gotten upset at you over anything. I would have respected you more, and made an effort to understand your needs and wants.

I never would have asked you to do something you didn't want to do.

I'd have spent every clear night out in the field with you, watching the stars. And I would have actually taken you to all those great star-gazing spots I spent all that time looking for.

I'd have booked us at least a week straight at the Mark Addy, and I'd have spent every minute of it naked and in bed with you, exploring and memorizing all the curves you'd someday pierce, kissing every inch of your body.

I never would have stopped playing the Weird Question Game. Ever.

I'd have gotten an apartment and moved in with you.

I'd have cooked you breakfast every morning and dinner every night.

I'd have dragged you off camping with me. Just you and me and some trees and more stars than we could ever possibly count.

I would never have taken you for granted. I would have treated each day like the gift that it was.

I'd have said "I love you" every time your eyes met mine.

I definitely would have gone to the gym more so I could have been in better shape for you. So you wouldn't have to be embarassed by me.

I'd have dressed better for you.

I would have started every day off by telling you how beautiful you are.

I would have held you forever.

But I can't go back. So you see, I really DO regret everything. Just not the way you thought I did. I regret everything that I didn't do, and everything that I will never get to do. That's the real reason I cry myself to sleep just about every night: because of the raw hopelessness of my future. It's hard to be in love with someone who spends every waking hour telling you how they're not in love with you and how they've moved on, especially when said person is doing everything in their power to remove you from their life. All I wanna do is find a way back into your heart. It's cold out here.

The most irritating thing about alcohol is that it wears off. For a few precious minutes (or hours, or whatever), you exist in this sort of dimly lit, slowly moving world. And then it's gone and you have to choke down this foul-tasting substance all over again. Absolutely brilliant. I'd rather just pop codine pills, except that they put me to sleep. So what then? What is the perfect drug, I wonder? Maybe I should go on a drug-experimenting spree, huh? I could do some weed, some ex, a little heroin, some coke, whatever the hell it is you drug addicts do. Orrrrr... not.

I've already been drunk twice today, and I'm still sad. What a waste of perfectly good alcohol, right? God. I am a waste of everything. Space, time, air. Whatever have you.

Should do everyone a favor and off myself, huh?

I keep telling my therapist that I don't have thoughts of killing myself, 'cause I don't want this to turn into some big ordeal. I keep telling myself that when I do think about offing myself, it's not serious. But the truth of the matter it this: it's becoming more and more serious every time I think about it. I imagine someday it'll be dead serious and I'll just hit that handle of Smirnoff until I'm braindead. And why shouldn't I? What's to keep me tied to this sad, tired existence? My future? My future is a goddamn gamble. Every day I'm gambling. God only knows if I'll even wake up tomorrow. How pathetic would that be? To die completely unsatisfied with my life, deprived of even the most basic of joys. Like love. And I'm deprived of love for such stupid reasons. I don't even know what the reasons are. They don't matter. We make each other happy, the way I see it. And of course, I'm an idiot, so my views have no merit at all. But I think we make each other happy, and we love each other. Nothing else matters. Everything else is bullshit, it's nothing. It's so stupid. We should be together. We fit. That should be all that fucking matters. I don't care who you're with when I'm away, I just want to be with you when we're together.

Augh, bitching isn't getting my Hemmingway paper done. And neither is fucking Smirnoff.

I'm so fucking sick of crying over you. I've finally run out of tears -- I can't even MAKE myself cry anymore. All I do is tear up, and then it passes. I think the last few vestiges of humanity have finally given up on me. No more emotions, right?

What's the point, then? What is there to live for, if not love? My options are thus: find love in someone else, or kill myself. And honestly I think I'm entirely too attractive to die.

So easy to hide my insecurities behind this thin veneer of arrogance. I hate my body, and I don't blame you for dumping me like so much garbage. I'm not pretty, I never have been.

I don't have any business whatsoever looking for love in someone else. No one should have to deal with me. Anyone who's reading this, pay attention: DO NOT DATE ME, IT'S NOT WORTH WHAT I'LL PUT YOU THROUGH. See, you were right, Bonnie. I'm an asshole, and an idiot, and I don't care about anyone but myself. If I gave a shit about anyone else, I'd hole up in my room and make a point of NOT looking for someone to hook up with. Because no one deserves the shit I'd put them through.

How can I move on when no one can compare to you and how incredible you are? How am I supposed to be happy with someone else without feeling like I'm disrespecting what we had?

It's so damn hard to be single, having been in a relationship for the past 2 years. I don't even know who I am anymore. Well, I know who I am, but I feel like I've had the supports ripped out from under me and now I'm lost and alone in this treacherous, cruel world. No one to hold on to. No one to run to.

Except, of course, Smirnoff. And the really dangerous thing about alcohol is that I get into it expecting it to take all of my problems away and it doesn't, it just gives me blurry vision and makes me feel kinda tired. So I drink more, and I keep hoping that the next shot will take you away. And it doesn't. In the end, I'm just shooting myself in the foot. And it's not like I don't know it, even. I'm very aware of what I'm doing to myself. You're still there, I still go to bed with nothing to keep me warm but memories fastly fading, slipping away. Soon I won't even have the memories. Someday you'll be as forgotten to me as I already am to you. Someday I'll wake up, and I'll wonder if you're still alive, and it'll chill me to the bone to realize that it wouldn't matter either way. Sometimes I can't even remember what you look like, your beautiful face, the body I knew so well. You're trying so hard to change. Color your hair, pierce your body. You can't run as far from yourself as you'd like. There's always that core, and as long as you hate it it won't matter what you change. Trust me, I know that. Best thing to do is to embrace who you are and find someone who can love that person. I thought I did... but I was wrong... I loved you though, eveything you were willing to show me, every inch of you, from your body to your mind, as flawed and unstable as mine.

There really isn't anything like losing everything.

I hate the possibility that you're reading this and thinking about how much of a melodramatic idiot I am. It's dead hard, Bonnie. I don't want to do it. I really do wish I had the guts to kill myself. It would be so, SO much easier than this. And look at that, I still have a couple of tears left. All for you, Bonnie, everything for you. Always.

God damn it, why can't I just DIE? I don't want to feel anymore, I don't want any more fucking PAIN. I don't want another goddamn relationship, because I know it'll be this all over again. I'm fucking sick of being hurt, I fucking sick of doing things and kicking myself for them later. I don't want to feel this again. I hate being in love, because one way or another someone gets hurt, and so far it's always been me. Why am I such a goddamn idiot? No one understands: if I could keep myself from hurting like this, if I could just decide to fucking move on, I fucking would. Everyone just tells me to get over you. Mom keeps yelling at me for not having a "survival instinct" and being unable to just flip my emotions off with some sort of fucking switch. Man, fuck you all. I fucking hate you. I'm so fucking SICK of crying, Bonnie. I don't want to cry anymore! I'm tired of FUCKING crying! Why won't you get out of my goddamn head?! I can't get away from you, no matter where I go or what I do, you're always there, always hovering at the edge of my mind. Everything I see reminds me of you. You don't understand, Bonnie. You've been in EVERY aspect of my life. I can't fucking get away from you. You're fucking EVERYWHERE. I don't care what kinda drugs I'm on, or how drunk I am, I can't fucking get away from you. Alcohol only takes the edge off, and only barely. You're still there, always. And you're flicking me off and telling me you hate me, and every time I reach for you you jump back like I'm some sort of horrible monster. Two years, Bonnie, two fucking years! I can't handle this. I can't fucking go on anymore. I can't live with this. I can't. I won't. I can't. You don't understand, I CAN'T go on anymore. I can't take it anymore. I can't live knowing that you hate me, that you'll never come back, that I'm the absolute worst part of your life.

Oh God, Bonnie, I wish I could talk to you. I wish you loved me. I wish it wasn't over. I wish there was still something to live for. But there isn't anything to live for, and you hate me, and every chance you get you tell me how it's completely and totally over forever, and I have no chance of every having you again. I had my shot, and I blew it.

And now it's over.

So, I'm just sitting here, just sitting here in my dorm room, all by my lonesome, when my least favorite person in the world signs online. And I ask myself, "Hmm, should I? Shouldn't I?" Do I let myself be that asshole, or do I restrain myself and hold it in for a later date? Hmm...

To be or not to be. Whether 'tis nobler to slap a bitch in the face over the internet, or to slap her in the face in person...

I want so badly to IM her and say "I slept with your girlfriend. Not just sex, I slept in her bed. All night. I've made love to your girlfriend. She loves me, not you." I want so badly to grab her round the neck and shake her senseless.

But, this time at least, I won't let myself be that sort of asshole. I already know I'm an ass. I don't need to be even MORE of an ass.

Next time? Who knows?

Just thought I'd put this up here so y'all can admire my restraint ;)

So, what do you do when you wake up and everything you want in life is taken from you? Well, most people would shoot themselves in the head. I can't even get that right. Do you know how frustrating it is to be stuck in a life you hate, with no alternative but to kill yourself? Wait, no, it gets worse. All you wanna do is take it all away, but on top of everything you're also terrified of death. So you're terrified of living one more day in this godforsaken existence, and you're also terrified of ending it all. Rock | hard place.

I don't even have any hope left. Nothing left to live for. Not a damn thing. I don't know what I wanna do with my life, I'm not worthwhile as a girlfriend, I have been completely and utterly rejected, I'm dead fucking broke, my car barely runs, I hate the vast majority of my classes (and I'm not doing too good in any of them, either), I am completely unwanted and unloved. What's the fucking point? There isn't any point anymore. There's no reason to keep going. The only reason I'm still alive is because I'm too much of a fucking chickenshit to just fucking off myself. All I wanna do is die, but I'm too fucking scared. It can't POSSIBLY be worse than living right now.

It's not going to get better. I have had the most pure, rewarding relationship of my life. The best part of my life is behind me, and on top of all that it doesn't want anything to do with me. I'm not fucking good enough for her. But some short, weak, ugly piece of shit is?

It's alright though, I found the solution: all I have to do is kill the bitch. Then I'll feel shitty enough to kill myself. And she'll be happy. The end.

I wish she'd fucking cry at least. I wish she'd hurt as much as I do. I wish it wasn't just my head being beat against the goddamn wall. I wish she'd fucking HURT. This is fucking bullshit. She gets to be happy and I'm supposed to sit back and be happy with whatever goddamn crumbs fall off her fucking table? Piece of fucking SHIT. Selfish piece of shit.

After all I gave her, this is what I get. A couple weeks of Hell and a "I just wanna be friends."

Fuck love, fuck women, and fuck life too. I fucking HATE where I am right now. I fucking HATE my life right now. HURT LIKE I DO, FUCKING BITCH! Bleed like I do.

It's not worth living anymore. There's no point anymore. So I say fuck it. Goodbye.

Word vomit. WHATCHA!!
di@*$kj(@4DKjfbzzzzrt!!!!!11!11!!1!

I wonder if she even still reads this. And then I wonder why. Hmm...

So my mind... is fractured. I need a brace, or a cast, or whatever. Put it in a sling. Ready go. Brain-crutches.

Good-bye, sanity... oh, how I'll miss you. But there are things I'll miss more. So fuck you. No one needs sanity. Sanity is for losers who lose. Because they're fucking losers.

Augh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuckity fucking FUCK. Do you know what it's like to be horny and alone? To know that she doesn't want you, at least not the way you want her. Oh, and you want her. Do you ever. Do you know what that's like? Nope, don't care.

Fucking HELL. FUCK!! I want to be a goddamn moneky, or a wolf, or a squirrel. Anything but fucking human. Humanity is Hell. Yeah, I said it. So stop worrying about sinning, you fuckers. You can't go to Hell if you're already fucking THERE.

Oh, make me an insect, a spider, so that I could crawl onto her shoulder, and just rest there and be part of her life and be close to her. Or better yet, make me a mole, or a freckle, so that I could develop on her shoulder or arm, and be part of her. Then she'd have to pay if she wanted to get rid of me.

But I suppose she already does have to pay.

Screw. Just come back to me.

Just take me back.

I'm not that flawed.

I'm not.

I mean, she could certainly do worse. She is doing worse.

I'm not that bad.

How would you feel if I died? Would you feel a complete void, like I would if you died? Would you lose all will to live? How would it feel knowing your last moments with me were spent without me? So much for living every day like it's your last. More like live everyday like you've got so many days that you don't mind wasting a few. If I don't make you happy then you'd damn well better find someone who does, 'cause you've only got one life and if I don't make you happy then I need to go ahead and throw away a few more days. Because you're the only one for me. So if you don't want to be with me then there's no one else for me. Pulling the proverbial rug out from under my feet, only this time under the rug is a trapdoor and I'm falling, falling down into Hell. Better get started. No day like to-day, no time like the present. All that crap.

Good-bye, cruel world ;)

If we're on a break
Then give my heart a break
And cut out all these feelings that I can't help having for you--
A cardiac lobotomy
So that I can be as happy as you expect me to be.
Then I won't need anymore anti-depressants,
No more alcohol or cigarettes.
All you have to do is cut out my heart,
And chase it down with my soul.
You might as well take my mind too,
Put it to good use,
'Cause all I'll do is lose it anyway.

I think this actually has enough inherent rhythm that I could make it a song if I wanted to. Yes, no, maybe? I dunno.

Oh, hey, and everyone should check out Carbon Leaf because they're the most awesome band ever.

Imagine, if you can, me actually singing this to you:

When the earth was still flat
And the clouds made of fire
And the mountains stretched up to the sky, sometimes higher,
Folks roamed the earth
Like big rolling kegs
They had two sets of arms, they had two sets of legs
They had two faces peering out of one giant head
So they could watch all around them as they talked, while they read
And they never knew nothing of love;
It was before the origin of love.
And there was three sexes then:
One that looked like two men glued up back-to-back
Called the children of the sun,
And similar in shape and girth was the children of the earth --
They looked like two girls rolled up in one,
And the children of the moon was like a fork stuck on a spoon
They was part sun, part earth, part daughter, part son.
The origin of love.
Now the goods grew quite scared of our strenth and defiance
And Thor said, "I'm gonna kill 'em all with my hammer,
Like I killed the giants."
But Zues said, "No, you better let me use my lighting like scissors,
Like I cut the legs off the whales, dinosaurs into lizards."
And then he grabbed up some bolts, he let out a laugh,
Said, "I'll spilt 'em right down the middle,
Gonna cut 'em right up in half."
And the storm clouds gathered above
Into great balls of fire
And then fire shot down from the sky in bolts
Like shining blades of a knife,
And it ripped right through the flesh
Of the children of the sun and the moon and the earth
Then some Indian god sewed the would up to a hole,
Put a round into our belly to remind us of the price we paid
And Osirus and the gods of the nile
Gathered up a big storm
To blow a hurricane
To scatter us away
In a flood of wind and rain
A sea of tidal waves
To wash us all away.
And if we don't behave, they'll cut us down again
We'll be hopping 'round on one foot
And looking through one eye.
The last time I saw you,
We'd just split in two.
You were looking at me, I was looking at you
You had a way so familiar, I could not recognize
'Cause you had blood on your face, I had blood in my eyes
But I tell by your expression that the pain down in your soul
Was the same as the one down in mine.
That's the pain that cuts a straight line down through the heart;
We called it love.
We wrapped our arms round each other,
Tried to shove ourself back together.
We was making love, making love.
It was a cold, dark evening such a long time ago,
When by the mighty hand of Jove;
It was a sad story how we become lonely two-legged creatures
The story, the origin of love,
That's the origin of love.
The origin of love.

You're the one I'm supposed to be with. You know it. I know it. That's all that should matter.

Hmm... So I don't want to be the first one to break, obviously, 'cause sometimes I like to entertain the notion that maybe I'm stronger than you and that you canNOT bring me down, no matter how hard you try. And then again, I don't even know if you're actually gonna do it or if you just haven't had the chance/drive to call me yet today. Dilemmas dilemmas dilemmas. But then, I am getting tired of always having to call you first. So I guess I'll just let it play itself out. Meanwhile -- oh right, I don't have anything better to do. Maybe I should go to a gay bar and see what I can dig up there? Some busty little blond femme who doesn't mind getting knocked around a bit. I'm feeling a little tense right now. A little abusive, to be honest. A little violent. Can't take it? I refer you to the opening paragraph of this journal.

So I will not break. If you want to talk to me, then you'll talk to me. What I want doesn't matter. Not to you, not to me. I don't really give a fuck right now.

I've been having a sort of extended quasi-religious experience all this morning. Sort of at half-peace with myself. There was yoga last night, which is an exersize in not caring about anything and realizing how out of shape you are. And then we talked a little more about God and Jesus in ENGL 230. So I'm kinda buzzing. I guess.

But then I feel like I want to be this alcoholic, chain-smoking, devil-may-care badass. And like that'll ever happen. But until it does, or whatever, I just don't care.

Thank you and good night!

Kyrie suggested we go for a drive
in her new two door BMW coupe
In the parking lot we slipped into her bucket seats
Kyrie took over from there
At nearly ninety miles per hour
she zipped us up to that windy edge
known to some as Mullholand
an insidious road
running the ridge of the Santa Monica Mountains
where she then proceeded to pump her vehicle
in and out of turns
sometimes dropping down to fifty miles per hour
only to immediately gun it back up to ninety again
fast slow
fast fast
slow

Sometimes a wide turn
sometimes a quick one
She preferred the tighter ones
the sharp controlled jerks
swinging left to right
before driving back to the right
Only so she could do it all over again
until after enough speed and enough wind
and more distance then I had been prepared to expect
taking me to parts of the city I rarely think of
and never visit
I heard her say:

Hey pretty
don't you wanna take a ride with me?
through my world
Hey pretty
don't you wanna kick and slide
through my world

Do you get the gist of the song now??

I can't remember the inane things I started babbling about then
I know it didn't really matter
she wasn't listening
She just yanked up on the emergency brake
dropped her seat back
and told me to lie on top of her
On top of those leather pants of hers
her hands immediately guiding mine
over those soft, slightly oily folds
positioning my fingers on the shiny metal tab
small and round like a tear
Then murmuring a murmer so inaudible
that even though I could feel her lips tremble against my ear
she seemed far, far away
'Pinch it' she said
which I did lightly until she also said 'Pull it'
which I also did
gently parting the teeth
one at a time, down under and beneath
the longest unzipping of my life.

Hey pretty
don't you wanna take a ride with me?
through my world
Hey pretty
don't you wanna kick and slide
through my world
hey pretty
my pretty baby
rock it through my world (through my world)

Hey pretty (hey pretty), my pretty baby

We never even kissed
or looked in each other's eyes
Our lips just trespassed
on those inner labyrinths
hidden deep within our ears
filled them with the private music of wicked words
hers in many languages
mine in the off color of my only tongue
Too bad dark languages rarely survive.

Hey pretty, my pretty baby, hey pretty baby
don't you wanna take a ride with me?
don't you wanna take a ride with me?
My baby, don't you wanna take a ride with me?
My baby, My pretty baby (don't you wanna?)
rock it through my world (through my world)
don't you wanna take a ride with me?
My baby (don't you wanna?)
My baby, don't you wanna take a ride with me?
do you get the gist of the song now?
(don't you wanna?)
do you get the gist of the song now?

My Pretty Baby.

Hey Pretty (Drive-By Remix), Poe, limewire it now bitch.

So I'm not going to say I understand or it, or that it makes any sense, but I feel really alone and left out right now even though I'm having some sort of psuedo-fun with my suitemates. It just makes me jealous, I guess, that you're having so much more fun than me. It makes me want to go out, get trashed, dance with every female/male that even looks like they might be attracted to me, not think about anyone but myself, and just be like yeah, so there. I don't know. I'm having issues with the whole "making sense" thing. It's this really nasty, malignant yet abused sort of feeling. Just. Yeah. Damn you. And things used to be so much easier. God damn everything, and everyone. Damn. Shit. Jesus H. Fucking Christ. Yeah, screw it, screw you. And there it is.

Told you it wouldn't change a damn thing.

I think my parents made me gay. Oh my God! My mind just can't handle it. Jesus...

On a separate note, I think it would be really interesting to do a study on human speech patterns. See, I have a theory that women, for some reason, elongate their speech and end up sounding that much more sexual than men, while men speak in short, concise words. It would be nifty to find out if I'm right and if so, then why? Hmm...

Of course, do I have the cash flow to back such a demanding and intricate study? No. Damn shame, that.

So is it genuine morbid or "oh, I'm so dark right now" morbid? Dammit, shut the hell up. Who are you to judge what is and is not a legitimate state of being? We're all thinking, feeling creatures and therefore we all think and feel differently. God forbid someone should not conform with your definition of "genuine." All feeling is genuine. Bizzatch. Yeah, I said it.

"We're all [hypocrites] here." That what it should have said. I've always had a special dislike for cats.

I hate proving my own point by settling a perfect example of it. Do you know how hard it is to have a problem with something you can't not do? I was born and raised a product of society. It's really hard to not do something that everyone else does when there's no other feasible option.

Rock | hard place. Well, okay: pillow | mattress. I won't be TOO dramatic about it.

So, how do YOU define good music vs. bad music? Nope, don't care. If you prepared an answer that was anything along the lines of "I define it as [whatever]... because [something]," then you have just proven my point.

This sort is thinking is so circular is becomes like... void-al or something. Yeah.

Thank you and good night!

I need to write. I really seriously need to write. I don't think I can go on another moment of my life without writing something really profound. Something for everyone to read and just think, "Holy crap."

Writers are truly gifted. If I set my mind to it, I can make you feel whatever I want you to. When I was a lot younger I thought that it would be really awesome to have some sort of extreme, god-like power over the world. You know, like the power to control minds, inspire fear, move mountains, transform into a platinum-blonde supersaiyan. I think I've just discovered the ultimate source of power in the universe: writing. The ability not only to inspire, but to evoke – no, to control human emotions. To shape the way you feel about any given thing through the almost careless tossing about of a few words.

If I tell you that I HATE YOU, is that not the most malicious image you have ever seen? More violent than a thousand screaming, raging, pitch-fork-wielding, malnourished farmers beating down your door. With more promise than the deepest oath.

I HATE YOU.

Just look at it. All by itself, in the very same font as all the other words on this page. But these words strike directly into your soul. They hurt, physically. You don't read them so much as you feel them.

That is power. That is what I was looking for when I was younger. There is my one ultimate power in the universe.

I hate you.

So simple, and so very painful. In the same way as they can hurt, though, words can also heal. For example:

I love you.

So warm, so gentle. Everything you could ever ask for in a relationship, right there on the paper for you. To make up for all the half-assed reassurances your parents or your lovers never gave you, there it is. The thread to sew together the tattered rag of your soul. Watch me mend, and in the same fashion watch me tear you asunder.

I hate you.

I love you.

Just look at it, take it in. Pick it apart, even. I. What is "I"? What does it mean? I? I! I. I... So many different meanings for one word – one letter, actually. It is a statement of existence, a cry of protest echoing across the void. When you say something as profound as "I," it doesn't matter that the whole world can't hear it. Every single human being on the face of this very earth knows exactly what you mean. Everyone has this concept.

I.

On the other side of this is the word "YOU." What is "YOU"? What does this word mean? No one really knows who YOU is in reference to. It can be anyone, and in that way is it powerful beyond measure. The word "YOU" is capable of touching everyone. When I write I HATE YOU anyone can take it to mean that I hate them specifically.

I HATE YOU.

Think about it. And what is "HATE" taken outside of that sentence? HATE and LOVE are two of the most powerful words of the English language. Everyone knows what they mean, but they mean something different to every person.

Words almost make me believe in a soul.

I really need to go smoke something...

With as soft a pillow as alcohol to fall upon, who really needs a bed anymore? And with a crutch like escape, why bother with responsibility? There are so many ways to get out of actually having to live now. It's brilliant, abso-fuckin'-lutely brilliant.

Holy crap, I don't want to sound like a pill-popper or anything, but I really want some fucking zoloft or anything really. Fucking shit. This is crap. Lock me away, sedate me, please just do something. I can't stop fucking shaking. Sheppard Pratt's like practically on campus, maybe I should just walk over there or something. God dammit, I need some damn padded walls. I'm driving myself insane. I don't feel safe with myself. I'm very nervous. Just fucking put me away, pump me full of happy pills or something, anything. God, I would absolutely kill to be manic right now. I WANT ANTIDEPRESSANTS. God. Jesus. Fucking HELL. This blows so much. I can't hold still. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. This is bullshit. I can't do this. I can't handle fighting this for the rest of my damn life. Make it fucking go away. I just want to scream, and curl up in a ball, and stop thinking about this endless BULLSHIT. Fucking hell. FUCKING hell.

Is it bad that scratching the hell out of my neck just made that jittery shit completely stop altogether? Why do I have to be so damn fucked up?

I have developed in myself a terrible fear of sleeping. I am tired, I just fear that if I allow myself to go to sleep I amy not awake in the morning. Or that if I turn out the lights and lay myself to bed the thoughts will bubble up in my head as they do every night. Right now I hold them at arm's length and am not made to handle them in full. When they are given free reign of my mind, it's like I'm taken over by an obscene madness, which fills my veins with ice and sets my heart into a panic. Right now the thoughts exist only in my subconscious, as vaporous specters of fear pulsing in time with the gradual epiphany of my mortality, and keep me in a cruel state of unending unease. They make me feel hollow and fake. It's as if the whole world should be able to see clear through me without ever knowing I'm there. The whole world except for you.

You are like my anchor; you fill my veins with hot blood and draw life in the otherwise empty shell that is my body. You are the only one who cannot see clear through me. You create me.

I wrote that a few days ago, last Monday to be specific. It sounds ridiculous, probably. Let me guide you through my mind, so that you can understand what I don't understand.

I go about my day as any other normal human being, moving from one task to the next, occupying myself as best and as effieciently as I can. From class to class, website to website, anything to keep my feet or my fingers moving to match the twitching in my head. I go from one distraction to the next, living in such a way that saves me from facing myself.

The trouble begins when the sun goes down fully. Darkness descends not just on the outside of me, but also on my internal self. I gray nervousness settles over me as I come to understand that soon I will have to lay myself down to sleep. My thoughts begin to skip in a jittering fashion. One moment reading a book, and the next contemplating the outer edges of the same insidious thought that creeps into me ever night, it seems. I am going to die. I have wasted a full quarter of my life already. I can't get it back. And then I force my attention away from the matter at hand and onto my former distraction. It will continue like that for the rest of the night, worsening until I manage to fall asleep. It begins as a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach, a senstation that can only be described as my stomach dropping at least 4 inches. A cold, burning tightness. The physical manifestation of my fear, staggering at best.

Because I am able to continue to distract myself from it, I don't have to actually deal with it. Even know I am able to distract myself enough that it isn't so paralysing that I can't even talk about it. After a while, I even convince myself that I need to go to sleep, usually around 2 or 3 AM (even when I have to get up at 6:30 the next morning), and that it might acutally not bother me. But it is always there, a solid square inch of ever-melting dry ice in the pit of my stomach.

Foolishly now, I get up and turn the light off, slip out of my pants, and crawl into bed with my stuffed tiger and puppy, both of which I immediately cling to. For a few delicious moments I am able to sink into the warmth and comfort of my prone position. As my muscles begin to relax, that same insidious thought creeps in, and what starts in the pit of my stomach is now able to spread through my body and down my arms in a single, uniform wave of solid terror.

I am going to die.

I am going to DIE.

You don't get it. Like a fucking mantra: I AM GOING TO DIE.

And the whisper of the devil himself: and there's nothing I can do about it...

At this point I can't even close my eyes for the fear. It isn't the uncertainty that scares me, it's the actual certainty. The solid, logical conclusion that after this there is NOTHING. There can't be anything. An afterlife is impossible in my mind. There is absolutely no way. And when I say it is logical, I mean just that single thought, that core strain is logical when absolutely nothing but what is directly concerned with it is considered. You can always say that life itself should be impossible, but I am so gone to fear that I cannot see this logic. The terror is so true that I am robbed of all reason, even when the fear is a mere shadow of that which takes over me before sleep. It doesn't so much destroy my logic as it simply replaces it with a more narrow sort.

It begins to interrupt every thought I have midway with a loud, stern YOU ARE GOING TO DIE. And with every I'M GOING TO DIE I spiral that much farther, in almost a pulsing fashion. I AM GOING TO DIE. And I reach down and grab myself by the neck, lifting, pulling up. I AM GOING TO DIE. Rolled over ont my side, clutching my tiger and puppy like they are my only lifelines. I AM GOING TO DIE. Tears are stinging my eyes, my vision becomes tinged with static because of how hard I am squeezing them shut.

And it screams: YOU ARE GOING TO DIE.

And here I spring forward from my laying position, sitting up in bed and clutching deperately to my knees, tiger and puppy crushed between my chest and my legs. I am going to die. I am going to stop existing and then there will be nothing. NOTHING. Do you understand what nothing is? Listen to "All I Really Want" by Alanis Morisette and think hard, think really hard on the part where she kills the music and forces your mind to skip to something else. Grab onto that moment between the beginning of the silence and your first thought and hold fast. That blankness, that vast eternity of NOTHING, that is the absolute lack of everything that has caused me to fly into such a panic. Sweating cold, almost sobbing, clutching at myself, sometimes scratching, digging my nails into my own skin, anything just to feel something other than this soul-deep fear.

That doesn't even begin to cover it. I have no way to show this to anyone else. Because my own fear, my own reluctance to breath the words that may stop my heart should I ever even think them, is what keeps me from sharing this with you.

Sometimes I think that it would be so, so much easier to just off myself. Sometimes I lay and think about what it would feel like to put a bullet into my own head, to feel the thump of pointed, spinning metal break through my skull, tear through the flesh of my brain, and explode out the other end. And everything would just be over. Brilliantly and gloriously over.

I could even jump out of the window here. Four stories would almost definitely kill me, especially if I landed on my neck.

Don't worry, I won't kill myself. If I could kill myself then this wouldn't be a problem to begin with.

Screw. I give up. Good night.

Goodbye Monday, hello Tuesday. And what a pleasant Tuesday you're already turning out to be. A balmy 37 degrees even at this hour. Should be a lovely day when I wake up in 4 hours or so.

You ever get that weird feeling that you're leaning to one side and are soon going to fall over? That's my cue to go to sleep.

I'm not an insomniac. I like to sleep. You see, right now I'm just afraid to. Afraid of what darkness awaits me when I lay myself down and close my eyes. It's so much easier to stay awake and busy myself with menial tasks and curiosities, one distraction after another, so that I exist in this sort of inbetween state, knowing that if I stop for just one moment the thoughts will consume me. There is too little to do when no one's screaming at you to do it. So I have to amuse myself with whatever little distraction I can think up, things I thought of during the day but never got around to exploring. A paragraph here and a paragraph here, all thoughts I'm forcing over the wardrums that beat in the background of my mind.

How much longer can I beat around the bush before the bush disintegrates into a pile of shredded leaves? I already know what nightmares hide in its shaded confines, I just cannot confront them for they are stronger than I. Slavering panthers and drooling wolves crouched and ready to strike at any moment. They can consume me, tear my soul into bite-sized pieces. And so I beat around the bush; and one day, my beating will break the bush and there will be nothing between me and my demons but a long, dark descent into madness. Until then I'll just see how long it takes me to crash.

I have to go to sleep now, before I pass out right here. This is the trick: exhaust yourself until all you can think about is sleep, and then pass the fuck out. Good night/morning/whatever.

You know, that one time when he touched me, when he just laid his hand on my head, in that one moment I didn't mind him. It brought me back to when we were actually sort of friends. Before I realized how easy he is to completely abhore. And then he ruined it. I cannot watch that PIECE OF SHIT objectify my girlfriend. I cannot even stand to see him lay a fucking hand on you. At all. It makes me want to kill him.

You'll probably hate me for this, but I'm gonna have to say that he is the only person who's death I could derive some satisfaction from, especially if it was at my hands. I know I would lose you to it, and I know I'd probably kill myself afterwards, if I didn't end up institutionalized before I had the chance to, but I would be at least to some degree satisfied. That shitball brings out the psychopath in me. Sorry.

All I have to say to him is don't fucking touch me until you can look at my girlfriend as something other than someone you want to sleep wth, you fucking bastard. I may be a jealous psychopath, but at least I'm not lusting after my friend's girlfriend. Think about that, shithead. Just take a minute.

Sorry. This is really mindless. I just didn't realize until just now how much that pissed me off. But this is my journal, and it's my life, and I think I should be allowed to bitch about it if I want to. Especially if it makes me feel better.

Whatever. I'm just gonna go now. Sorry.

Is it a bad sign when the darkness that keeps me awake at night becomes more appealing than the reality that I live in? There's entirely too much going on in my life right now. I need to get out of life, go do something I've never done before. Like drive my car off a cliff. Sometimes I think my life would be easier to live if it was harder to survive. I don't even pay my own bills; when I need money, someone gives it to me.

Mostly I just need to get out of here. Even the exciting things aren't all that exciting anymore. And shit man, maybe I am fucking bipolar. It wouldn't be all that hard to believe.

Is it so much to ask to want to live under life-threatening circumstances? To know that I know nothing about what may or may not happen tomorrow.

Towson's not gonna accept my AP Comp Sci credits, and I'm gonna be nice and shit out of luck. Still a freshmen, and just barely. I hope this doesn't fuck everything up. I'm out a job AND I owe my mom $200. And this whole car thing fucks everything up. I need my car in Towson.

I just need to get out of this goddamn house. I need to go do something. Right now. It's getting to the point where the realization of my greatest fear is preferable to one more day's existence on this earth. I just need to get out. Too much time to think now; I'm running out of thing's to keep me busy. That's why it isn't just keeping me awake at night anymore. Now it's breaking into the daytime.

I think depression's the result of humans having to much time to think.

I hate saying goodbye to you. Especially when I know you're leaving with him.

I can't sleep. Everytime I lay down and try to relax enough to fall asleep, I start thinking that this is as good as it gets for me. From here on out, it's all downhill. I don't want to grow old, I don't want to die. I could stay 18 for the rest of time and be perfectly happy. If time would just slow down even, everything's going by so fast. The moments that I want so badly to hold on to just keep slipping past me. Everything is fading into the past, I have no concept of present. I'm beginning to realize that. For me, there is no here and now; I think only in terms of what has come and what is to come. I don't really like thinking that way, but I don't know any other way. Sadly, it's how I was raised. Always look forward, always be prepared, always know what's going to happen.

Well I abhore time. I hate it. I hate the way it moves, the way I can and cannot see it. I hate every bit of it.

Because as much as I scream, as much as I wake up sweating, as much as I cry, and as much as I hope for it to change, it keeps passing, seconds into minutes into hours into days, and suddenly I'm 18 and alone in a dorm room, talking to a computer at 1 AM.

My life is laughable; it's pathetic. You may jeer at it and make fun of it, but unfortunately it is mine. And there's little I can do to change it. I've come so fucking far from the little girl I once was, but at the same time I've barely made any progress at all. In fact, you could argue that I've only gotten worse; because once upon a time I was happy with myself, I enjoyed my life and the person that I was. But not any longer. I hate who I've become; the demi-masochistic bundle of insecurities and issues that I am today.

And I can't sleep. It hasn't been this bad in a while. When I close my eyes I see myself, aged and decrepit, lying half-gone on my deathbed in one of those sterilzed white hospital rooms. And I'm looking at my past, as I always am, and I am sadly unimpressed. And I'm looking at my future and for once I can't see it. When I think about tomorrow, I can see the light of day. But from my deathbed vantage point, there is no light. There is the darkness of obscurity, and I cannot see.

I had a near-death experience. And you know what? There was no light at the end of the tunnel. My life did not flash before my eyes. I didn't feel safe and warm. I felt like an animal. I watched the windshield disintigrate in front of me and then I shut my eyes. I still don't even really believe it happened. All I know is that I almost killed myself. And there was no fucking light. Only darkness.

That's what scares me the most. There was no light. There can be no afterlife. After this, I stop existing. Do you have any idea how much that terrifies me? I can't fucking sleep because I'm so fucking afraid of another second getting passed me. I'm afraid of tomorrow because it can only bring me closer to my end. If I go to sleep, then time will pass even quicker. Even more of my life will be gone forever. I can't go back to my childhood. I can't even go back to five minutes ago. It's gone. Therefore I can't sleep.

I wish you could hold me to this moment. I wish there was some way to bind myself to the present. But really the present does not exist. It's just a way for us to think of the transition from future to past. Still, I wish there was a way to hold on to it. Even when I'm with you, time slips by me. I can't hold on to anything. Everything moves on. Even you will move past me one day. There's nothing I can do about it. And I am terrified. Someday I will lose you to time. Like so many wasted seconds, you will slip through me, and become nothing but that which has passed. I want to have you forever; I want you to be mine. But you are no more mine than I am mine. We all belong to time. We are all pieces of time, passing through each other, moving on without each other. Do you know how many past versions of myself there are? One of me for every instant. But they aren't me anymore. I'm even slipping through myself. Everything is moving on, even me.

And I still can't sleep. Because something about sleep speeds up time. I'll close my eyes and when I open them, hours will have passed in mere minutes. And impossible waste of life.

Do you realize that statistically speaking I've already wasted a full quarter of my life? So much gone and passed. So much more to come and pass as well. If I fall asleep now, will I wake up 40 years into the future, in the eve of my life? 58 and facing death in a mere matter of years. I'm not ready for life. I want to be a child again. I want so bad to be that little 8-year-old girl. Give me back my innocence and happiness. I want it BACK, dammit.

I can't have it back. It's gone, and all I've left are the shadows of memories.

I'm going to try to sleep again. It'll probably take a while. I hate necessity.

It's like there's a little child siting in front of me, crying for her mother, and all I can say is goodbye. And she just keeps fading away with each passing second, goodbye, I'm not her anymore. I can never go back to daydreams and running barefoot through the forest chasing a little brown-haired boy. My little brown-haired boy. I don't care how old I get, he'll always be the beacon of innocense buried deep inside me. In his torn-up cowboy hat, little bits of curly hair sticking out from underneath, as we balance atop a felled tree, or feed the horses, or wrestle the goats. And he's just standing there, staring at me, cowboy hat on lopsided, with his torn up jeans and a flannel shirt. And the sun's setting behind my little cowboy, and I'm afraid I'm going to lose him in the dark. All that's left of my childhood.

If I die and go to heaven, my heaven would be my life as it was 10 years ago. Too young to know all the stuff they tell me is so relevant, but so full of knowledge already. I was wise enough not to worry, too young for all these issues and unresolved problems to matter. They hadn't even been created yet. Just me and my little brown-haired boy, sitting on a swingset in the orange haze of a July sunset, talking about how we were going to grow up and get married one day.

You think I'm crazy. I sound crazy. I don't fucking care anymore. I just wanna go back to being 8 fucking years old, back to camping in my backyard and fishing in the pond. When I didn't have to worry about what I wanted to do with the rest of my life, when all that mattered was the fun I was having and the fact that someday I was gonna be a grown-up. Nothing else mattered. Nothing. There was no existential depression, no hormonal fluctuations, no leaping out of my skin at the thought that one day I will die, none of this bullshit. Just me and my little brown-haired boy.

Fuck if it isn't over, though. All of it gone. It's been gone for years now.

I'm not ready to be an adult, I don't want to be independent. I don't fucking want to grow up.

But time's passing me by even now, even as I sit here typing this. Second by second, my life is draining out of me. And seconds stretch into minutes, into hours, into days, and suddenly I'm 18 and sitting in front of a computer, pouring my soul out via keyboard because I know it's over, and I know I can never go back to that evening in July, with the sun painting my world in shades of green and orange, little gnats zipping around our faces.

This is all BULLSHIT. It shouldn't have to be this way. Why the hell couldn't I hang onto those days harder? Just grab onto them and refuse to let go. I should've. Because now they're gone.

Fuck it, whatever.

Fuck love. And that's all I have to say. Just fuck it, fuck love, fuck happiness, fuck hurt and pain and all of the things that make love such a curse sometimes. Fuck depth, fuck feeling. Fuck psychoses and discrepancies, fuck hardship, fuck life and fuck death. Fuck caring, fuck me for caring so damn much, fuck difficulty, fuck issues, just FUCK LOVE.

And yet, I don't understand anything at all. I never have, maybe that's just the way it has to be. Maybe I should just give up on love. Love is so flawed. Sex, sex is just what it is. Sex you can define, you can touch, you can know what it is and when it's happening. But love is just so fucking intangible and subjective and just... I don't even know. Sometimes I think life would be so much easier without love.

But I don't know. It can be such a wonderful feeling. The deepest, hardest sex in the world doesn't even come close.

Love is maladaptive, I think. It just doesn't fit.

Whatever. I don't know anymore. This is all such bullshit. I just don't know anymore. I hate this so much. And how is there room for hate when I am so filled with love? Nothing makes sense anymore. I don't know. I just don't fucking know.

Everything's gone to hell so damn fast. This wasn't supposed to happen. I don't know. It just doesn't work.

Therefore, fuck love.

I shouldn't have come back here. I should've said the Hell with it and stayed in Maryland. Why the Hell did I come back? I fucking HATE it here. And seeing you for like, what was it, three days? Yeah, that sucked. A LOT. I hate this so fucking much. I need to be back in Maryland, not fucking Boone. Who the Hell cares about Boone? No one. Specifically me. I hate it here. I fucking HATE it. I want out. I want to go back to last night and curl up in your arms and cry until I run out of tears. I hate this state, and this college, and the vast majority of these people. I wish someone would just come rescue me because I'm fucking TRAPPED. I can't come back. Not for another fucking MONTH. Because this is BULLSHIT. Because I'm an idiot. Because my fucking life SUCKS.

Augh, this is crap. Thanksgiving break is only five days long. I'll only get to see you for like two or three of those days. I need to get mom to come get me the Friday before, so then I can have a solid 9 days off instead. I need time with you. It's no longer a question of wanting. I stopped wanting a while ago. Now I just need you. Sorry.

I don't fucking want to be here. I don't need to be here. I need to be in Maryland, with you, cuddling under the covers where it's warm.

So I was thinking that maybe my life is completely pointless and I should just end it. Or not. Do you believe in an afterlife? If so, then why? Why why why ever would you believe is something so far removed from basic human logic?

I kinda wanna drop it all and go search for God, because I don't think he's where I am right now. So I must find him.

I don't care about the fucking money anymore, not if I have to live without any purpose. Where am I going and WHY? Why do I need to be there? Why why why the fuck do I need all of this money and all of these things and all of this sugar-coated bullshit wanna-be happiness? Why do I have to surround myelf with superfluous bullshit to attain happiness? It doesn't make any sense. Why waste the time and effort when I'm at my happiest naked and alone with you? Why should it matter?

And yet it does. For some reason, it just does. I'm sure there's some psychological reason for it but I DON'T GIVE A FUCK. Everything is bullshit and I don't want or need it, thank you. You can have it back, and you can shove it right on up your ass, 'cause I want nothing to do with it right now. I want to go do something that I enjoy. Why can't I live off happiness? Huh? If God is real, then He should let me be fucking happy. If He's real, then He'll get rid of this "existential depression" BULLSHIT and let me fucking be happy, goddammit. Just let me be happy. If He's real, then I wouldn't be here. There wouldn't be suicide and everyone would be fucking happy. There is no God. Because the world is flawed, there is no God. God wouldn't fuck up this bad. He just wouldn't.

Sorry, Christian fuckers, but y'all are fucking wrong. Time to get over it now. And what if you are? What then? How would you feel if one day all of the fanatical bullshit was just wrong and you are doomed to the same threat of inexistence that robs me of sleep every night? What are you gonna do then? Huh? Fuckers. What then? Then you're just screwed, just like the sinful little lesbian that you've been isolating and beating down and crusading against. Time to pull the rod outta your ass. And good luck with that.

Pardon the rant. I have no respect for fanatics, which is only fair since they have no respect for me. Because dammit, I'm a bad person and I'm going to go to Hell and blah fucking who gives a shit? Why should you care if I'm going to Hell? You should be happy if you hate me so much, 'cause then you won't have to deal with me anymore. See? Happiness. Embrace it, make up for my inability to.

Good fuckin' bye.

Wooha. Sleep is bad for you. I haven't gone to sleep yet. Damn, that was some good times. SoCo + Cream Soda = good.

Anyway. What is up? Goddamn, no classes tomorrow. Screw them. No being awake tomorrow. I swear I'll never stay up this late without having sex EVER AGAIN. I swear. Augh. I'm going to pass out. But if I hold out for like one more hour I can call you and that would be fun. Hmm...

Gonna pass out. Good night!!

If I listened to nothing but Ani Difranco and Dashboard Confessional, I would probably swing between wanting to marry you and wanting to kill myself. Hmm...

My journal looks like shit. It's taking too much work trying to make it all pretty. I may just give in an revert to a boring color scheme. Or maybe I'll make it all pretty and bright and obnoxious. Yeah. Whatever.

I'm in the absolute weirdest mood ever right now. I don't understand it. Bleh. I wanna like run and jump around and at the same time I really don't feel like getting up.

I feel but I don't feel enough. How do I manage to pull off hypersensitive?

I would have leapt into you if everyone wasn't watching...

I miss Lexapro... I think that my depression may actually be what keeps me from killing myself and the Lexapro made it easier to let go which is why I got in that accident. So maybe everything really does have a purpose.

And yet, maybe not.

I'm feeling reckless and adventurous. *Opens another soda* Mwahahaaa... I'm toying with death. I'm gonna die of caffiene. Wow... and now I'll just sit back and watch how pathetic I secretly am. Oh yeah. Hold on guys, I hafta go steal silverwear from the cafeteria. God, I'm bored. I hate brushing my teeth, 'cause then I feel all clean and I don't wanna eat 'cause I'll mess it up. But whatever. I'm hungry therefore I eat. It makes sense, I suppose. I feel an unusual urge to go flaunt my sexuality before some WASPs, of which there are many here in Boone. But at least they're liberal WASPs. Yeah.

So yeah, I think we should go to my friend's mother's herb shop sometime around Christmas. They make it all pretty and shit. Bet they'll never recognize me. Shit... I wonder how different everything is now. It's been like 6 or 7 years now... Everyone will be all grown up. Shit. That's crazy to me, 'cause it's sorta existed in the back of my head as some little sanctuary still frozen in time. But I know it's changed. The last time I talked to Paul he was an alcoholic lacrosse player. I used to have the hugest fucking crush on him. It's not even funny. I swore I was in love with him, and I was. I still am, in a way. But the person I am in love with is not the person he is anymore. I love the little boy who lives in the back of my head. But that little boy died years ago. He was the world to me, back then. Jeez, I couldn't have been more than 12 years old... Funny how fast things change. He was my absolute best friend; we did EVERYTHING together. It's crazy. I grew up with him, an idealistic little boy with a tattered cowboy hat. God... I miss my childhood. But I suppose it's dead too, as dead as that little boy. Oh well...

Enough of that. I'm in such a weird mood today. But I kinda like it. Now I have to go back to his house, if only to see how things have changed since then.

I think I'll change my journal layout...

Wow, so my radio picks up exactly three stations here: 90.6, which is some weird-ass avant garde rock/ska station; 104.8, which exposes its listeners to the underappreciated joy of oldies and blue SHIT; and 106.1, which plays (surprise surprise) country. Woooohoo. God, this sucks. But I guess everything's okay, right? I'll be home soon. And I have soup. :)

A long December, and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember the last thing that you said as you were leavin'
Now the days go by so fast
And it's one more day up in the canyons
And it's one more night in (Boone)
If you think that I could be forgiven... I wish you would
The smell of hospitals in winter
And the feeling that it's all a lot of oysters, but no pearls
All at once you look across a crowded room
To see the way that light attaches to a girl
And it's one more day up in the canyons
And it's one more night in (Boone)
If you think you might come to (North Carolina)... I think you should
Drove up to Hillside Manor sometime after two a.m.
And talked a little while about the year
I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower,
Makes you talk a little lower about the things you could not show her
And it's been a long December and there's reason to believe
Maybe this year will be better than the last
I can't remember all the times I tried to tell myself
To hold on to these moments as they pass
And it's one more day up in the canyon
And it's one more night in (Boone)
It's been so long since I've seen the ocean... I guess I should

Awesome song. Yay, now I'm all mellow. God bless stupid fucking mood swings. Need... sudafed... God, I'm turning into an addict. :) Not really. Sudafed makes me happy... :)

Okay, I'm out. Bye now. Calculus SUCKS.

'Cause I'm broken when I'm open
And I don't feel like I am strong enough.
'Cause I'm broken when I'm lonesome
And I don't feel right when you're gone away.

I hate how there's no where to go here when all I want is to be alone. My room isn't even my own. I have no personal space. I can't cry here. I really just need to burrow into you and push everything away inside of me, somewhere where I won't have to deal with it. But I can't do that. Shit, I'm getting desperate. I need SOMEONE to hide behind. God... I hate being like this. Whatever.

I'm going to snap, I can feel it. Where the fuck are you? God dammit... I shouldn't freak out this much over not talking to you for like 3 or so hours. But I guess I do, apparently. Augh, ignore me. Fucking period. God dammit. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm sitting in my dorm room fucking ripping apart at the seams. Where the hell are you? I have to stop letting myself get like this. I don't know what my fucking problem is. Maybe I still need to be on those damn meds. I dunno. Come on, this is bullshit. I've called you like 80 times. I know, it's pathetic. I hate when I get like this. I couldn't be rational if I tried. All I can think about is every little thing that can go wrong. It doesn't help that you left on a bad note last night. God, whatever. I fucking give up. Can I die now?

I call you for all the wrong reasons. And then proceed to pray that my reasoning is not and will not ever be justified. Someday, I'll call you mine and then maybe I won't have all of these unjustified reasonings. No, that would be its own wrong reason. I don't know. I'll never know.

Okay, I'm ready to come home now. Huh. Only problem is that I can't. I think... a significant portion of comfort is derived from familiarity, and I have none of that here. Even the walls of my room are unfamiliar. I hate it here. I hate it for taking me so far away from you. I hate myself for coming here. I can surround myself with little tidbits of my previous life but it's still strange to me. It's all set up so different and all I have of you is pictures. I hate it. Sometimes I think about how easy it would be to just take it all away. It's not like I'm without the means. Ironically, it's my own logical rationale that has kept me alive to this point. Funny, isn't it? The one thing I seem to lack most is all that keeps me going... Rationality. It would be stupid to kill myself because soon things will be better. It would be stupid to quit college because in a matter of months I'll be back home. It's fucking pathetic.

There have been points in my life where I have sat in my room at home with the door locked and held a knife to my own throat, or counted out the vicadin. Not necessarily with the intention of doing away with myself, because I have known all my life that I'm too rational to kill myself. But I sit there and count out the pills, in increments of one or two, just to entertain the thought. Just to facilitate my imagination, so I can properly invision what it would be like to swallow them all and just lay down and wait. I know I wouldn't wait. I would have second thoughts and immediately go to someone and tell them what I did. But nevertheless, it's interesting to me to think about it.

Or I'll hold a knife to my forearm and envision the cut, folding outward, and the blood that would pool in the opening and then spill over the edges.

But I can't cut myself either. I honestly don't know what stops me. Probably my aversion to pain. I think about doing it, and I focus on the good sort of pain, but when I actually press the blade to my skin and I feel the bite of the molecules that make up my arm being broken apart, I stop. And I throw the knife to the side and start to cry. I guess that's just part of who I am.

Sometimes life makes far to much sense to me. So much sense that I can't understand it. And other times it just doesn't make enough sense. It would seem that I am no more meant to understand my life than I am to understand myself.

Bonnie, I'm sorry. I've been such an asshole to you lately, and you deserve so much better than me. I don't know what you see in me; I'm a fucking hypersensitive, careless, jackass wanna-be. I don't have an ounce of personality to call my own. I'm possibly the most boring person on the face of the earth, and I'm not even pretty. I manage I fair approximation of ugly and mannish at the same time. You deserve so much better than me. I'm such a fucking shithead and I have absolutely no idea why you waste your time dealing with my shit.

You don't have to deal with me, Bonnie. Please don't feel locked into anything. I'll understand if you decide I'm not worth it. 'Cause I already know I'm not worth shit. I'm a whiny little self-centered bitch and you should probably break up with me and go out with one of the millions of people out there who you deserve just so much more.

God dammit, I'm so fucking stupid. You should just go find someone who's actually worth your fucking time 'cause I'm not.

Of course, you'll probably yell at me for this. I guess you figure it's your job to make me feel some approximation of good about myself. What the hell is there to feel good about? Jack fucking shit.

Don't go out with me for my sake. If you wanna go out with somebody actually worth being with, I'll understand completely. I sure as hell wouldn't waste my time with somebody like me.

Whatever, I'm gonna go contemplate my life somewhere other than my fucking dorm room. I hate this so goddamn much.

I wish I could tell you just how much this sucks. But I can't. It sucks so much that I am beyond words. I want so badly to see you. God, we've been apart for just barely 24 hours. I think it's mostly the threat of being away for so long. You better wait for me, Bonnie. Please. I think I'm beginning to need you. I'm sorry, I sound stupid.

I'm in the middle of nowhere. I was so down that my mood was like noticeably lifted when I finally got my computer all hooked up to the internet and crap. I mean, that really shouldn't affect me so damn much.

It's already so damn hard. I think I just need to hear your voice. I miss you so much. God... I shouldn't be allowed to be this pathetic. It's not even that I can talk to the RAs about it, either, 'cause they're all straight, and my floor's RA was literally freaked out when she came here and saw all the gay people. At least I have a population, I suppose.

I don't want to be here. I want to go home. I want to hide in your embrace and never come out. I just really don't want to be here. I don't know any of these people, my roommate's already bothering me, somehow I got saddled with the goddamn top bunk, my fucking cellphone charger's decided not to work. This fucking blows. I feel like my world's tearing apart at the seams. I can't even get my room phone to work. I hate this. I miss my life, the one I'm used to. This is too much change all at once. I could probably handle it if it was a more gradual adaptation.

I don't even have to be here. This is so fucking stupid. I don't want to be here. But I fucking HAVE TO. I no longer have a choice. I'll stay for a semester, dammit. I hate this. I don't even have you. I can't stop crying. Why does this suck so damn much? Maybe I'll go to guidance tomorrow or something. I wish you were here or I were there so that I could curl up with you and just cry my fucking eyes out. Again.

I'll go now. Good night. I love you.

This is like pointless masochism. I'm going 440 miles away from you to pursue a major that I could just as easily pursue from here. Everytime someone asks me, "Why Appalachian?" I find it harder and harder to think up a decent reason. It's just stupid, Bonnie. Just plain freaking stupid. And I don't even want to do it anymore. At the time, I was just thinking about getting away from home. But since then, things have changed. We dated for ten months. Suddenly there's something in this godforsaken state worth hanging around for. Suddenly I don't want to leave.

This sucks. How do you put up with me? I'm being a fucking idiot. And now that it's too late to duck out, I want out the most. But now I have to give it a semester. Now it's not even my choice anymore. Now it's too late to cop out.

Now I have to wait and see where I stand in like 4 or 5 months. This sucks. I DON'T FUCKING WANT TO LEAVE ANYMORE. I take it all back. God...

This fucking sucks. Why am I so fucking stupid? How do you even stand to be around me? I'm a fucking idiot. God, this is so dumb. Why did I have to decide to go all the way out to North Carolina? AUGH, I'm so fucking stupid. I can't even blame this on anyone else. This one's my fault completely. I coulda pulled out back before Christmas, gone somewhere else, like Virginia or University of Maryland. There's the nothing wrong with the University of Maryland. It's a nice college.

*Sigh* I guess I can always transfer. I just don't want to go away anymore, even for the one semester. There's no way I can commit myself to at least three years of a long distance relationship. I'll go crazy. Do you have any idea how much I missed you the whole time you were away in Mexico? I can't even put it to words. At one point I eventually broke down. I'm pathetic. Do you understand how pathetic I am? Painfully so.

I hate myself for this. I'm such a fucking idiot... God... I have no idea why I'm going through with this anymore. But now it's too late to back out. But I can make a semester. And when it's over, I'll see where I stand, and maybe I'll transfer to UMCP or something. I dunno. I just don't want to be that far away from you. I'm being so fucking stupid...

Sometimes I hate listening to music. You see, I really enjoy a solid, poetic, honest song. And a good Dashboard song, or even a good Ani song, is a very poetic experience. It's like sung poetry. And that makes me wish I could write song lyrics. I mean, I can do poetry, but I can never put it to music. It just bothers me.

You know how they say you never know how much you love something until it's gone? Well they weren't kidding. God damn, I miss you, Bonnie. This sucks. I'm going to DIE when I go to college. Blah...

*Whines*

Wow, I have like NOTHING worth saying to say. This kinda sucks...

You know, last night, or should I say morning, as I was trying to get to sleep at the lovely hour of 2:30 AM, I had yet another one of my nifty panic attack things. I mean, there I was, lying on my back, all comfortable and whatever, and those stupid thoughts start up again. This time the hint of realization is sudden and I fly into a sitting position, hugging myself and barely holding back the tears. Really, Blythe, being existential is one thing, but this is just not healthy right here.

You know, that's when I want you with me the most. 'Cause I can almost convince myself that if you were there for me to cling to, the thoughts would just go away and I could just cuddle up to you like the weak-assed little kid that I secretly am. Oh yeah, I'm real butch.

You know, this whole butch thing kinda bothers me. I wish I could be half as strong and even a quarter as stable and I try to pretend to be, but I don't think I can manage it, honestly. Is it worth the act? Of course, without the act then I'm just being a melodramatic idiot and yeah, I dunno. Mom and Dad'll get mad at me. Not that that's anything new. Without the act, I'm just depressing and who wants to be around that? Bleh, whatever. *Runs in circles* God I wish I knew what the hell I'm talking about!!!!

Oh yeah, a breakdown's RIGHT around the corner. I can tell. That's one of the many things Rena and I have in common: predictable breakdowns. Maybe this vacation will help avert it... Honestly, I haven't had a good breakdown in forever. Haven't really cried in a while either.

Man, if I have another breakdown that's as bad as the last one, I don't even know. I'd probably do something stupid like run away or something. Maybe I just need some down time.

Jesus, maybe I just need to get the hell over it and deal with my own damn problems. How much of a whiney-assed bitch can I be, really? Why the hell do you put up with me?

Ha ha, Bonnie! You won't be able to read this for like... 2 weeks :P

Anyway, I'm making a soundtrack for my life. Behold the soundtrack thus far:

1. I'm Still Here -- John Rzeznik
2. Vindicated -- Dashboard Confessional
3. Meant To Live -- Switchfoot
4. Hand's Down -- Dashboard Confessional
5. Going the Distance -- Cake
6. I Am Ready -- Unknown
7. Scandalous -- Miss Teeq
8. Seed 2.0 -- The Roots
9. Du Hast -- Rammstein
10. Salty Dog -- Flogging Molly
11. Praise You -- Fatboy Slim
12. Walk on Water -- Milk Inc.
13. SandStorm -- DaRude
14. "Halo" -- HALO

And there you have it! :)

I feel like a bad Dashboard Confessional song. And that's saying something right there, 'cause a bad Dashboard Confessional song is pretty far down there, you know? Anyway, I dunno. It's annoying. I can't sleep at night for the thoughts running through my head. What thoughts, right? Ha ha, funny. No, but seriously. They make me very lonely. And afraid. And I am reduced to the wimpering 4-year-old girl that I haven't been for 14 years now. It sucks. And it pisses me off, 'cause I want so bad for it to all go away. But it won't.

They exist in the back of my head always, and sometimes they jump to the forefront of my conscious thought, and I have to scream to get them to go away. I look like a fucking nutcase. All I hear is, "You're going to die someday and there's nothing you can do about it." I'm going to slide from existence to inexistence over the course of hours, or even minutes, and I can't even control it.

What's worse is that I'm so stupid that I almost MADE it happen. I am such a fucking idiot. I almost half-intentionally caused the realization of my worst fear. Second-worse, now, 'cause had you been in that accident, and had you died, my fear of death would have vanished altogether and I would have literally found some way to kill myself. I will not be responsible for your death. I WILL NOT.

I fucking HATE these thoughts!! They just go on like this all night until I'm curled up in the fetal position muttering, "No," over and over again. I hate it. I feel so fucking weak for not being able to get away from all this shit. How the hell am I supposed to deal with this? How do I make it go away? GOD!

Sometimes I wish I had the courage to just shoot myself. But that doesn't make any sense, now does it? 'Cause if I was able to kill myself then I wouldn't be so afraid of death and I wouldn't have all these damn thoughts running around my head.

Behold the paradoxical mindfuck that is my life.

It just pisses me off. You're all probably tired of hearing about it. Although, you must be reading this of your own volition, so I guess it's a personal problem if you're tired of hearing me bitch. Yeah...

I'm going to lose you to him and if I do, I don't know. I'll probably do something stupid like try to beat the shit out of him or something. Now this one I KNOW you're tired of. You must be. If you're aren't then you really are masochistic. 'Cause I know it has to be at least annoying for you to hear about it all the time.

I can't help it. I'm a jealous person. I want to smack him. He's so damn nice and I feel like such an ass for hating him. Well, I don't know if it consitutes hatred. Jealousy, I suppose. You just have something with him that I just don't have with you. Like a connection. And it's not fair. I really shouldn't be writing this shit up here. Anyone could be reading this right now.

But you know what? If you don't want to hear it, then don't fucking read it.

I don't give a goddamn about you cheating on me. I mean, it would hurt, but it would be infinitely better than losing you altogether.

Fuck this, man. I'm gonna go play Wolfenstein before I say something really stupid and get myself in real trouble. Open mouth, insert foot, right?

Good bye.

Do you ever get tired of your life? Do you ever slip into routine and just fall into wanting to scream? I hate my life. Well I don't hate it. I just don't like where it is right now. Sometimes I just need change.

So I quit my job. Put in my two weeks and everything. Yay for me. I dunno. I just got tired of taking their shit. I'm not a gay male, I'm not accustomed to taking it up the ass on my stomach, you know?

This makes me feel very unstable. I've been sliding in and out of crying all day. I feel like I don't know what's going on or something. I dunno. I NEED a change. A major change. I can't wait for college. I'm going to implode massively upon myself. It will be fun. I need the opportunity to start over with a clean slate, you know? I sound pathetic. I dunno. I require something dramatic, something flexible. I need to explode into something bitchy and angry, and you can take what I have to say and deal with it. You know what I'm talking about? I really need to get into a fight and kick the shit out of someone. I need to get away from here, away from these clone people. Away from the life that I know.

This sucks. I need to go, but I don't want to leave you.

Blah. No more thinking about it. God I'm frustrated. I'm getting depressed again. This is such bullshit... I do NOT need medication. I can handle this on my own fucking-ness. I don't know. I'll deal, dammit. They can take their pills and shove it.

I am so tired.

I just need some time to myself. I'm tired of people swaggering in and out of my life like leaves caught in the pull of a river. I'm tired of seeing the same jackass face on thousands of different bodies. God, go to Hell, all of you. I'm tired. Leave me alone. I don't want to go to work on Monday. I want to... I don't know. Fuck you all. Go to hell. Fuck this SHIT. I'm tired. Leave me alone.

I want to go work at the porn store. Fuck that. I don't want to work. But I need money. My fucking life is govered by some goddamn piece of paper. They have tied a dollar bill to a fishing pole and are dangling it in front of my face and I keep stuggling to get it, striving towards a goal that, besides being unattainable, is completely pointless. I hate currency. I hate buying things and being paid for shit. I hate the economy, and politics, and all that pointless bullshit rigamarole. BITE ME, America. Bite me, God; bite me, Lynn; bite me, all you fuckers. I'm tired. You get it? I'm tired. I need a break. I work more than my parents and they're allowed to complain but I'm not? Fuck that. That shit can go to hell and die there. I will NOT be trapped into this meaningless existence. Dammit, I will not live and die in a state of being that I HATE. Fuck it. I quit. I'm going to do something I like. This can all go to hell and eat itself or something.

Fuck that I don't make any sense. I have no idea what I'm going to major in. Something I fucking LIKE. Something that doesn't involve scores of impersonal faces, and people coming and going and not giving a damn. And false words and greetings and well-wishings. I HATE THESE PEOPLE. Can you not see that? I hate where I am right now. So I'm leaving. Good-bye. Go to hell, dammit.

I need to scream but I'm too embarassed that someone will hear me. Do you understand how pathetic I am?

Needless to say, I have a lot on my mind right now. But I'm not going to talk about any of it.

I should call you. I should pick up the phone, dial your number, and tell you that I love you. Because I'm terrified of losing you. But I won't. Because I'm afraid. I'm the sort of person you hate, Bonnie. Honestly I don't know why you put up with me. All I do is bitch and whine and offer half-assed condolences and generally suck. I won't change, and you must know that.

But I said I wasn't going to talk about this. So I won't.

All I'll say is that I really should call you and tell you that I love you. Hold you with my voice 'cause I can't hold you with my arms. Keep you here, dammit, right next to me.

Don't do anything I'll cry over later, please.

I really should call you. I'll probably regret it later. I'm not depressed, okay? Can we get that straight? I'm not depressed today. I'm just contemplating. I'm allowed to do that, right?

Good night, love. Please call me. I want to hear your voice.

What must it be like, I wonder, to live your life knowing your future? Knowing where you're headed, and especially knowing that it's not somewhere you want to go. Knowing that your fate is inescapable and inexorably unpleasant.

It's probably a lot like what I felt when I took that turn at 60 and lost control of my car. Looking ahead of myself and thinking, "Well, this is the part where I die." You don't stop and think about what you don't get to do. When the inevitable is upon you, I guess you just kind of accept it.

Except that situation was not certain. I didn't know that I was going to die. I figured it was pretty likely. But I didn't honestly know.

Looking back, I'm terrified by what almost happened. Death is my worst fear, or at least one of my worst fears. I almost brought it upon myself. In a way, I did bring it upon myself. I reached up to God, grabbed my fate out of his left hand, and threw it straight on down to Hell. I wonder what would have happened if I had died? Probably would have wound up in Hell, or at least purgatory. Rena, your prayers, though I appreciate them, cannot save my soul on their own. I'm damned either way. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. But do priests really care? Do the pleas of the sinners and saints alike fall on ears that just aren't listening?

Yeah, I'd definitely have wound up in Hell. Do I live a virtuous life? No. Do I accept your goddamn savior into my soul? No, instead I blaspheme my little ass off and deny his existence. I even mock his followers. What sort of father would let someone like me into their house? What sort of father wouldn't?

I'm curious about death. Yes, it still terrifies me, but now I genuinely want to know what happens next. Do I go to Hell? Do I cease to exist? Do I get reincarnated?

So really, no fate is certain.

That's a comfort. There's some freedom in uncertainty. Fate is nice though, because it gets rid of the freedom and if there's anything in life I enjoy it's being sealed into something I can't control. There's something about giving something else complete power over me that just does something for my soul. Or my mind, whatever it is. I live for those moments in life that I can't control, that I have no say in. Well, not all of them. I mean, when other people have power over me, it pisses me off, but when it's just me and God, and nobody else, that's when I feel most... comfortable. Like he's got me by the collar and is shaking me roughly, screaming, "You stupid fuck! You're going to die!" It's just comforting. Don't ask me why.

Maybe I'll enjoy Hell.

So this telemarketer called my house and asked first for "Dennis" and then for "Lecile" and butchered both my parents names. He wasn't a very good telemarketer. Maybe he'll read this. Bitch, there's no Dennis OR Lecile at my house. Goddamn...

You know, my psychologist thinks it's wonderful that I'm so freaking contemplative and I actually think about life. But fuck, I'm am animal. I'm not supposed to contemplate the meaning of life. Do squirrels sit around and wonder what happens when they die? Have you ever, honestly, met a depressed squirrel? No, didn't freaking think so. Animals know. They just know what's going on, what they're supposed to do. We humans have to much damn free time, all of which we waste on thoughts that DON'T FUCKING MATTER. It doesn't matter if I think there's a God or not, or if my purpose in life is to do something special. It just doesn't matter.

So why do I waste time on it?

We are a very inefficient race. I want to go smack every single member of humanity violently on the left check, so that they have my red handprint to carry with them for the rest of their lives and remind them that NOTHING MATTERS.

All that matters is my survival, and the survival of whatever offspring I produce.

Do I want kids? Yes, dammit, I want freaking children. And I want two of them, a boy and a girl. How much more obvious does it get? Just enough to carry on my genes, dammit, just enough.

God screwed up when he made me. Yes, my God is male. Deal with it.

He slipped, he just slipped. I was fine but then he fucking slipped and now it's all messed up, everything is wrong.

And now I'm trapped in an existence I don't understand, can't understand. I don't think humanity has the capactiy for it. Either way, I'm stuck and it's his fault.

I don't want out. I don't get it... This sucks royally. Why are we such a flawed race? Squirrels don't run their cars into trees every time they get depressed. They don't contemplate ODing on advil or vicodin or whatever whenever they get tired of trying to understand life. They don't slash open their wrists and they don't paint letters with their own blood. They know life, dammit. They just get it. Something about them let's them live simply.

Maybe I'll luck out. Maybe we get reincarnated and I can come back as a squirrel and finally understand what's going on in this goddamn world.

Bonnie, you loose. The stuff about domesticity is definitely in the middle of the fourth paragraph :P So there.

Theorhetically, I should go to bed now 'cause I have to go to work tomorrow at like 10-ish. But whatever. Can't wait for summer... Oh the things I will NOT do. Like wake up. Ever. And homework, and other stuff that I can't remember right now. Can't hardly wait. Only... like... 2 weeks, actually. Wow... It would really suck to be a freshman. I wonder how that's gonna work though. I imagine you're parents would get kinda annoyed if we saw each other too much. My parents can go in a corner and quietly screw themselves. Because frankly I'm tired of them and honestly, if they weren't such a complete pain in the ass then I so wouldn't be going away to college. Honestly.

This whole college thing is so damn bittersweet, too. I really wanna get out of the house, you see, but I'm gonna miss you so damn much. I can't put it into words. I feel really bad, 'cause I can't quite seem to express myself on this topic, not even on paper. But I'm working on it. Promise.

Bonnie, please stop doubting yourself. You're perfect. Don't argue with me, I'm right on that one. And I'm not crazy. I'm perfectly level-headed, thank you. I swear it. I'd know if I was crazy, trust me. No voices, none of that. Well, okay, everyone has voices. So I guess I do too. But I mean, not the kind that make you crazy. Unless you count these goddamn CICADAS!! 'Cause they're freaking everywhere and they're starting to get to me. I don't think I'm gonna make it through the summer. DIE, bastards!! God...

Woo, rant! I like rants. Did you know that this is called a "blog"? I don't think I like that term. In fact I think it sounds kinda stupid. Therefore it should DIE.

Ever listen to music that's so bad it makes you want to kill yourself? Me neither. I love The Darkness. This guy can hit notes that I couldn't touch with a 30-foot pole.

... I've had far too much caffeine today. I'm so not gonna get to sleep any time soon. But I suppose I ought to give it a shot at least. Good night, y'all. I love you, Bonnie. Shameless plug: I added a wallpapers page! Go look. It's fun.

Well, aparently I can't quite manage to hold a mood for more than like... 5 seconds. Which leads me to believe that moods, personalities, and other such things are purely situational. Therefore, being as they are a product of your surroundings, etc. they aren't really worth stressing over. Which sucks, because it's part of my personality to stress over these sorts of things. So maybe personalities are influenced by factors other than our environments. Pardon me whilst I invalidate my previous statement.

I came here to say something relevant, really, I swear. Then my mood changed. Yum, strawberry milk...

You ever get those thoughts in the back of your head that just sit there and occaisionaly drive you completely insane with frustration. Like someone went fishing and hooked their line in your brain and is now trying vainly to free it by pulling on it really hard. The thought even feels foreign. It's like someone put it there, rather than it occured to me. It's your fault, you know. It can't be mine.

Regardless, it's there and it's slowly frustrating the hell out of me. It... scares me, in a way, because it implies something I don't want to say, for fear that speaking it aloud will make it come true. It'll probably pass. But then, I've been waiting for it to "pass" for well over two weeks now. Maybe it's PMS, you know? I hope. But who knows. Whatever. God, I can't focus at all lately. It's like I was flying away and then someone tied me down and now they've gone and cut the damn rope. To be honest, I felt VERY grounded a few minutes ago. I felt almost domestic, like by walking out to the kitchen I had somehow walked into the future of my life. I dunno how to explain it, really. Regardless, now it's gone. And now I'm not grounded anymore. I'm sure there's some major psychological explanation for it but really I'm tired of talking about what's wrong with me. I think it's time I started being right. You know? I dunno. Wish I could just wake up and be like, "Today I'm going to be completely sane." You know? Today there will be no dramatic mood swings, no reading too far into things, no nagging depression, no inner turmoil, no worrying, no stress. I wish.

Really, I should probably talk about it. Beating around the bush isn't going to stop it from happening. The only chance I have of preventing it comes from discussing it. Which I'm not doing. Hell, you don't even know what I'm talking about. I imagine you have a vague idea, as I've done a grand job of implying via subtext, and I imagine you feel a bit of unease at the thought. As do I. Shit, I'm being immature about this, aren't I? Thought so. I hate this. Scared shitless to talk about a concept, not a fact, but the product of me being a paranoid little bitch. It wants to explode out of me, but I won't let it. It's really my own damn problem. I shouldn't bother you with it. That's not exactly very nice of me, you know? Whatever. I'll figure it out. Eventually.

So Maria and Morgan randomly showed up at my house, 'cause Maria has her license and as such felt the need to drop in on me. Whatever works.

K, I'ma go now before I start crashing into yet another depressing mood. I don't mind being mellow. That's nice, you know? Depressing is just annoying, though. Sudafed makes me feel mellow, it's kinda nice. Must... not... get... addicted... Whatever. Good... evening. Yeah, that one. Buh-bye now.

I haven't being feeling much like myself lately. I've been just a little off, you know? It's like now that everything's going right for me my mind has decided to ruin it. It's not fair. And it's beginning to shift from annoying me to pissing me off.

Maybe it'll go away.

Sorry, you're probably tired of listening to me bitch and whine. Not to say that I know for certain that you're reading this.

Shit, I don't even feel like writing anymore. This is bloody fucking annoying.

Regardless, I shall take my leave of thee, oh loyal audience, and find a dark corner with a good, solid wall that I can beat my head against.

You left and a minute later I shot into my room, reverently lifted the top off that box. And I read each and every one of them twice and cried half-way through because I have never been so loved in all my life. Ever. Thank you. Thank you so much for everything. All six months, ever last hour, minute, and second. Thank you for loving me and letting me love you. Thank you for holding me while I cried, thank you for just letting me cry in general. Thank you for not trying to reassure me, but actually suceeding. Because with you everything is okay. Thank you for six months of unexpected, undeserved, uncompromising love. Not only have I never been so loved, I have never loved so much.

'Cause as I was driving home with Priscilla today all I could think about was "God, keep me safe so I can see Bonnie again." Pris isn't the best driver in the world. Regardless, I live for the next word you say. So never shut up. And don't apologize for babbling, or whatever, because in doing so you're apologizing for giving me purpose. I know that sounds pathetic, but really, what's the point of going through life, of going to college and getting a good job, of having money to suceed in life, if there's no one to share it with? That probably sounds scarey... Regardless, I love you, dammit. Something about being with you makes me look toward October 10th with hope and not fear. And when we're apart I think of tomorrow and smile because every minute that passes is a minute that brings us closer together.

I miss you and it hasn't even been a full 24 hours yet. I missed you while I was at work this morning, and as I fell asleep last night. I missed you as you drove out of my driveway, as you walked down the stairs to the car, as we tore out of embrace. I missed you as your lips broke from mine because I could kiss you for all eternity and never want for air. I missed you as you caressed my face good-bye.

Did you know that six months is half a year? Where the hell did it all go? It flew by... shit. I wish I could remember it all. If I could remember just one moment with you as if I were living it, I would be more than content to spend an eternity in hell with just that memory.

I can't believe how much we've changed over the course of so short a period of time. 6 months. Do you remember the first time we kissed? On my bed, downstairs, shyly holding hands, my eyes drifted shut in time with yours and your lips pressed carefully to mine for two short instants, which became eternity for a few seconds. It was perfect. And the first time we made love, more fooling around than anything else, and you asking me questions, feeling me out, testing my boundaries and not coming even close to them. Because with you there are no boundaries. Your hands on my body, all over my skin, the way you took my clothes off rather than left them on. I love that the most. Because if I had to make love to you with your clothes on, I might cry. I love your skin so damn much.

How about when we first really met, when you IMed me 'cause Garth said you should, 'cause you had a problem, and you goose-stepping around admitting to having a crush on me, saying you were beginning to like women and wanting my help. I'm sorry, but I saw right through that. I didn't want to seem arrogant, so I keep quiet and didn't ask or say anything.

Ren Fest. Shit, those were the best days of my life. Face flushed, skin covered in a fine layer of dust, wandering around the fair grounds trying to find you. And you, coming around a corner in that dress, all tall and elegant and fantastic beauty, with your little circlet and the cuffs around your biceps. Dust on the bottom inch of your dress, turning it a pleasant reddish-brown. My skin burnt dark from the sun, eyes squinted, barely believing it. Vaguely knowing we'd be together but not believing it. I still don't. I never thought I'd be so lucky.

When you asked me out, and I at my computer at home, smiling and tracing my fingers across the screen. Wishing we could be together so I could grap you and hold you close until all of my giddy joy was tamed by your... I don't even have a word for it. Could I call it love back then? And then, in bed, staring up at the ceiling. "Hey, God," disbelieving, a laugh, "I have a girlfriend."

Homecoming. The hot chill that suffused my entire body in warmth as we danced for the first time ever. That is one of my absolute favorite memories. I'd never felt that before. It was like my soul reached out and touched yours, and then they decided to hug each other. I had never been so close to someone I barely knew, and yet it wasn't nearly close enough. After the dance and not wanting to ever let you go. Ever. Feeling what I was too afraid to call love at the time.

In you room once, the first time you ever touched me and how bad I wanted it. Narrowing avoiding getting caught. Cuddling under the covers and for some reason being completely happy.

New Years. That was fun. That was the longest I'd ever stayed up. 7 AM! Shit, man. I've never pulled an all-nighter, so that was pretty new for me. Sex all night and still not being tired. Naked and entwined by candlelight, ensnared by your body and loving it, the feel of your legs against mine, skin to skin, never been so content. Barely having the energy to get our clothes back on. Then narrowly avoiding falling asleep like that, and you had the sense to crall into your sleeping bag. Wanting to cry when we had to part so we wouldn't wake up in any way that would make anything obvious. The next morning as the sun spilled in over your face, painting you so many shades of beautiful. Afraid to wake you half because I was worried about how you'd feel after everything we did, and half because you looked so innocent, and peaceful. Slipping out of my bed and onto the floor to curl around you, loving this feeling. And then you woke up, and rolled over, and kissed me, and I knew I loved you too much in that moment.

Shit. Driving to Selby Beach, making out in the back of Erica's car, just driving around, to the mall, to dinner, to the dance. Every day a new experience, every minute one more thing to love about being alive.

At your house and we went walking down your road in the mist/rain. And you jumped in a puddle and I laughed and it was like being alive only better. Much better.

Is it a bad thing if I want to feel this forever? I'm picky, I won't settle for less than this. I don't mean to scare you, and I'm sorry if I did. I just... wish I could spend all my life without ever having to leave your embrace. I would be perfectly content to live inside the air you breathe.

I love you and I can't help it. I'm sorry. It's outside of my control now and I can't help but laugh and be happy. I should at least show some sort of indignation. But I can't help it. I love you. I have never felt so free.

She reminded me of angelfoodcake jelly beans; you know, the really expensive ones that are hardly worth the cost. But if you stop for a moment, you can convince yourself that they ARE worth it. It's not hard.

Why angelfoodcake? Have you ever seen an angelfoodcake jelly bean? Probably not... Hmm... Well anyway, they're damn ugly, and in a way so was she. A damn ugly burden on my psyche. All I got out of it was momentary bursts of pleasure, the actual eating of the bean. But when she wasn't there all I felt was misery. So what was the point, then, to be happy so breifly and miserable so long?

The world is dumb.

I got off my meds and now I'm less depressed. How does this make sense? Of course, several things happened at the same time as my going cold-turkey off my anti-depressants. I got in a car accident, miraculously survived without a scratch, and it started to become spring. So perhaps that had something to do with it. I dunno.

You know, that goddamn accident may have been the best thing to happen to me in my entire life. I feel like I've been reborn. Everything's clearer, and sharper, and not clouded over by the misery I felt before. I dunno. I feel more alive now that I've almost died. 'Tis fun. But don't try this at home.

Maybe you just have to touch death before you can embrace life, you know? I dunno. I just love the way I feel. It's like I was watching everything in black and white and now it's all in color. It's like somebody picked me up and pulled me out of the role of observer and inserted me into my own body. Which is what I've been hoping would happen for a long time. I hate watching my life.

I'm weird. A part of me really enjoyed getting in that accident. A part of me would do it all over again just to for that moment of awareness, of complete and utter understanding. You don't understand anything until it's trying to kill you, you know what I mean? But whatever. I'll never do it again. There's too much at stake in my life and there's no way I could pull that off again. There are too many people who care about me, and who I care about. I couldn't do that to them again. No matter how alive or whatever I felt.

Well, I'ma go now. Good night. Stupid daylight savings bullshit...

Would you believe I got in a car accident last night? Crazy, huh? I didn't think that sorta shit could happen to me. I wasn't even scared as I went through it. I was almost looking forward to the part where I died. Maybe that's why I took that goddamn turn at like... 60. Jesus... I'm so fucking stupid. Mom thinks it was a suicide attempt as a result of my meds. She wants me to get off of them. And I am so ready to do it. I'm tired of them. I think they're making me worse.

It was so fucking insane... I flew around the turn, was feeling great, the back wheels started spinning out. I felt everything. I felt the car slide to the right, wrenched it the left, too far, too far, flew up the embankment at like 50 or 40 mph. Didn't even try to brake. Never ONCE did I hit the goddamn brake. Still fighting as I flew through the air, hit the ground, gave in... just fucking gave in. Wondering when it was gonna stop being fun and start hurting. I've never been so alive. Flipped. Rolled once, twice, kept rolling, watched the fucking windshield smash right before my eyes, watched all the cracks shoot through the glass and then explode inward, downward, upward. I couldn't tell. I was upside down. Kept rolling, rolling, rolled two full times now, all the windows busted out. I closed my eyes and just held on. Never stopped to hope I'd live. My life didn't even flash before my eyes. Just lost... completely and totally gave up control of the situation. Stayed on the accelerator the whole fucking time. Never, ever, even ONCE hit the brake. Just kept going. Kept trying to go faster, run faster, get away. Hit the tree, rolled to a halt up against it, trunk against my roof, on my side. I was talking to myself. "Sara, get up, hafta get out. Undo the seatbelt, turn off the car. Turn OFF the car." Tried to turn it off. Wasn't in park, wouldn't let me. Had to turn it back on, throw it in park, had to get the keys out. Had to turn it off.

Now it was over, I had come to a halt. Had to get out of the car now. No. Called mom first. Needed help with this. Paniced on the phone. "Mom I got in an accident." Now I was scared. They're gonna fucking kill me! Thinking. Thoughts racing. Had to get out. Had to get help. Stood up in car. My feet were on the goddamn passenger door. Bonnie would have died. Shit...

People were out there. Peeked out of the busted-out window. "No, I'm fine." Climbed up Bonnie's seat, up my seat, foot on the steering wheel. Had to get out. Climbed up out of the window on top of the car. Engine's smoking. Gotta get away...

Walked away, sat on the side of the road. "I'm fine." They wanted to help. I wanted to die. My life was over.

Mom came, Dad too. Wanted to kill him. Always want to kill him. Waiting for them to start yelling at me. Got in the car. Mom drove me home. Cussing, stupid, bullshit. Drove back, heading to Bowie ER. Cops on the scene, five cop cars, and increasing. Fire engines, ambulances. Hell of an accident. Car totaled. I thought maybe I was already dead.

Decided to put me in the ambulance and go to PG County ER. Neck collared, strapped to a board. No control. Control is completely gone at this point. Wanted to die.

Loaded into ambulance. EMTs were nice. Both women, vaguely attractive. Younger one had an eyebrow ring. I thought that it didn't really look trashy at all.

Driving to the ER. They tried to take my blood pressure like 3 times. Couldn't, ride was too bumpy. Almost at ER... Shaking, cold, not cold, just shaking. Adrenaline. Too much. Wanted to die. Over...

At ER. Waiting. Need out of this fucking collar RIGHT NOW. Really uncomfortable. Moreso than when I was in the goddamn accident. Waste of fucking tax dollars. I'm fine.

I was at the ER forever. My life became that ER. Pacing doctors, people walking in and out of my life. Taking me out of the collar, off the goddamn board. Didn't need it. I'm fine. They checked me over. I'm fine. X-rays. Hours... I'm fucking FINE!

Finally we're leaving. It's after ten now. Two hours after the fucking accident. Leaving, going home. Finally.

God doesn't save the lives of butch lesbians. God doesn't save the lives of violent people. God doesn't save sinners, and He doesn't save decadent people. He doesn't save liars, and cheaters, and people who are overly-jealous. He doesn't save people who hate themselves. He doesn't save people who would kill, hurt, give in to corruption and greed. He doesn't save people who don't give to charity. He doesn't save people who hate the world. He just doesn't. But He saved me.

And I'd do it again. Fuck if I wouldn't. It felt awesome. Losing... everything. Control. Just... giving in. Letting life take over. Living. Losing control.

I can't stand him and it's driving me crazy 'cause it's not my right. It's not mine. He's not even a bad guy. But I wanna kill him every time I think about what you had with him. I wish I hadn't asked you as much as I did. It's not fair of me to think like this! It's not my fucking place. Why the hell am I so worried about something I've been adamantly told won't happen? At least not without warning.

I'm tired of life taking me by surprise. I like to know what's coming. I hate this feeling, I hate waking up and wondering if today's the day when the other shoe drops. This is far, far too good to be true. And you know it.

I have no reason to be jealous of him. You are mine.

... I'm possessive... And stupid. You should leave me. It would be for your own good. Seriously. I'm tired of being so fucking melodramatic and depressing and BULLSHIT all the time. It's starting to get to me.

I want to kill him and it's not my place to want that.

Why do you still have to be so damn close to him? I'm sorry. I'm a fucking idiot. This isn't fair of me. I can't talk to you about this. I don't want you to try to fix it. That is SO wrong. This isn't my right. It fucking isn't! God...

I fucking hate this. I should trust you. I really should. I know I should. I do. But I can't. I'm sorry.

Augh, I wanna kill him. This isn't right. I've never felt this way before. It's pissing me off. Don't read this, for the love of God. Just save yourself the trouble of dealing with me and leave. Trust me. It's better that way. You don't need my constant BULLSHIT.

It's not his fault. It's not your fault. This one is mine and mine alone.

God. I'm gonna go... I don't know... beat myself with a shredded metal chain. Something. Wish I could fucking get over this jealousy bullcrap. You don't need this.

I close my eyes and I see you and him, and you're doing things that make my wanna rip his fucking balls off, and I'm just watching from a shadow. And you're on top, so I can't even shrug it off as rape. I wanna fucking KILL him. I'm a fucking idiot.

I know he shares something with you that I don't. But it's your fucking right! You're allowed to have other friends, people closer to you than me; you're allowed to still talk to your exes. Goddammit. Why am I so fucking stupid?!

I keep seeing you and him and fuck. Just fuck. I wanna kill him. What the fuck is wrong with me? This isn't right. You told me you'd let me know if you started having any doubts. What is my fucking problem? Am I trying to fuck this up? You're the best thing that's happened to me in a long-ass time. I don't wanna screw this up. Why the hell do I feel so hellbent on it? GOD!!!

This is all really, really wrong. I'm gonna go take my meds. Good night, or whatever.

I love you. I just want you to know that, so I put it somewhere where it can exist forever, so whenever you're worried, or anything like that, you can see it with your own eyes.

I love you, Bonnie.

This guy came into my work today and said "Happy Sunday to you!" He was a very cheerful looking man, all of 6' 8" at least, gray-haired with skin the color of black coffee.

I allowed him to put me in a good mood for a moment and replied, "It is a good Sunday."

And he asked, "But do you know why it's a happy Sunday?"

And I said, haltingly, "Because... it's pretty outside?"

"Yes, that too." He paused. "But the real reason is that I woke up this morning and I looked in the obituaries, and I didn't see your name OR my name. So happy Sunday."

And for a few shining minutes I had some semblance of faith in humanity. And then I realized something. If I went up to him and said "I'm gay," some part of him would have hated me for that. And my faith dissolved.

The beep of the scanner examining your purchase, the ching generated by the drawer opening, rustle as you hand me your cash, rustle again accompanied by your change and some sort of pleasantry. But really I hate you. I hate your money. I hate the hands that I place it in. I want you to die. I don't want you to have a fucking nice day. I want you to turn away from me and suffer a mysterious heart attack.

And suddenly I love you even more than I did just a second ago. 'Cause I never know what you're gonna say next. I can't predict the monotone "Thank you"s and "How are you"s and all that mindless, routine bullshit. You are not those words. Thank God.

I felt like yelling, "Damn you, deal with it! I have to go through it, too. I know it's fucking hard!" But I didn't. 'Cause I don't want to hurt her. No matter how much she may or may not need it.

Good night.

Eugh, I feel like the crap you scrape off the bottom of your shoe after horse-back riding. Bleargh... My head hurts, my mouth is full of cold sores, and my neck hurts. All these goddamn tech classes got me sitting in front of computers all day. Owww...

I think I've gotten re-infected with mono. This blows.

Still no Bonnie and I'm halfway through fourth period almost. Well no, not really. I've just started fourth period. Anyway. I guess I'ma hafta *67 her house. I have to *67 'cause if her step-father sees my number on her caller ID, that's a bad thing. Anyway. Yeah. I want to see her... I'm starting to get scared now...

Seriously scared.

Nyahhh!!! Where the hell is she?! It's well into second period and still no Bonnie. Now I'm getting worried. She didn't call last night, and she's not here today... Ahh...! *Loses mind and immitates the ferret to your left*

This probably shouldn't scare me as much as it does. But I can't really control it. God dammit...

*Gnaws viciously on fingernails*

Are they snowflakes, or little bits of human skin? Little flakes of humanity.

I wonder.

As hordes of the same person cross the street in front of my blazing wild abandon. And hordes of the same person climb into the same goddamn car, and get into accidents with each other all across the same goddamn world.

Wooo, yeah.

And I'm no better. We are all the alpha and the omega, the beginning of our own collective end.

I wish I were different. This kinda sucks. When everyone's so different, I can't help but be the same... Shit.

I'm dying. And you would be laughing but for the fact that, I'm fairly certain, you love me.

Does the fact that I hate myself drive a wedge between us? I'm sorry. The only consolation I can offer you is that I hate myself even more for it. Damn.

I don't give a goddamn about anyone else's problems! I've got enough of my own. God, please stop confiding in me, all of you! I can't handle it. I'm sorry. But not you, no, I want to hear every little thing you have to say. Always. No matter how stupid you may think you sound, I wanna hear it all. Because I'm a creep.

Why am I such a chickenshit?

It must drive him crazy, living with all of us psycho, hormonal, PMSing, bitchy women. Oh yeah. I'll bet he wants to kill each of us. I would.

This isn't fair. I wanted to continue with my original thought. Stupid distraction crap...

I love you, Alanis Morisette, for being so brutally honest with yourself. I wish I could be just like you. Sorta kinda not really.

How can I love you so much? It's hard to write this knowing you'll eventually read it, but a part of me wants you to. Needs you to. I love letting you see me as I really am. The fact that you don't just get fed up and leave me makes me love you even more, if that's even possible. I just wish I could do the same for you. I wish I could be your emotional outlet, your support, the shoulder you can cry on.

I'm greedy too. I don't just want this because you may need it, I want it because I want to know you. All of you.

I want to be the person you go to because you know they won't love you any less for what you say to them, they'll love you more for it. I want that far too much.

But I can't really ask for it.

That's what makes me so horrible. I want it for myself. Greed is too human.

Don't... glorify my intentions. I am my main concern.

But am I?

I just want you to be happy. I want you to smile without the weight of whatever hurts you pulling down the corners of your mouth. I want you to sleep and wake easy. I want your eyes to light up, not water in barely-concealed exhaustion or... I wish I could tell you what it is but I don't know. I don't understand nearly as much as I pretend to.

But I'm probably just being stupid and melodramatic. Happnens a lot.

So maybe I don't just care about myself. I dunno. All of life is selfish motives. I want you to be happy because for whatever reason that makes me happy. I dunno.

It's kinda stupid like that. I hate being human.

I'm done now.