Nerves.

My nerves. My nerves are killing me, an pressuring me to kill everyone surrounding me. Well, Not everyone, some people are safe. I want to go ride my bike, stick my feet in the water at the park, and just talk. Today my memories of my past are eating me away,gnawing at my emptiness. Biting, crying, ad screaming for me to let them out, to tell someone. As I lay in bed last night, the silence of my surroundings, of my empty home forced me to delve into my mind and dredge up my past. My horrible, bloody, disgusting, suicidal, painful, homocidal past. It occurs to me that maybe I should find someone to talk to. Some one who won't judge me, or freak out at me. Someone who will keep me still when I rock backandforthbackandforthbackandforth. Somone who will talk to me, and let their voice drown out the screaming in my brain. There is so much to talk about. Theres so much talk. Talk about me and the things I have done. Theres too much hatred in their voices, and in their words. Do they see the pain I have locked up in me, the same pain that's pumping through my arteries and being forced in and out of my heart? Not the physical pain I've caused myself, the will never see that. Never. I will Never Show them That. I may sound pathetic, but there's no way I can do this on my own. The tickticktick of my internal clock is hurting my brain. It makes me twitch, makes me shake. My hearts steady thumpthumpthump keeps my clock ticktickticking. I have realised that if my heart were to stop thumping,my clock would stop ticking. Without a thumping heart, and without a ticking clock, there would be no hurting brain, no migraines. No twitching, and No shaking, no clinking, no clanking. The screaming and the pleading voices in my head would be eternally silenced.

The soft muffled thump of the knife being dropped behind my bed, out of sight would be never more. Only the soft, rythmic driopdripdrip of my blood hitting the floor, leaving a permanent stain. The scratchscratchscratch of the razorblade as it gouges out more of my flesh would be gone from my memory. The clinkclinkclink of the razorblade hitting the glass ashtray next to my bed on the bookshelf would not be heard again. the gentle wisps of smoke, bleeding through the air from the cigarette would be seen no more. No one would realize that the same patterns of smoke in the air were the same as the streams of blood on my skin. The bloody rag under my desk, once blue, now burgundy saturated with blood would dry up. My nerves would be steady, and My life would be silenced. I would be no more.

Control.

I think I know what it feels like to lose control. I seem to have lost control of everything, and the last of my days are spiraling past me too quickly for me to grasp. When it comes to grasping ideas, concepts, and truths, I guess I have slow reflexes.

Sick

So I am sick. This sickness (undiagnosed, for I don't care what it is) is putting red and purple blotches under my skin, every where on my body. I hope it kills me. I really hope that whatever this is that's making me bleed and vomit, literally kills me... Seeing as I don't know what it's called, I will call it a Thank You... The spots, I mean. I don't know what's causing them but I do severely hope that it does kill me. I am sick of life and I see no point in me living it, as I am not doing myself (or anyone else for that matter) any good.

My skin crawls.

For Environmental Science, we have to find an environmental issue to write about and make a poster. I was researching issues and I came across animal testing, which is an issue that I already had in mind. I searched a bunch of websites to see if that would be an isue that would be easy enough for my lazy butt to pursue. The problem is, when I went on MarsCandyKills.com, There was a gruesome video on jsut what kind of tests were performed and how animal testing REALLY looks. It's disgusting. Make-up, Hair products, Candy, and about a dozen other products I didn't even know could test on animals. This video literally makes me want to punch babies.

Help?

The words I'm longing to scream, longing to let flow. Help. More a question than an answer. Do I need help? Do I want help? No. I don't think these are the questions, as much as they are the answers. I can no longer hide the way I feel about anything. Nothing helps. Not anymore it doesn't. No sir, no ma'am. I don't even wnat to think about how many times I've tried to help myself and how many timies it's always backfired on me. It's all about take a stand or walk away. Well, what happens when taking a stand and walking away aren't options? What happens when the only thing that you are allowed to do is sit and cower in a corner until the beatings are over? What happens when you can't fight back and can't run away, can't hide? What happens when the last time was your last chance and there's no where left to go? What now?
Where do all the broken sould go and is there a place for people like me? I'm not broken, yet I'm not whole either. I wish I had a choice. I wish I could decide for myself and not have to base my decisions on who will get hurt if I do this or that. I wish I could be free of this everyday routine. This everyday procedure, almost as if I have to do it, or something awful will happen. I
Why? Not just why me, but why for all the other girsl and boys who have to live through torture. Just Why?

What the hell?

What the hell is going on in schools these days? I just watched one kid shove deck another one in the face and shove him head-first into the wall. There were two teachers standing right next to them. They watched him do it and then walk away. They walked in the opposite direction. They didn't ask the other kid if he was okay. They didn't punish the other kid... They just walked in the opposite direction like they didn't even see it. Why?

There's no way that they could have been in that big of a hurry. They are teachers. Their job is to prevent and justify that kind of behavior. What if that kid was really hurt? I'm glad that they give a crap about the student body and how the minors at this school are affected by the behavior of others.

Fuck school. I'm sick of this shit happening.

Today.

Today has kinda been a blur. A random freak of a few hours where I can't remember anything that I've done so far today. I don't remember waking up, getting ready, or actually going to school. Now that I'm here, I have no idea what has happened in the past three hours. I remember getting here. Walking into school. But after that it's like someone painted black oer my eyes and I have been looking through the eyes of someone else. Someone has been playing a movie in the back of my mind and it has been filming from the outside. I have nothing to live for today. Today is not a good day. I have concluded that so far today sucks. I have done nothing worthwhile, and will most likely go home and be a juvinile delinquent. Thank you and good nigt America.

Tiny Threaded Hearts

sewn into my wrists like the jeans I had when I was little. The pain from ripping them out is the worst, sweetest pain I have ever felt as if it sets off all of the triggers in my brain and wakes me from a deep slumber that I haven't experienced. I cannot deal with the pain only once, but feel the need to experience over and over. It's addicting. The tiny prick of the needle, the grotesque stinging as the thread is dragged through my skin. The look of the thread, white at first, red once it comes out. I love it.
I was always a cutter. But this is a whole new kind of pain, a whole new type of satisfaction.
When I rip these out, it makes a tiny pop sound. The breaking sound of my skin being ripped apart. Oh god, it's so good.
The best parts about all this? It's not as messy as cutting. It feels better. Gives me more time, more ability to concentrate because now I don't have to worry about cleaning up a pool of blood. The thread soaks up most of the blood.
I'll be at this for a while.

Really??

You don't think I could fight you and win?? You don't think I would lay your ass out in front of all your friends and have no remorse about it?? Watch me, bitch... He's on his way down here to fucking fight me and the motherfucker thinks he's gonna fucking win? Watch this shit... I'll kick his ass so hard he won't know what hit him... all he'll know when he wakes up in the hospital was that he just got his ass kicked by a girl that's half his size...He can go fuck himself if he thinks that I'm backin' out of this one... Oh shit...Hell no. Watch me.

Your Heart

can't talk anymore of this and I understand. I've been through times like this before and you've been there with me. I will be here for you. I promise. This is hard, but I know you will be here to get through it. And if, by chance, you cannot, I will be here to be strong for you. It was a rough twenty-four hours and I understand, I was here too. I just want you to know through thick and fucking thin baby girl, I will be here.


My heart goes out to Katie Cheyann Lutz.

Marisa

Thank You for making me feel

Inadequate... You make me feel as if I could be a thousand miles high, only to make me feel like I am missing something useful two seconds later. Thank you for letting me get my hopes up about seeing you, only for you to bail out and not show up. Thank you for telling me you love me all the time and then not acting like it... Thank you. Thank you for showing me that you ARE like all my past boyfriends, just as unreliable and stupid as the rest... Thank you for sticking around when I don't need your comfort and not being there when I do. Thank you. I wish you knew how I really feel about you and acted (at least acted) like you felt the same way. I just want you to know that I meant it when I said "I love you". Now you need to figure out if you mean it too. I really mean that too. Thank you for not sticking up for me when your friend calls me a whore, and saying something when my best friend is joking around. Thank you for being a jerk around your friends, and an sweetheart around mine, just so they won't say anything about it to you. Thank you for making me seem like a liar because I tell my freinds one thing and you act the opposite. Thank you. Thank you for being an asshole, just like almost everyone else in my life, even when you said you wouldn't. I jsut wanted to say Thank you and be entirely glad that you don't have the link to my blog.

What do you call it

when one person loves another and the loved hates the other? Broken? Wasted? Who knows? I'm sorry to all the people who have to deal with this kinda situation and wish the best for you because you deserve it, love. Let him be a dick. Just remember you have other people who carea bout you ten times more tham he ever could.

He said it...

He told me with truth in his voice that he loves me.
He told me he needs me, the same serious tone shattering the glass silence with the ?truth?
I wish I could believe it.
I really do, and I hate myself for not trusting him like I should.

I said it back.
Because I do, and I wouldn't lie about something so heart-breakingly serious. I meant it when I told him I love him.
Thinking about what he said, his exact words make my stomach flutter and my eyes water. If this is how it was supposed to be, then why can't I help but feel like I screwed something up?
I told him I was sorry, because he was dating a screw up. He said he wasn't dating any kind of mistake, screwup or anything like that so there was no reason to apologize.
I wish I knew what I was doing.