i'd really like to jump off a bridge right about now and there happens to be one about a mile or two from me. and this is what i've been thinking about for the last couple weeks. It's easy for other people to tell me to be brave and keep my head up and tell me how strong i am when they don't have to live inside my brain.

i don't even know what scares me the most about doing it... i guess... being more of a disappointment than i already am.

the light

i don't want to be in the light because it only burns; it only illuminates the heaviness that lives beneath my eyes (from a lack of sleep but how do they expect me to sleep with all this fucking light shining on me).

it's so cold and empty and barren inside, under my paperskin, and the brightness beams beneath and fills me... but i can't keep what isn't mine and it hurts more to have something leak through me than never having it to begin with so, please, keep it away from me.

i know what it's like to live in trenches and i know we're all just breathing until the day we don't and we want to know... we have to know why... and i've come to realize that whatever it is (your why) will only ever be yours (and i am not yours even if you were mine) and you can't forcibly change or debate your way into changing someone's why and if you have the audacity to try... well, it doesn't matter much what i'd say to you (does it).

keep your little light (i blew mine out to hide from you).

Goodbye~

Goodbye 2012. You tried really hard to end me, didn't you? Then again, I feel that way about most years. Endings so close they can be tasted don't come along very often. Every breath was held as angels and demons placed bets on my soul, on my strength, on whether or not I had any fight left in me... It's been a long fucking year.

I was scared of you for so long. You bestowed the magic number on me this year. I was certain my demise came with turning 29. Turning 30 scares me even more... Kind of. The idea of living passed her... seems wrong, in a way. Like something in my genetic makeup is determined to end her line. We'll see, I suppose...

This year I learned that family has little to do with the one you're born into. Most people are selfish. Gray hair doesn't look half as bad as I thought it would. It's better to let go of people that don't love you for who you are than to change... you'll always come back around to whoever it is you are... and you'll slowly resent whoever it is that made you change. I'm still really good at bluffing when I'm scared shitless (that's a good card to have up your sleeve if you've been in some of the situations I have). There are people who feel the same way I do about love... that it's a give and take... and that... is the beginning of something amazing.

I fell in love. It wasn't graceful either. I still trip over my words and get tongue-tied. I stutter. Badly. I get butterflies and goosebumps and lumps in my throat and a pit in my chest... and it's wonderful.

If I had a choice to either go back and relive my life sans the tragedy or stay here now... I'd pick here. I'd pick now. I'm almost 30 and I'm just starting to learn how to be who it is I am... and it's hard and it sucks... but at least I have support... and love.

Goodbye 2012, my muse, my friend.

Uneasy~

Writing. Writing. Writing.

It's the only thing tangible I have. It's the only thing left when everything else falls apart. It's the only thing I've to look back on... to remind me...

Today, for the first time in a while, I was severely suicidal. I feel like utter and complete shit. I've worked all day on trying to write a stupid fucking poem and I can't. I don't know what to write about. I don't feel like I understand what's asked of me... or rather... how to put that on paper. I don't know how to translate it. These stupid fucking meters are driving me insane and I am second guessing myself along the way. Ugh.

So here I am, to write, to whine...

This shit is too disgraceful to post on dA.

All I want to do is call you or be with you... have a fucking minute alone to talk to you... and I can't and I don't and I feel like shit because of it.

This goddamned house with paper thin walls and halls that echo because of tiled floors is driving me mad.

I don't believe in myself anymore. I'm so uneasy because I feel like you're going to see it. That thing inside of me that I see. It's not like I can get rid of it... I've tried for years... I'll keep trying for you though. Because it would be good... for us.

What does a promising person such as yourself want with a 29-year-old nothing like me? I can see part of the allure... but only part. I can't see whatever the fuck it is about me that you can. This claim of brilliance, beauty, bravery... I see shambles and 29 years wasted. 

I'm sorry you fell for me.

Maybe that's why they call it falling? Once you're down there's no way back up, only through and out the other side.

Have fun on this wild ride. Maybe you'll learn some new tricks before you finally see just what it is you've bargained for.

I used to want to be a pyro.

I thought I had no reason to maintain this blog seeing as how I've been writing and submitting a shitton on deviantART but someone was gracious enough to bring to my attention that my blog is much more raw than my journal there...

I don't like subjecting others to a "forced" view of my shitty life. I feel like every time I press that submit button I make myself more and more of an attention whore.

I found out recently that people actually want to be depressed. Inspiration and sorts or something... Being clinically depressed... I would have to say anyone that thinks they want this is dead wrong.

Every day I go on and I'm not happy for an hour... or two... or even a minute, I feel like I've failed. Being that I am a perfectionist of sorts and EXTREMELY afraid of failure... it only gives me a reason to beat myself up all the more. All the more.

For fuck's sake a cat scratched my hand and I got depressed and wanted to cut because it triggered me... that burning flesh... that ache in my skin. I wanted more. So much more.

I truly am a special brand of fucked up.

And now you're going to watch with eyes wide to see what's left after the fire. <3

Closed.

I don't want to let you in any more. One by one I resurrect the walls to my cage. I roll into a ball and pull my hair into my face; inhale. I close my eyes and remember. Remember it's ok to feel like this. It's ok to feel.

If only we could feel something more.

She lashes and thrashes about behind the bars in my chest. Out. She wants out. She wants things her way. She's tired of being ignored and pushed down. I know what will happen if I concede.

Sex.
Alcohol.
Starvation.

Little girls can't be reasoned with.

I hate how she cries when she falls. So pathetic. She looks for comfort and someone to bandage her wounds. As though she doesn't realize it's all her fault. If only she could learn from the bitches. Go to the bed she's made and lick her wounds silently.

It is all her fault.
For being silent-

I hate her.

Well then...

It seems he's not the only one to think I pity myself. Joy.

I'm going to do something tomorrow. I don't know what yet... But I'm going to do something.

Fuck everyone.