(no subject)
What are you supposed to do when the one person you want to help more than anyone
tells you that you make it worse?
I have been told many unpleasant things in my life,
but few that bothered me as much as this does.
sigh.
I can't even say I'm sorry.
These things are not best seen on myspace, so I'm putting these entries in here so that I can't forget them.
September 10th:
Sometime,
someone will ask you a question you can't answer.
You don't want to answer
because you don't know.
You don't know why.
You can't even begin to fathom why.
Can't form the words.
Nothing comes. Nothing.
And then you'll wonder,
why this exist in the first place.
If there is no why, no rhyme
or reason
then why is it happening,
why is it existing?
Why does this "condition" destroy you?
Why do you let it control your actions, your thoughts, and generally,
your life?
And then you can't answer that why either.
So you're back,
why does it exist?
Some day you will realize that some of us are artists
but very few of us are art
because humanity is slipping beneath a red curtain.
It will no longer rear its "ugly" head
There will not be anything left to stop the violence and the killing
and the hatred and the disgust.
November 10th:
Lately, I have felt as if people are expecting too much help from me, too much attention, too much time, and too much of my energy. It seems like everyone has something going on right now, and as much as I want to help, I really can't. I have so much going on right now with my financial issues and trying to get everything caught up for school so I don't fail the semester and lose my financial aid. And I feel like worrying about all of that before everyone else makes people think I'm a bad person. Or worse, a bad friend. I once heard, or read, can't remember which, that just because someone might have a "worse" situation certainly doesn't mean that your problems are trivial. I really don't think there is better or worse in some categories. There are just bad situations. Period. I am so tired of hearing some people complain about the same things and not doing anything about them that it has just gotten to the point where I find myself feeling incredibly apathetic towards the person's situation. It's not really something I can control or choose. I guess it's just how my mind works. When people want something to happen, and then don't do a damn thing, or do them at the right time, to fix their situation, then my empathy and sympathy modes just gets completely turned off and annoyed and I don't want to hear it anymore. This isn't to say that everyone that comes to me with their problems or complaints is included in this, because that isn't the case. It's only a small few, and if you're taking the time to read this, it really probably isn't you.
But anyway, I'm also tired of people using their situation and trying to get everyone involved, including the person's closest friends, when really, they probably don't want to hear it or get involved. People need to deal with their issues and talk to the person that they have issues with instead of trash talking the person to all of their friends and trying to get their assistance. A discussion of the adults involved needs to happen and it needs to happen at the right time. They should also try thinking about how the other person looks at the situation and what their level of maturity is in relation to their own.
That's all I'm saying.
November 5th:
The 2008 election was the first presidential election I was able to vote in.
Of course, I voted for change.
I voted for Barack Obama.
I voted for the first African American president.
And I voted for the first democratic candidate that Virginia has elected since 1964.
This has been the first time in my life that I haven't been ashamed to say that I am an American. I have a new restored faith in the American people and I can only hope that this is the beginning of a new era.
While African Americans may have the right to vote, while segregation may not exist anymore, there is still the issue of race in America.
McCain had to defend his opponent at his own rallies because of the racist comments and slurs being shouted in reference to Obama.
People are afraid of change, afraid of things they don't understand.
This is the main reason for racism, homophobia, and
religion.
Fear.
Already I've heard comments about how everyone will be testing Obama, attacking the U.S.
America is "socialist"
do any of you making such accusations even know what socialism is?
I sincerely doubt it.
The anti-christ?
Really?
I'm appalled at the ignorance that still exists in this country.
African American men have had the right to vote since 1870.
Yet we're still throwing color into politics.
I've heard McCain supporters say that the only reason Barack Obama won was because all the "blacks" voted for him.
It took us this long to get an African American into office and instead of raving about the history that was made, we're accusing a race of people of voting for someone because of their color.
How many McCain supporters voted for McCain simply because Obama was black?
How hypocritical is it to say that African Americans voted for Obama because he is black when plenty republicans voted against him for the exact same reason.
This victory is a huge accomplishment for this country
but there is still work to be done. Still racial barriers and racist mindsets to be broken. This battle has not ended, it is still raging
but the people have spoken.
And our United States president is Barack Obama.
October 22nd:
A Mushroom Cloud In Wait
And once again, I feel trapped.
In a learning institution where the average IQ of the average student is probably
around 110 or less.
And once again, it comes down to money.
Money and corruption may be at the root of the "American Dream"
but it can prevent people from accomplishing their goals. American or not.
I am accomplishing even less at BRCC than I accomplished in high school
and that's saying quite a bit. Too much.
I want to write and I feel like I'm losing motivation to do so.
I can't even write about something I'm fascinated by: Albert Fish.
I have a paper due on him in November.
And I've gotten a rough introduction done so far.
It's terrifying.
I feel like I'm losing my ability,
despite the encouragement I have received.
A close friend recently said that he needs to change something
he's a writer, too.
And he hasn't been writing either.
Change is what is needed, but what kind?
It seems to be that people can only write well when they're in distress.
Angry, melancholy, depressed, etc.
Why is happiness such a hard thing to describe?
Not really describe, even.
Just to write about, and make it sound good.
Make it sound how we want it to, and how we feel.
Why can we only write when we want to tear someone's eyes out
or rip our own hearts out because it's bleeding from our mouths.
The epidemic of the human race.
Pandemic really.
We're destroying each other.
With words, weapons, bombs, and endless cruelty.
It's a travesty, but it will probably never end.
And I'm not sure what's worse.
The fact that it happens or the fact that we as human beings will never evolve enough
to
just
fucking
stop.
Anyway, I started this to be selfish for a minute.
to bitch about my own lack of talent recently.
And the fact that I feel surrounded by people that will
never amount to more than a speck on a mushroom.
Give me something to hope for. Stop disappointing me.
Fucking teach me something.
I'm tired of reiteration.
I know how to write a paper, damnit.
Give me something worth writing about.
Make me feel something.
Make me have an opinion.
Let me write about opinions I already have.
Let me demonstrate the fact that I don't need this bullshit to get anywhere.
I know the difference between "you're" and "your"
I know what a noun is.
Give
me
something.
A challenge.
An opportunity to demonstrate.
Tell me something I don't already know.
Ask me something I don't fucking know the answer to.
I'm tired of knowing all the answers, all the time.
I'm supposed to be growing.
And all I'm growing is bored.
Give
me
something
else.
God damnit.
Mouth On Skin and Certainty
If we are all so lost
how can we expect to find each other
we don't even know where our own heads are
we take nothing lightly
and every breath is dramatic and
means something because
it really doesn't mean anything
so we will continue to lose control
with each other
in the cool night air until
something more
meaningful but meaningless
comes along
the movement in the dark
is nothing short of soft violence
and the battle can be heard from everyone nearby
they don't approve
and they don't understand
but they keep their aching silence
It will not last forever
but it is only needed now
and it will keep its meaning
as meaningless in a place where
meaning doesn't matter anymore
nothing is ever certain until there
is mouth on skin and
skin on mouth
and there is no
control
and everything goes blank
and everything left is lost
if only for an hour.
September 21st:
I am going to psycho-analyze myself, Dr. Freud
I am fucked
In every
way
shape
form.
And I fuck you because sometimes I hate you
I fuck you because I need the solace
the comfort
the distraction
the attention
the escape.
I need something to feel wanted, valuable
Alive.
Because these days everything is about is about how
attractive each is
And I subconciously buy into that
because
they
drill it
into
our skulls.
And it never stops
until we stop it
therefore, it will never cease.
Because we are all fucked
up.
So then this may mean that no one is really fucked up
because then we're all just "normal"
normally fucked up.
The normal
are the
fucked
September 17th:
And now I will, I can
finally
be able
to
say
She is gone
So far away
That I can barely realize she isn't here.
Only once in a life did I speak a harsh word regarding her
and never again.
She is the only person
Who has earned
that love
and respect and she is the only
one who held the trust that needed to be held by someone who mattered.
It is as if half of my body is gone, I miss her more terribly than I have ever felt anything.
She embodied everything in the world
that meant love and peace, and kindness
honesty
virtue
spirit
everything good in the world,
in her.
And she was in it.
She was it.
I love her, will always love her, have always loved her
and will never
ever
forget who she was, who she is, and who she will be.
This is the best goodbye I can give,
a mustering of words because words are what I
use
to
live.
And what I'll use to let her live on in everything I do.
Rest in peace, Ruth Elizabeth Harrell
August 5th:
I Do(n't) Mind
with long autumn hair
and the waves of the sea
the view is that of an ethereal forest
outside of a castle that hasn't been occupied in ages
you want this
and you feel as if it's yourself.
but you're not sure if you want it to escape from
what has become
and what will come again.
There are things you should have
said.
And things you should have done,
and you knew it all along but
you couldn't move
couldn't breathe
couldn't speak
and now it doesn't matter
because it doesn't care.
excuses, excuses
this is how we live our lives
place the blame on everyone else
or put too much on ourselves
and nothing ever comes out the way it should.
We claim we don't want to hurt anyone
but everyone is always hurt in the end.
Someone always
falls
so maybe you'll bury yourself in a book
about life and its philosophy
and philosophy and its life
and everything might come out looking different
but it's only because you convinced yourself
that that's the way to be
We give what we will meaning
and meaning it will have
until something new comes along
and the past won't matter anymore
until the future goes away and we'll dwell on the past
because that's all that's left.
May 15th:
I Don't Care For Myself
(The title is a Placebo reference, for the love of god, don't give me shit for it)
A little piece of prose. Of nothing.
Lost in a drunken stupor
everything starts to matter
everything hurts more.
when you sit down and you read a book and it turns your life around
and you think
why can't I do that
and you write and you write
and you find out things you never knew you knew
and you feel things you never knew you could feel
the pen touches the paper and you
go unconcious
but you're still writing
and you're more awake than you were before
and you realize maybe your childhood had something to do with it
do you blame your broken father or your absent mother
do you sleep while tossing violently
on a bed of booze and bad dreams
dreams about that guy you shared your skin with
a month ago when you thought you needed something
knew you needed something
to distract you.
But he was more than a distraction because he read and he sang and he cared
and because he was something else
so then you write and you write
and you find out things you never knew you knew
and you feel things you never knew you could feel
and you go unconcious because you don't want to care
but you're still writing and you're still thinking and you're still dreaming
beyond the booze and the absence and the noise
and the words come together and they actually sound okay
and then you get paid for what you felt
and you feel like you've sold out
and then you remember that you came from nothing
and you just wanted something
to matter.
Because nothing did before
when you took the blame for everything
because you were too young to know the difference
and you thought that everything your dear dad said was right.
But you started reading
and watching
and realizing
that
he was hiding behind a fear that was beaten into him as a child
because he's broken and he writes and he writes
and he found out things he never knew he knew
and he felt things he never knew he could feel
and he played and he played
the strings until his fingers bled and he wrote a song about you
but it wasn't enough
Just like it wasn't enough when his own father said he was sorry
When you have a gun pointed in your face
and you watch your mother cry and cry
It's just not enough
And you know he's tried but not hard enough
Not anywhere close
And sometimes you feel like maybe you're just as fucked up
And that's why you write
Because the thoughts, they pour out
And you can't stop
because if you do, it builds up
you break down and you cry yourself into oblivion on the floor
like your grandmother, and your mother, and your father
But you don't drown yourself in the pills or the booze
Not yet
You wait til you need to say something important
Because any other time you'd feel too vulnerable
And you don't want to be one of those emotional basketcases
who wears their heart on their sleeve
But regardless you know you're an emotional basketcase
and that's why you need that something
And once again you think back to your childhood
and wonder if you can blame it on your broken father
and your absent mother
and the house you slept in that was full of booze and bad dreams
You wonder why people like that pretend to have faith
in an invisible monster
Maybe it's because everything else is lacking and
there is nothing else left inside
They have no more words and no more songs
and no more chords to play
No more powder to blow them away
No more booze to drown themselves
No more faith in anything else
And you think back and you wonder if people always lived this way
If they were always so faithful in nothing
And faithless in what was real
If they drank themselves to death
And smoked themselves to black
And inhaled til their nose bled
If they held guns to their wives' heads
Because they were angry with themselves
If they wrote chords for their children
To make up for the noise and the anger
And the drunkeness
And you wonder if it will ever change
If there will ever be a definition for normal
If therapists will ever cease to exist
If people will write about how they grew up
and how it wasn't filled with rage
and fear
If we will ever live without fear of nothing
When people will write and write because the words are pretty
and not because that's how much it hurts
Because they are afraid
and it matters.
April 8th:
It’s interesting how often people really lie to each other, without even noticing or giving second thought.
Like, at work
when you greet someone
and they ask how you are,
or they ask how you are,
and one of you will probably say "good, how are you?"
How many of them are lying?
How many of them just got broken up with,
ended a marriage,
just left a funeral,
fought with a friend,
lost a pet,
had a terrible day at work,
got fired,
had a fight with a parent,
was involved in a vehicle accident,
or simply got insulted.
How many people are really "good" or "all right"
and if those that aren’t told you, would you care?
Would you show false sympathy?
Yet another lie we tell each other day to day.
How many people really give a fuck about a stranger passing by...
And is it really that hard to say "hello"
or "thanks, you too"
regardless of whether or not you care if someone has a good day.
And if you knew what that person was dealing with that day, would you act more appropriately?
If you knew where that black eye really came from on the dark-haired girl,
or knew what that disobedient child was going to get when he got home.
What the man buying the alcohol will do to his wife that night,
and his girlfriend the next.
The lives of other people are fascinating, yet disappointing and melancholy.
I don’t want other people to say the same about mine.
I don’t want there to be a lie behind every "I’m well."
I want to be well.
I don’t want to want to drink and pass out
so that my anger and hesitation go away.
I don’t want to need someone to talk to.
I don’t want to need familiarity, balance, and stability.
I don’t want fear,
or paranoia.
I don’t want to question how I feel or should feel or why.
I don’t want to be afraid of being alone.
I honestly don’t want to notice the melodramatic and mundane existence of passersby.
I don’t want to make anyone feel the need to lie to me to make me happy.
I want the deserving to feel welcomed and appreciated.
I want people who are loved, cared for, and needed to know it,
to appreciate it,
and understand it completely.
To know that it is not an act or a lie,
it never was,
it never will be.
For people to understand that the little things matter today, regardless of whether or not they will matter tomorrow.
Everything matters.
Even when it doesn’t.
April 3:
For three weeks or so,
I barely slept,
I barely ate.
What little energy I had was given to thought,
to sex,
my then-current state of homelessness,
and to the disease that was temporarily and somewhat permanently destroying my throat and lungs.
I was homeless both physically and somewhat emotionally.
My dad is a constantly drunk, cruel, selfish, flat-out piece of shit.
How can a person treat their own flesh and blood with such contempt, cruelty, and disrespect?
If you don’t want children, don’t have any. Simple as that.
Don’t bring someone into the world knowing that he or she is going to depend on you to live.
There is enough suffering in the world.
Far,
far
too much.
If you can’t handle, don’t. fucking. do it.
Life is all about choices
and control, and the lack of it.
Control what you choose.
Choose what you control.
From time to time, re-evaluate your ideas, opinions, and thought-processes.
What you thought about someone yesterday may not be what you think of him today.
Realize that you are not as big as you think you are to most people.
And it’s okay.
Because neither are they.
People that matter are few and far between.
When you meet someone who can make you realize your true value
keep them locked in a thought and memory.
This is such rambling, I don’t even know where I started or where I was going with it.
I don’t proof-read though, so fuck it.
Stream of conciousness is so much more powerful.
Don’t ever be the kind of person to place blame on everyone else for your own mistakes.
It’s not going to do anything positive for anyone.
Unless you get off on making other people feel like utter shit.
Fixing yourself will be so much more satisfying, I’m sure of it.
If you choose to destroy yourself, don’t drag others with you.
A piece of paper and tax deductions won’t prove you love someone.
Neither will words.
Actions
prove everything.
I am trying to be content with the fact that I don’t know where I’m going to be tomorrow, next week, next month, or next year.
I don’t know where I want to go, or who I want to keep with me, what I want to do.
I’m so torn.
I just want to live, really.
But who doesn’t?
Though not many people truly are.
I don’t want to be in that category.
I refuse to let myself be.
I am living more than I ever have, and it’s brilliantly beautiful.
Goodnight.
November 30th 2007:
This is boring, this is dull. I am sick of being here. I am sick of this fucking nonsense job where I get paid jackshit to up with drunk fuckshits buying more alcohol. The disgusting stench of three day old liquor and a fresh cigarette. That right there. That's enough to make me quit. That smell is burned in my memory from so many nights of screaming and yelling and crying. And coming home the next morning from a friend's house. I could look at a pile of intestines on the ground and it could not compare to the nausea I get when I smell the alcohol and cigarettes. No, you can't fucking use my MVP card you drunk piece of shit. Did you beat your wife last night while you were falling down drunk? Or your kid? Or were you drinking because she left you because you beat her and yelled at her and made her feel like worthless piece of shit? Or because your little boy or girl ran away for the same reason. Did you kill anyone last night on your way home from the bar driving drunk? Did you ruin anyone's life?
And if you did, would you care? Or would you just pour another shot to make YOUR pain go away?
And are you going to buy soda and candy with your food stamps cause you're so fucking poor that you can't get dinner for your kids, but you can get some soda and candy. And then you'll go even more broke trying to take them to the dentist when their teeth start to rot. Or you won't bother at all and you'll just let them fall out. And you'll be too drunk and busy with your own depression that you won't bother to encourage them to not be like them, to do well in school, to be something.
So then they just end up being a repeat of you and the same thing happens over and over and over and over again.
And you, you are the reason I'm so fucked up. Not my "crazy friends." You're too damn pathetic to admit your own mistakes so you turn around and find everything wrong with me that you can, most of which isn't even true. I don't care if you've had it so tough. You didn't raise me, you left me alone, you kept me awake til 5 in the morning with your drunk friends when I was five years old. That's not a father. That's a piece of shit.
A father doesn't call his daughter worthless, and a bitch. A father doesn't throw things, and rip phone lines out of the wall at 1 o'clock in the morning for no apparent reason. A father doesn't lock his daughter out of the house for no apparent reason, or abandon her at work at 11 o'clock at night because he's too immature to handle his own faults.
People should learn from other's mistakes. Your parents yelling at you while they were drunk for no apparent reason didn't make you feel good did it? Why would it make your children feel good?
And everyone that says that a kid still loves their parents when a person complains about them.
Has your dad ever put his fist in your face? Has your mom ever thrown hot grease on you? Has your father ever called you a worthless bitch because you didn't wash the dishes? If not, then don't tell a person that they still love their parents. You have no fucking idea. Would you love someone who made you feel like a complete, utter, meaningless piece of shit when you haven't done a damn thing to deserve it? When you look in the mirror and your eye is black, purple, yellow, and eight different shades of blue from the fist of someone who shares your blood,
then you can judge.
I am sick of the hypocritical, ignorant, naive little cocksuckers in this massive cornfield we like to call the United States. The only reason you think gay marriage is wrong is because a book says so. If it wasn't for that, you wouldn't think twice about it.
That book also tells you that women can't wear pants, or makeup, or fix her hair.
And that lust and greed and gluttony and pride are wrong.
I don't know about you but lust seems pretty fucking natural to me. And greed is everywhere. Greed is what our government sits on top of. Gluttony, god forbid I enjoy food. What keeps me alive and breathing. And god forbid I be proud of a major accomplishment.
So basically being human is a sin. Shit guys, we better commit suicide so we stop sinning. Oh but suicide is a sin as well.
Whatever are we to do?!
And then we have these jack ass Islam bitches over here raping women for committing adultery. Yes! Let's fuck her against her will because she fucked another man. That makes perfect sense.
It's like Christianity and Islam compete for the Which Religion Can Be The Most Fucked Up, Demeaning, And Insanely Strict Olympics.
And no, don't fucking attack me for bashing you or your religion. Because A. I don't care, and B. I am just stating the majority opinion of these fuckheads. I am not saying that every Christian is psycho hypocritical and I'm not saying that every Muslim is psycho.
Because quite truthfully, I feel that there is a high power out there, I just don't know what the hell it is.
ANYWAY
for the love of god get me out of this town and find me something new. And stop wasting your time if you don't trust.
And what the fuck, why are people working and going to school when they're 15, 16 years old. Be a kid, enjoy life while you still can because the real world freaking sucks. People our age should not be tired, should not be this ridiculously pissed off at the world, should not be so stressed out all the time.
My childhood slipped away from me without me realizing it. Time is ticking and I can't stop it, I can't go back, I can't slow it down.
And neither can you.
Appreciate being in high school, no matter how godawful you might think it is. You are still young.
and sorry for any grammatical errors.
I don't care enough to proof-read or spell check.
And by the way, morons, it's you're not your, you will not die if you have sex, the president is a screwed up pile of worthless crap, being gay is not a choice, global warming exists, women are people too, and this country was not founded on religious principles kthnxbai
September 11th 2007:
So spent 5+ dollars on a magazine simply because Lindsay Lohan was on the cover. First of all, let me say that I normally do not care one way or another about celebrities. Second, it's pathetic that cigarette companies package cigarettes in the color pink, mix them with fashion, and advertise them as sexy simply so women will inhale smoke into their lungs and slowly commit suicide. Shame on the cigarette companies and shame on the women who buy into that bullshit.
So, going back to the beginning and exactly what inspired me to type this. So why on earth did I spend five bucks on abunch of paper glued together because it had a picture of some girl I'm never going to meet on it? Empathy, my friend.
While most people are in shock and awe of Ms. Lohan's behavior, I empathize. No, I've never snorted cocaine up my nose or got caught driving drunk. But I grew up in a fucked up family, I've started controversy in my school and elsewhere without meaning to because apparently honesty and sexuality are just wrong.
So why is everyone jumping down a girl's throat because she has problems? If your mother had shoved in the spotlight when you were only a toddler, your father left your family and then raved about his problems to the media, if a fight with your best friend was publicized and people made shit up about you, if unflattering pictures of your crotch were sold for millions of dollars and published in every magazine this side of the sun..
you'd probably drive drunk, snort coke, and end up in rehab/jail, too.
Every parent can sit there and bitch and say that celebrities are role models, but they didn't ask to be. It's not Lindsay Lohan's or Britney Spears' responsibility to raise your precious child, it's yours. Just about every teenager in the world with any kind of freedom is going to try a cigarette or a beer at some point in their life. It just so happens that there are going to be ten flash bulbs going off whenever a celebrity does it, and they're going to be critisized for it in every magazine the next day. How many parents walk into a convenience story and buy a pack of cigarettes or a 12 pack of Miller Light every day? Then go home to their kids and make comments like "oh, that Paris Hilton" or "oh, that Britney Spears, such bad influences on kids today."
Think about it.