Struggle.

She said, "It's nice not having to struggle."

But I do. Every minute. Of Every Day.

Flashing Pictures.

What do I do to stop them? The images of taking a nicebigknife, placing it against my arm, dragging it up, back down, until I'm left with nothing but
redarms
..drip
...drip
....drip

Simply sitting after the standardized tests today brought about this
Visualization.
Urge.
Temptation.

I'm scared of what people are saying about the two centimeter long scar forming on my forearm. How could I live with inches of scar trailing up my arm? I'd be hospitalized for sure. People would freak out. I'd be prevented from using the computer.

You know.. it's not a death wish.
I just want to bleed b l e e d prettyredblood.

I'm being strong though. It's been five days since my last cut, which I didn't even like. I haven't gone this long in weeks..months? I forget...

Hollowed.

So she told me that people only need one meal today.
And SHE told me that I need to gain weight, I'm all skin and bones.

But, when I grab my sides, I pull fat away. But, when I look down at my legs, I see poundsandpounds of unnecessary body mass. But, when I pinch my stomach, I tug at layers of fat.

Why do I need to gain weight? Why do I need to eat more? I can settle with the hunger, now. I don't need a snack between breakfast and lunch or lunch and softball. It makes me faster, less wight holding me down. My head floats up to where thoughts don't make sense, past the searing pain behind my eyes. I can manage it now.

So. You can tell me that I'm a skinny girl. You can tell me I need to gain weight. But I will continue pushing and eating when I need to. Not excess. Sorry I made you buy the m&ms. I'll have a few every once in a while, but not like I did. No, I really don't need them.

This is for ME. I don't want to end up like you did. You said you were my weight yearsandyears ago. You let yourself go and you know it. Good for you that you're working hard again, that you lost all that weight and are staying healthy for yourself and your family. But. I'm not going to have to do that because I'm going to STAY healthy. No extra fat for me to work off later in life. I'm just fine now.

Running on Empty.

I seem to be running low on inspiration lately. Every time I try and focus on something, my eyes feel like they're going cross eyed and my head hurts, just behind my eyeballs. Right now, while I'm typing this I'm wanting to turn away and stop because it just hurts.

There's some pressure pushing out, again, and I don't know what it is or how to tame it. There's nothing wrong with me physically, there never is. But when I try to tell my mom that my stomach is in my throat waiting to come out and my head hurts and I'm not hungry and I'm dizzy, she checks my temperature and decides that there's nothing wrong.

What can I make of this?
Well. I'm fine, that's what. I'm healthy and these abnormal issues are made up by my subconscious to show inner struggles?
Sure. We'll go with that.
As my stomach turns now, I want to close my eyes and lay to rest for a nice long while. No rest for the wicked, though.

My problems are mine. I will not tell anyone.
My mouth is sealed. No more harm for them.
I'll contain it here. Behind closed lips, shut eyes.

sunk

Jumbledmess.

I told you my thoughts weren't making sense.
I told you, too.
And they aren't. I can't set them straight so I ignore all of them.
It's safest that way, I think. For me. For you. For them.

Just like it's safer to lie; despite however much I lose in the process. Me? I'm last on the list of importance, everything/everyone is ahead of me.

So I lie for you, I lie for her, I lie for him. It's easier. The fake praising I receive doesn't hurt, they get to be proud of me and I get to continue with life, my way.

Sometimes, I don't think I have a problem at all. No, it's not bad that I constantly visualize cutting up my arm and bleeding out. No, it's not twisted how often I wish I could go cut. No, I don't plan out how I can steal the Red Devil away for a little while. No, I don't have a problem. Right?

I'm not in need of any serious help. I'll be a good little girl and take my medication, go to my appointments. I'll get her sidetracked so we'll talk about school for a little while until I have to go again. She wasn't happy when I shut down and didn't talk, so I'll just keep saying things that make her happy.

These words I'm writing aren't safe. They're not logical and I'm an idiot. I make no sense, there is no reason for me to continue and I. Am. An. Idiot. I fucked up once and it sent me here. Stuck and lost and hurting people.

Puzzle.

Everything's so topsy turvy and disjointed. Nothing fits right to mesh nicely together. Clashing corners collide rather than sit smooth and straight. With each word spoken, a piece of the puzzle is taken away; no longer an opportunity to fulfill its destiny to be whole.

Each piece chipped away falls and implodes on itself, reacting with every little molecule inside. However much want there is to save this small, minuscule particle, it is impossible. They slip between fingers and meet the ground, bonding with the previously disintegrated pieces.

Reality crashes away and molds into some unknown being. Nobody has seen Him before, now they can't escape his grasps. He holds tightly and his grip bruises. He causes pain upon their arms and their souls. Damaged permanently.

Humanity no longer conforms to the morals set by their ancestors. Twisted ideas create destruction in minds which previously skipped freely in fields of creativity and happiness.

What can be done to release the grip of this unknown being? How can we escape? How can we find our way back to the top? I don't know. I can try try try beg please hope that the puzzle can reform itself to the new circumstances but I can't do anything else. I can't. I try hope beg plead, but I can't. It's all up to this puzzle.

Realize.

Forget the darkness and leave the static. Embrace the light we used to shine and remember the warmth we emanate.

Push. Again. Harder now.

My insides are pushing out.
Pulsating and throbbing.
Aching and twisting.
They want out but I hold them down.

Everything's taking a turn.
Pushing against me.
Pushing against the insides pushing out.

Pressure builds up and nobody can hit the release.
Slowly it increases.
One atmosphere at a time.
A little bit now.
More later.
More to come tomorrow.
MORE NOW.

Why does your problem have to become mine?
Why does everything get thrown on me?
I can't take it all, I'm sorry. I'm not a sponge.
I don't absorb and then you can just wash me out.
I'm not reusable.


It's already taking a toll on me. I can feel it.
Weakness creeps up and pushes against anything in its way.

OnlysolonguntilIcrumble.

Water.

Slipping.
Falling.
Drowning.
Pushed off from the weight of expectations.
Attached to my leg are hopes and dreams, set up for failure; dragging me down.
Under the current, my arms and legs sway helplessly.
Attempts to breathe hindered by the pressure of the water.
Gulps fill my stomach, my lungs, my insides.
Scratching my throat and burning my eyes.
The weight of failure pulls me down, further, further into the darkness.
Light slips behind the cliff.
Darkness surrounds me.
Cold water piercing my skin.
Shivers felt at first slowly fade as water takes control.
Body temperature lowers.
Finger movement decreases.
Arm movement halts.
Eyesight fades.
Movement impossible.
Hypothermia takes over.
Crushed beneath expectations.
Drowned by hopes.
Underwater.
Stuck.
Frozen.

Purposeful

Is the purpose of these blogs to frighten others?
Make them worry and fret and lose sleep?
That's all I see happening from them.

Shiver.

Now, it's my turn to be cold for no reason.
Goosebumps riding along my skin, poking and piercing.
It's not a cold down to the core, but rather one on the surface.
Showing up occasionally that I'm not warm, that I can't be warm without her.

Sorry, this is me complaining.

I've come to the realization that I'm just here to be used.

People throw their worry at me, their concern. But humans, some at least, need to feel this way. So, maybe I create problems for them to worry about. Who knows.

People see past me, they don't need to care so they don't.

People give me fake hugs. Hugs with no meaning.

People share fake smiles with me. With eyes that are blocked shut by the invisible wall separating me from the rest of the world.

People leave me out. They don't even fucking bother inviting me, then proceed to talk about their plans right in front of my face. Thanks for ruining my fucking day, "friends".

People tell me to do things. I'll comply, they know that. I can't say no.

People expect certain things from me. I can't stray from my norm, or something's wrong. I can't take a longer time in my bathroom, or I'm cutting. I can't eat any less food, or I'm anorexic. I can't complain about feeling like I'm going to throw up, I have the flu. I can't go to bed early, I'm depressed.




So, wall me up. Shut me in. I'll be the perfect girl in the pretty little glass box for the world to use as they please.

Push.

I push you.
You push back.
Push.
Force.
Equals out.
Cancels out.
We end up making zero.
There's ground zero with us.
The ruins haven't been cleared;
no saviors for the fallen.

No.

Why can't I stop trying? Why does everything take so much effort?
I'm running low on energy, dear. It's diminishing and fading slowly and I can't fight for the part of you that wants to survive anymore.

I'm so tired. I know you are too, but how much longer can we pushandshove before it all caves in?

Just... wow.

So I know not many people read this, but that's not a big deal. This is, though.


Huge news, you know? An entire two fucking months. How did we get this far? These last two months have been some of the best and worst days of my life. Tiana. She's simply amazingly lovely beautiful and she's made my life worth living. She fills my heart with lovely little flutters that fly to my face and fill my eyes with joy and pull on my cheeks forming the smile she loves.

I just, can't believe she loves me. I mean. ME? How? And I believe it, but still. It's shocking and gives me joy. She's in my thoughts all day, and I fall asleep hoping to dream lovely dreams about her. [Wow, I need a thesaurus.. I keep saying lovely. There aren't any other words to describe her and everything about her, though.]

The longing in my heart wants her, all the time and this fucking distance doesn't allow it to happen. It's just simply not fair.

I love her.
She loves me.
We've spent two months being in love with each other.
From that night where I opened my heart to foreign feelings.
To today where we spend hours saying beautiful things to each other.
I love her.

Her eyes.

I've told her many times before, but they're like the shimmery surface of a crystal clear ocean, sprinkled with tropical green fish darting in and out of the seaweed. Absolutely breathtaking and gorgeous, they're captivating.

The day when I get to gaze into them, holding her close to me, will be the day I'll know I made it. We made it. Together. With each other. Together. We will have made it.

The day I glance into her eyes and see her soul through the bluesandgreens. When our hearts touch and I can love her. Love her for that day, for the days following, and the years following those days. It will be great, her and I together. I know it.


I love her. Now and forever.

Woops.

I've really fucked things up, haven't I. I don't need to ask that with a question mark; it's more of a statement we all know is true but I haven't admitted to it yet.

So, where do I go from here? Shove everything under and be happy? Because I don't know how to do that. There's this nagging behind my eyelids and a tugging in my throat, and things are pushingharderandharder to come out, but I shovethemaway because that's what I know how to do. When I let them slip through the cracks, ease the pain that I supposedly don't have, I get called selfishbitchyrude. Maybe I don't have a horrible life. Maybe things aren't all that bad for me. Maybe people love me. That's enough for me to be happy, isn't it?

Itshouldbe. But maybe it's not. And maybe it's all my fault because I'm oh so special that I can give up fighting for one stupid night and endeverything. I didn't though. LOOK AT ME. I'm still here. Look at my words, I'm typing right now. They're coming out of my fingertips which survive off the blood coming from my stillbeating heart, powered by my brain which is still thinkingturningconnecting. I'm still here. Okay?

Please just, enough. I know I'm horrible for wanting to die and not giving a shit about how many people I'd take with me. It all ends up in a horrible game of Dominoes.
Tap.
hit you.
you're gone too.
byebye to you too.

One
after
another
after
another.

Too many and I can't be responsible for that. How the hell am I supposed to survive under this stress? But, I can't give in, either.

I'm stuck, as she said. And I can't escape. Frozen. I need her warmth. But, how long until I get hypothermia. How long until the blood leaves my typingfingers, slows my stillbeatingheart, stops my thinkingturningconnecting brain? How long can I survive here?


Too many questions, nobody knows the answers.

Wait it out, deal with it for now, just wait and see. Things will get better from here; they have to.

BusRide

Orange and pink and blue and purple watercolors painted across the heavens. Blended together to form the rising sun's playground. No two seconds the same, the colors constantly distorting each other to accommodate ti the sun's evergowing strength.

HAH

April Fools, right?
All one big joke.
No need to besad no need to wanttodie. Just a joke.
Okay? It's all a joke.
All over now, I'll be FINEgreatexcellentlovelyperfecthappy.

Hahaahaha. Let's crylaugh about it, that one night when I wanted to die. It was a JOKE, an early April Fools Day joke. Let's cryslowtearsLAUGH.

Hehe. Yay! Life's perfect.