Why do I sit there and allow myself to be treated this way. When they need help, I give it. Even when I don't want to, I give them the help that they want.
But give somebody one chance and they throw it back in you face. Even though I know better, I let myself think that they won't. I know a lot better now.
Despite the fact that this sounds far too much like a passive-aggressive Facebook post, I need to let this out.
I'm not, however, doing this as catharsis. This is to make sure that I don't give in. I don't need food, and I don't need people.
I need to be famous.
One day I'll be so far removed from this that it will seen like a far off dream.
So unfair, but I'll be better. I won't be cold, I'll be acidic. When next somebody tries me, I will burn them, just as they burn me.
That is a promise.
Monday, October 29, 2012
Caustic
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Broken
Sometimes I think that something must be broken. Some part of my brain that is responsible for controlling myself, perhaps.
It seems like I have to fight just to keep myself in any state for to long. I learn so many things in my psychology class, but none of it has helped me so far.
Maybe my only shortcoming is in my desire to be sick.
Maybe that's a lie.
The most all consuming thing that that I've ever had to deal with is my need to be a part of something. It is a shapeless force that slams into me from every angle. My best defense is my words.
No matter how bad it gets, I have a way out. I don't know if they'll work anymore, but that doesn't mean I can't hope.
I can hope for romance, or inspiration. I can hope for anything, but I have the strangest feeling that it won't matter in the end. The only thing that would help me is oblivion.
I don't think that I can cope with all this stress. I'm just a stupid, needy kid that got dragged into this blaring nonsense that is called life.
I think that I just want attention. I don't know if I would be happier if people were reading this, or if I knew that nobody could get to this.
Whatever, it doesn't even matter; I sound like the biggest whiner in the world anyways.
Thanks for reading.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
The Truth
The truth is: Nothing happens as easily as it does in writing. I've never had the wonderful feeling of letting myself go into the night, black and unending. I'll never know what it's like.
I crave and want, but nothing changes. I've always been able to write, but that has never been able to translate itself into real life.
I know that what I have is good, but I want better. I deserve better.
The funniest part about saying that you deserve something, however, is that by saying it you make it a lie.
I should be able to differentiate between reality and fantasy, but I remain where I am. A stalwart reminder of my inescapable body.
I want the fantasy of snow and ice. Bundling up and waiting out a storm. And when it ends I can meet all of my beautiful, classy friends, and we'll all talk about the latest faux pas in the society pages. I know that it's within my reach. I can make myself into a character from a book, tragic and beautiful. If only I could stop dragging myself down into the real world.
I will stop and be filled by the icy wind that I crave.
I won't freeze, I'll flourish.
I swear.