Remember when Mrs. Hartzle told us that if we have writer's block, to just write like mad? No paragraphs, no nothing but words? Well, I have writer's block, I guess. I just can't get into writing. So here I go.

I've been listening to this song called "The Stranger" by A Perfect Circle, which is quickly becoming one of my all-time favorite bands. I must say that I can relate. Toward the end, I interpret the message as saying that he'd even be friends with a tornado if it would just stay with him. I feel so lonely at times. Hell, if I wasn't so emotionally attached to every last thing this world had to offer, I'd be friends with a tornado.

That's another thing that bugs the hell out of me. When I see a progress report or my mail in the garbage... It feels like no one ever gave a fuck that I even existed. Which could be the case, but quite frankly, I'm too naive to think about it too much. (lol Ignorance is bliss).

Yes, I'm putting paragraphs. I'd go insane if I didn't.

I did my laundry today, but not so much because it was dirty as much as it was because I just didn't like how the sheets felt. They kind of annoyed me.

Am I insane? The sheets had a vendetta against me? Hah! No no. I guess maybe my cats lying on them just made them really, really stiff.

Though I do believe that I have something the fuck wrong with me. I have an alter ego that I'm sure everone who'd read this blog (or even know about it for Christ's sake!) knows about already. Well, I like to consider her the core of all my wisdom, but not all of it really.... Just wisdom beyond my years.

I do realize that something odd is going on about me. I feel the strings of fate, this river we call existence, twisting and binding. I can virtually feel my life binding and swiring, a soul within the Lifestream. I'm not even on acid, but I can just feel things happening that I shouldn't even be aware of.

I can see something happen, like watch Chris collect chain, and I can sense that he's going to use THAT NICKLE for a certain soda. I can tell that he forgot a quarter on the desk, but I never even saw that quarter. I know that there's a missing shirt I never saw but he's going to tell me in an hour that one is missing. I can hear him thinking that he has to put this there and that here. And then, just as quickly as this happened, the string guiding my fate unbinds from his thoughts, and I'm back flowing down the Lifestream.

I don't believe in psychics and shit anymore. I think there's a bigger picture to it. Perhaps we are controlled by Fate. Perhaps some of us just get a glimpse of the future and that's it. I just know that there's no way someone can control this. Perhaps my great-grandmother, but there will never be someone like her. Certainly not me. Everyone that said I'd amount to something was wrong. I'm doing my own thing and going down my own path.

Usually, in the winter, I see the restless spirits. Autumn too. In summer, it's clairvoyence. The sudden, "Oh, God, I have to do this because I know this will happen and blah blah blah." And it's much stronger than seeing shit that others can't. It's just in my gut, and this, whatever you want to call it, actually is the sixth sense. I can't describe it. It's just.... another sense.... registering to my brain....

I mean, if you SEE a train coming your way, your brain says to your medulla, "MOVE!" When you HEAR a car honking, you hear your brain say to your consciousness, "YOU'RE IN THE WAY!" When you FEEL cold, your brain tells you, "PUT ON A JACKET!" Well, I don't know the proper verb, so I'll use the generic form, sense, to say that sometimes I SENSE something and my brain says, "MOVE" or "PUT THAT THERE" or "SAY SORRY".

Okay, the last was a lie. I do feel emotions I can't explain and I am very sensitive to other people's emotions. I don't think that accounts for diddlysquat though. I mean, yeah, someone will say, "How did you know I was going to cut myself?" or "How did you know I was having a rough day?" or "You came just at the right time. I was going to kill myself." Yes, I have made a phone call or two that stopped someone from killing his/herself just because I somehow knew they were in trouble, but whatever. That's not enough to say I'm special.

Zack hurt his paw. It saddens me greatly, because I fear it's because he did it himself. I could never be a mother. I mean, I just did what I promised I'd never do as a mother - the ONE thing I didn't want to do. I didn't want to have to leave my babeh to the point he got depressed and hurt himself. I mean, I'm not saying that he did it to himself, but it's a very real possibility. I don't spend that much time with Zack.

So I can't be a mother, huh? I'd just fuck up my kid.

I'm pretty hungry v_v

I haven't eaten all day. I haven't been eating much at all, period. I'm just tired all the time, and I can't sleep at night, and I just want to lie around and sleep all day. When I get up to actually do something, I just get sad and want to lie back down, pretend everything is okay when it's not, and die. Yush, die. That'd be easy. Just lie in a coffin, dead.

Oh, and for future reference

I do not want to be buried, if that's too much to ask. I am horrified by the idea that I could wake up. And when you say, "BUT ALL THE PRESERVATIVES THEY PUT IN YOU!" I bring up my next point. No preservatives. I'm going to end up the same way everyone else does. I'm going to be wormfood.

And I don't exactly wanna be cremated, either. I'm scared I'll still be alive and end up being one of those horribly malevolent spirits that wander crematories and hurt people and stalk them and give them bad luck. Fuck that shit. I've seen too many, dealt with too many...



I was lifting heavy boxes for this church's food pantry today. They were pretty heavy and I'm pretty sore. Then again, I'm kind of sure a mixture of sadness, PMS and my pills are making me sore as well. I've considered quitting the pill a number of times, but to be honest, I feel worse when I have three periods a month and have severe depression ALL the time.

I have a few secrets I've been keeping. I like it when people brush my hair. I really do. I love the sensation more than most anything in the world. I actually feel genuine love from it because it's so rare that anyone does it to me. And I love it when someone plays with my hair. That was one of the reasons I let it grow out so long. I hoped that people would want to touch it more because it was long... but as it turns out, my long = more theory was incorrec, and no one touches me affectionately anymore.

But yeah... I don't know. My mother would have ten cows if I said I was depressed, but honestly, yeah. I'm never really hungry and I couldn't care less what happens to my body. Hell, if I wasn't so scruppulous, I'd jump out in front of a car on Main Street and collect money for it so Chris could his medical bill. Of course, that poor victim would have to pay it, whether it be because he's uninsured or his car insurance spiked...

It's my fault, anyway, that Chris has that bill. *sigh* I didn't want to do it, but that doesn't take the guilt away. Do you know how many times I had to say, "Chris, I'll call someone!" ? I was terrified that it was a bad decision... I felt so helpless... I mean, was I the only person that knew? And I was so lucky to have his address. I mean, the cop on the other line was all, "Oh come on. This is bullshit." He didn't believe me when I said, "DO SOMETHING!" "Ma'am, that's so far away. Are you sure? I mean, does he even have the means to kill himself?"

BAH! Does anyone have any idea how easily ANYTHING can be used to kill oneself? Gawd. I can go in any given room and find at least five ways to kill myself, including an empty one. Stupid fucking... ugh....

I don't know. I don't know what to do anymore. Is that why I have writer's block? Am I too depressed? No, no. I used to write beautifully BECAUSE I was depressed. It's because I'm suffering from.... depression.... I just have no life left in me. I have beautiful ideas somewhere, but they won't surface.

Hah. I'm too sad to even think.

I can't even explain it. I just.... have no energy... Living seems like it takes too much energy. Why eat? It's pointless. Everything is pointless. Dying is pointless, too, when you think about it. I mean, you just did all of that for nothing? Ate all that food that those Ethiopian kids needed and you fucking jumped out a window? Come on now. And everyone will be so fucking sad because you're gone.

I wanted to be a writer when I grew up. Actually, when I was about three years old, I was pretty good at drawing. I couldn't draw now like I did back then. I drew whales. I found them so awe-inspiring. I could stare at my drawings for hours, and I evoked emotion in all of my friends. I just.... I wanted to do that! Then my nanny told me over and over, "Your drawings aren't good enough. You can't be an artist. They don't make money. You're not good enough. You can't do it." Yeah, because I wanted to be an artist RIGHT THEN. Well, she beat me over the head with all that shit, and I gave up on the one thing that made me so fucking happy. I remember I'd sit there at the drawing board, and she wouldn't let me draw. SHE WOULDN'T LET ME. I cried my heart out, but she wouldn't let me. I watched everyone else draw. Hell, even she drew in front of me. She'd draw shitty buttercups or something, three triangles together. "Why can't you draw like the other kids?" she'd say. I'd say nothing because I knew I'd seriously regret it later.

Then I wrote my first story not long after that. I still loved whales. I loved mermaids, too. I didn't let my nanny see them. God no. I let everyone else see them, and they'd cheer me on. Not as good as my drawings, but still awesome. I worked on them, sculped them, made them amazing.

I remember I daydreamed a lot when I was little. My nanny would always lock me in her room, alone. I could always hear Larry playing outside the room, but she always insisted that I needed a nap. Whatever, it was thinking time. I didn't nap. I just thought a lot. For hours straight. And when you're little, you don't have a lot to think about, so I developed a powerful imagination, and I daydreamed. I'd think about stories I'd eventually want to write. Most of them used Zelda characters, because I loved Zelda. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen in my life. And I crushed on Link, too. I'd imagine this island... and switching dimensions... I'd imagine having superpowers...

Anyway, in Florida, they really emphasized writing. That was probably why I've always been good in school. I was lucky at the beginning. I wrote beautiful stories. Well, no. Morbid. I loved Kung-Fu Lady. Every week we had to write a short story, so I made really long short stories that were a series about this martial artist with a sissy boyfriend that had to fight all kinds of weird aliens.... And the kids loved it when I presented it.

So I always was good in school so I could live up to my expectations. I used to be pretty good at math, but moving all the time really crippled it. It was that thing you built on and built on, and I was missing pieces. Still, I figure it out pretty quickly.

You know what always brought me down? I always wished I could do more. All of my friends in middle school would talk about being in clubs and sports. I really wanted to do drama. I could be an awesome actress.... Everyone talks about how good I am at that and how pretty I am.... but the teacher hated me and I had no way to go back and forth all the time. Sucks having one parent, eh? You only really live half your life...

Anyway, I've wanted to be a writer ever since I gave up being an artist. I didn't know it... I just fucking loved writing.

My nanny's husband, Billy, was an amazing person. I loved him. When he was around, everything was okay. She couldn't be mean anymore. Of course, we hardly got to see him. But Billy always boosted my self-esteem. He told me I'd have long, beautiful blonde hair and be so pretty. He told me that I could be a supermodel when I grew up. I was always tall... He told me I'd be able to be a young supermodel... and it made me happy.

Of course, my nanny would make sure to chop off all of my hair soon after. She liked making me look like a boy.

If she wasn't chopping my hair off, she was having me run around naked on the beach or wear short shorts, especially boxers. Beautiful.

I always like it when someone even hints at interest in my stories. "What genre do you write?" would fucking make me jump off the wall. I like to imagine, sometimes, conversations that would come up. I used to keep a book about my books.... I know it's stupid, but I was so fucking sad. I was feeling so worthless.... Everything I did, no one cared about. I mean... Come on... I could be farming dirt and at least people would say, "Nice dirt. Looks fertile" every once in a while.

That was probably why I liked Keegan so much. He liked what I did. He asked for more. He told me how to improve and he told me what he liked. He genuinely cared, or at least he put a lot of fucking time and effort into pretending he did.

The night I was going to kill myself, I remember, he saved my fucking life. And after that, he asked me for what I was writing. I KNEW he only skimmed it, but I didn't fucking care.

And hell, I kinda feel that way right now. Go ahead and ask a half-assed question. "What era does it take place in?" Don't even wait for me to answer; you can go ahead and doze off. It made me a little bit happier.

This whole blurt it out bullshit is helping. Haha.

I just know that no one will make it this far lol. Especially since no one has come to this blog in a long friggin while. I really hate MySpace, but honestly, no one seems to care about my opinion. I really do prefer email. But that's too much to ask of people - to open up a separate window or tab to access their email and open my message. That'd take too long, you know? Though I know that if I found someone that would answer their emails half as much as I do, then I'd send that fucker so many emails and they'd probably end up being my best friend. Well, not as close as my other friends. I love my friends.... MySpace addicts or not.

I really do miss my friends in Ohio. i wish they'd come visit me. I can't go there.

I really do hate lying to my mother all the time. I don't even seem sad to her. I mean, it bothers the hell out of me that Larry's gotten to bitch his way into two trips to Ohio... and get clothes AND money for the trips...

I really need new clothes. I haven't dones serious clothes shopping in the longest time...

and he doesn't even do anything for anyone v_v

I hate his friends. They come over, drink all the sodas, eat all of the food, leave a huge mess...

Probably the two things that piss me off the most are seeing Larry's shoes sitting in the middle of the floor and seeing all of his shit everywhere. Yes, we live in a small house, but that doesn't mean every room is your closet or bedroom. I have a hard time too, but you don't see me leaving my shit everywhere. And no, no, you aren't tripping on my shoes. You're not falling down the fucking stairs on my blankets that you're too lazy to bring up to your room, which, by the way, is right next to the staircase, right in the same room where you slept, you lazy motherfucker.

I want to kill myself. I want to get away from it all.

I don't feel like anyone loves me. I mean, yeah, I have a best friend that sees me all the time and lets me cry on his shoulder. But I feel so very wounded whenever I try to open up to him. I talk to him. Gawd do I TALK. But I don't open up. Everything is generic.

Which is probably another reason I have writer's block. I'm so bottled up that I have blockage.

I'm sick of physical. I can only take so many playful "palm-face"'s and pokes and shoves. I am not a physical person to be perfectly honest. I like hugs and being close, but in all, I like being cold and alone in a way. I want to be physical when there's affection. Otherwise it's like the other person is trying to say, "I hate you but I'm too nice to say anything, so I'll pull an ole Abe on ya."

And I want to go to sleep. I want to sleep forever....

Perhaps I am a caged bird. Perhaps my childhood of abuse is where I belong. Maybe I like not liking being physical just so I can feel the abuse again.

I am sad now v_v

And I hate myself.

I fucked over the one person I care about most. I mean really fucked over. Not like, "I told his parents this" or "he might lose his job over that" but a lifelong rape up his ass and it's all my fucking fault.

You know, there was one time where I actually considered killing myself to help him out? Problem is, life insurance doesn't cover suicide. I'd either have to try really hard to get in some sort of accident that killed me (in which case someone might really feel bad for being my victim in helping me) or I'd have to kill myself in a way that didn't look like suicide at all. That's pretty fucking hard.

Also, I'm scared that if I try, someone somewhere will fuck it up for me and I'll end up paralyzed everywhere or I'd end up in a mental institution. If I tried, I'd make sure I pulled through... or at least made it so no fucking stranger would stop me.

I just don't feel like anyone loves me anymore. I feel like everyone either wants me to die or they just don't care if I'm alive or dead. I mean, Chris might care, but if I arranged so that he got whatever money wasn't used on my.... not-funeral, whatever they set up for me... then he'd be okay, and he'd move on. He'd go find a girl that could make him fucking happy, pay off quite a bit if not all his medical bill... get all that shit he needed to move out... He'd be pretty happy, no? And I want him to be happy...

Well great. I managed to make myself even sadder. Maybe I should kill myself. Secretly. Successfully.

I'd like to know where my god is. He sure likes to play games.

I miss my dad. I miss Billy. They'd tell me what to do.

And I miss my Ohio friends. Tabatha and Emma and Kelly always knew what to say. They'd make me feel better... forever... and Keegan too... They'd say the most perfect things...

Dobra and Bettyann and Rachel and Ali... I just... They don't make me happy...

And Chris needs me to be strong for him.

So I guess I'll finish this up. I'll be strong for him. And maybe I'll think this alternative plan through a bit more...

Right now. I am blogging.

I want YOU to roleplay on that one roleplay.

And I would like a hug.

Just for the record....

 

I blogged.

Our Farewell
(Within Temptation)

In my hands
A legacy of memories
I can hear you say my name
I can almost see your smile
Feel the warmth of your embrace
But there is nothing but silence now
Around the one I loved
Is this our farewell?

Sweet darling you worry too much, my child
See the sadness in your eyes
You are not alone in life
Although you might think that you are

Never thought
This day would come so soon
We had no time to say goodbye
How can the world just carry on?
I feel so lost when you are not at my side
But there is nothing but silence now
Around the one I loved
Is this our farewell?

Sweet darling you worry too much, my child
See the sadness in your eyes
You are not alone in life
Although you might think that you are

So sorry your world is tumbling down
I'll watch you through these nights
Rest your head and go to sleep
Because my child, this is not our farewell.
This is not our farewell.

Angels on the sideline,
Puzzled and amused.
Why did Father give these humans free will?
Now they're all confused.

Don't these talking monkeys know that
Eden has enough to go around?
Plenty in this holy garden, silly monkeys,
Where there's one you're bound to divide it.
Right in two.

Angels on the sideline,
Baffled and confused.
Father blessed them all with reason.
And this is what they choose.
And this is what they choose...

Monkey killing monkey killing monkey
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs,
They forge a blade,
And where there's one
they're bound to divide it,
Right in two.
Right in two.

Monkey killing monkey killing monkey.
Over pieces of the ground.
Silly monkeys give them thumbs.
They make a club.
[Right In Two lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com]

And beat their brother, down.
How they survive so misguided is a mystery.

Repugnant is a creature who would squander
the ability to lift an eye to heaven,
conscious of his fleeting time here.

Cut it all right in two
Cut it all right in two
Cut it all right in two
Cut it all right in two

Fight over the clouds, over earth, over canyon
They fight for our love, for our blood, over heaven,
Fight over love, over sun,
over nothing, they fight till they die,
and for what? For their lives ending.

Angels on the sideline again.
Benched along with patience and reason.
Angels on the sideline again
Wondering when this tug of war will end.

Cut it all right in two
Cut it all right in two
Cut it all right in two

RIGHT IN TWO!

Right in two...

So I'm spending the night at Bettyann's house after, of course, hanging out in NYC with her.

 

I'm horrified she'll kill herself.

 

That's my only problem.

Sooo..... Guess who was cheating on me when we were going out? Yup.... I have to tell her boyfriend, too...

Barb's a happy person, however. She has an amazing guy ^_^

Play dead again. It just might stop before the end.
If I pretend you may not see the pain I'm in.
So close to me, can't tell what I'm supposed to be.
Don't stop to breathe, can't bear to think what you might see.
This tourniquet, these blessed hands around my head
So I can keep from...

Bleeding.
I've got to find a way to stop before it starts.
Finding its way through my veins right to my heart.
I never thought it something everyone could see.
And it kills within me.

CHORUS:
I won't, I won't leave without a trace.
I won't be erased.

It's in my head, I can't forget what you once said.
The words I read, the fractured soul that I can't mend.
Right here with me, killing the void I used to be.
Remembering through fading sparks of memory.
Two broken hands lift seven wounds and fight to stand
To keep the lungs from..

Caving.
I've got to find a way to stop before it starts.
Finding its way through my veins right to my heart.
I never thought it something everyone could see.
And it kills within me.

(CHORUS)

Turning. It's moving. Escaping right through me.
I care not. I bleed not. For you I believe not.
I play dead.

If you get more than 30 I strongly recommend some counseling!

IF you get more than 20 you’re paranoid.

If you get 10-20 then u are normal.

If you get 10 or less you’re fearless.

People who don’t have any are full of shit!

I Fear…

[x] the dark
[] being a parent
[x] giving birth
[] being myself in front of others
[] open spaces
[] closed spaces
[] heights
[] black cats
[x] dogs
[] birds
[] fish
[x] spiders
[] flowers or other plants
[] being touched
[] fire
[] deep water
[] lakes
[] silk
[] the ocean
[x] failure
[] success
[] thunder/lightning
[] frogs/toads
[] my boyfriends/girlfriends dad
[] my boyfriends/girlfriends mom
[] mice/rats
[] jumping from high places
[] snow
[] rain
[] wind
[] crossing hanging bridges
[x] death
[] heaven
[] being robbed
[] falling
[x] clowns
[] large crowds of people
[] men
[] women
[] having great responsibilities
[] doctors, including dentists
[] tornadoes
[] hurricanes
[x] incurable diseases
[] snakes
[] sharks
[] Friday the 13th
[x] ghosts
[] Halloween
[] school
[] trains
[] odd numbers
[] even numbers
[x] being alone
[x] becoming blind
[x] becoming deaf
[x] growing up
[] monsters under my bed
[x] creepy noises in the night
[]bee stings
[] not accomplishing my dreams/goals
[] needles
[] blood
[x] dinosaurs if they were alive
[] the welcome mat
[] high speeds
[] throwing up
[] falling in love