How Do I Tell You?

Why did I make the worst choices for the things that make the most difference in my life? And I can’t blame anyone or anything for these mistakes because they are mine, all fucking mine. And I knew what was happening but didn’t do anything! I keep allowing it to happen. Why? Am I scared to hurt you? Well of course I am. How can I break your heart, and then break mine in the process? How can I tell you that I need more, that I’m in a different place than I was before? How can I tell you that I need to live, after I’ve told you that I live for you? Everything that I have said to you is the truth. It all matters and means what I feel, but I can’t give you all of me because I need more to be free. I sit here in my class, just having written you an email, not doing my work, listening to old hippie music which makes my spirit come alive, and I see that we are totally different people. We were never on the same page; I just wanted it to be so. I can’t talk to anyone about us, I can’t ask for help from you, I just need it to go back to what it was. I need you to be my friend, my supporter, the one I told everything to without worrying about if it hurt you. I need to be me, and I can’t do that with you.

The Truth Hurts.

I suppose the wise choice would to be to do a better job on my blog and actually post. This would be the ideal option. I post infrequently and when I do I post nothing of importance. Eh whatever. It is hard to speak of things that you are not allowed to speak of, or don’t want to. Forever I have drowned myself in my own pain, stuffing it down, discarding it for nonchalance. Sometimes I feel that this is my down fall. Perhaps if I share what I really think about people, and how I really feel about things, then I might feel better. But then I know that I will be left with no one, trapped yet again in my own head and left to my own devices. Hostility is my shield, what I hide behind and what keeps me safe from what I fear others will see me as. Vulnerable. And if I just lay into the world with the truths I keep secret in my head, there will be no option of turning back. For brutal and honest truths and feelings cannot be taken back or made to light wrapped in a pretty box. They are permanent. And though you change your way of thinking and way of living your life, the things you do in the past follow you and linger. Being known as a bitch is not something I want to be identified with. Ok so I nag, but if you did what you needed to do, perhaps I wouldn’t. Ok so I point out what is wrong with you. Well if you’d stop making the same fucking mistakes all the time perhaps I wouldn’t be so hostile towards you. And if I’ve already told you that something irks me or is not right, perhaps you should listen. Especially if it was common sense that you lacked to use. I can’t help that I don’t agree with your wrong way of thinking. I’m sorry that I can’t not be sensible. I’m sorry that I follow my own way. But don’t you dare tell me that I’m lazy or don’t try. Because God damnit I do, and realize it or not, I’m what keep you and your fuck up ways afloat. So fuck you for saying I’m not good enough. See, this is why I judge myself as being harsh and mean. I get upset and say hurtful things…but I guess I’m not all that sorry because they’re true.

What Lingers Within

It is in those moments of hatred for others that you truly discover the darkness within. The fact that you can seriously consider those deep secret thoughts that linger in the back of your mind, those thoughts become ever so present, and its slightly scary, to yourself, and to others if you have the guts to tell them. I live in a never ending battle of keeping those thoughts that present themselves as great friends, dressed in a mask of nice, while hiding what is underneath, their true exterior, at bay. The true nature of those thoughts is equipped with a face of melted flesh with the jagged protruding teeth of a shark. Behind and above it follows the mist of black smoke, which once trapped inside, you are never to come out. I try to hide the darkness inside, but how far will it push me before I fall off the top of the cliff?

Witty Post Title

So I created this page oh let’s see...like a week and a half ago. Now is the time when I finally clicked on the post button and began to type my first post to a blog. My blog. Holy shit. To be on the internet, my words splayed in front of you. Kind've creepy. I’ve tried to come up with a witty first post, as a sort of way to introduce myself, but I kept having a brain fart and just couldn’t perform. My very good friend encouraged me to write in my own time, and told me that there was no such thing as a bad blog: there are good blogs and then there are better blogs. So that halted half my fears about that in its tracks, and then the other half of my fears, the half that had no idea of what to write, continued to run on its hamster wheel night and day. But as I sit here in my AP English class, avoiding the multitude of work that I have yet to do and must have completed by today, I decided today was the day I blog. At the current moment my feelings are not in an organized manner that would allow me to adequately express them but in time I shall write about them. But for now I just wanted to post that I am alive.