the girl with insomniatic tendencies.
do you ever just fall asleep?
i lay awake every night, restless, overthinking and overanalyzing every single little part of my life.
but what is the main focus? who headlines?
yes yes...i spend my sleepless nights overthinking and trying to find ways to ruin the things that make me happy.
fanfuckingtastic.
i don't enjoy lying around crying because part of me thinks i just screamed at tyler telling him he hasn't a clue what love is, and therefore cannot possibly love me. then i realize tyler isn't here, and i have not called him, and even if i did it wouldn't matter because he lives in buttfuck nowhere and has zero cellphone reception.
then i am angry. angry because he doesn't have reception. angry because, even though he has an excuse, a reason, he wouldn't answer his phone. and no reason or excuse is good enough to not answer a phone. what the hell could he be doing? angry because i am suspecting. angry because i am mad over things that haven't, that wouldn't happen.
angry because i haven't told him. because i can't possibly understand why he would love me, he doesn't even know me.
oh btw...that means he doesn't.
he can't love someone he does not know. no no no. sure, i can. i have mental problems. i have issues in lines of attachment, trust, relationships, affection, and appropriateness. i have every reason to love someone i hardly know. he does not.
knowing someone for 2 years, befriending them, spending every day with them...thats not knowing. thats not love.
he was going to give up smoking for me.
he told me tonight.
he didn't want to be a part of something that could hurt me.
it's funny. he loves me, he was willing to give up something he loves doing. i love him, i don't want to be the reason he quits something he enjoys. silly silly world.
he doesn't know, he hasn't a fucking clue.
i need a cigarette. i need to go for a drive.
i need it to be 8 am, and tyler to be out of church, and for him to come over and crawl into bed with me and calm my crazy ass down.
wait.
the person i am angry with is myself, not him. yet he is who i want to yell at, and at the same time, he is the person i want to run to. the person i want to calm me down and the person i want to hold me and tell me everything will be alright. and yet i want nothing more than to scream and yell at him and tell him that he could not possibly love me, why should he? how could he? why does he?
why?
i am a firm believer in truths and facts, more so than opinions. i don't believe anything unless i have factual evidence. evidence that i deem as being worthy of notion.
so why love me?
why?
i am crazy, clearly.
neurotic.
angry.
stubborn.
incompetent.
i've done nothing noteable with my life.
i am lazy as shit.
i am going nowhere, fast.
my mind flips and flops, my opinions waver.
one day i'll love you, the next i'll want you dead.
i can never make up my mind, i hate myself.
there is no truth to me.
there is nothing unique or fantastic about me.
woopdifuckingdo i have pink hair.
yay i know how to make faces out of clay.
i am one in a million burning man retards who plays with fire.
what substantial thing have i done?
i haven't saved any lives.
i haven't done anything on my own.
i am still living with my psychotic mother.
i am terrified to go anywhere alone, even just buy some cloves.
i am afraid of everything, to the point where some days i won't even leave my bed for food, or anything like that. ill lay around, sleep, wake up hungry, refuse to get out of bed, roll over, and fall back asleep, until an entire day at least goes by where i don't eat a single damn thing.
im exhausted.
i need to eat.
well, i felt sick.
so i made tomato soup.
just heated it really.
i didn't have the energy to make chicken & rice from scratch
so anyway, i heated this tomato soup...some sort of v8 campbells blend
which i know is delicious
and probably quite pricey. it was in a fancy container.
and i can't taste it.
not one bit.
i can almost taste the green tea i brewed 15 minutes ago.
my face itches.
i really really really need to not eat things i am allergic to.
and i really need to do some cleaning.
i've been reading grandpa's book. he put my favourite story in there.
i can't get away from it.
i can't sleep at night, and i lay around and read the book.
i do it during the day too
i don't get a damned thing done.
just lay around and read.
i am nervous about the plane flight.
need to stock up on cigarettes again.
cloves, darling, cloves.
i hate you.
and here i go again, around and around again.
it's always the same song, a different singer.
or something of the like.
i play the same chords, hum the same tune....
but now im trying to serenade someone else.
or perhaps, all this time, i've really just been trying to serenade the wrong person?
no, that isn't what i mean.
i mean...maybe ive thought i was singing to someone else, when i should have just been singing for my love of music?
er...
fuck.
i wish you could get text messages.
i wish you didn't have a curfew.
that you could crawl out of bed and come out here and calm my psychotic ass down.
or that you lived on your own.
so i could come over
and cause a scene,
and it wouldn't even matter to you.
you'd still love me just the same.
i swear you're numb to the horrible things i do.
the way i am, the ways i can be.
if only you knew darling, if only you knew.
one of these days we need to have a story time.
drive somewhere, stop, and just talk.
there are so many things i need to tell you,
things i need to warn you about.
i don't want to screw this up.
please please don't screw this up.
i don't want to hurt you.
it is so scary how i feel, and yet i am not entirely sure if i feel.
is this me? is it the bipolar? the mania? the depression? coping with my grandfather's death maybe?
is this who i am? i've lost sight of myself a long time ago.
adopting little bits of you, of him, of her, of them...putting on those faces and the masks and parading around in my disguises, i forgot who i really was.
fantastic!
i sound so pathetically emo!
hahahaha.
i want nothing more than to drive around and have a cigarette.
i miss burning man, the feeling of home. the feeling of hope.
the feeling of nothing can go wrong, no matter how hard i try.
my brain is exhausted, but my mind keeps humming and running and going
faster and faster she goes, up and down, round and round and round in circles.
she's losing you, she's losing you, she's losing herself.
the mind just keeps going, leaving you standing confused in the dust.
oh, to be an artist.
i want to tell you, i want you to know. i want to explain the things i have been through, the reasons i am the way i am, or at least reasons that can partially explain the way i am. i want you to understand, to love me just the same, and not to look at me differently from then on. i just want you to understand. i don't want you to think badly of me, not ever. i want you to just understand.
i need that so badly. i need someone to just understand, not judge, and love me regardless of history, regardless of thought processes, regardless of the fact that i put myself through hell and back just to see how close i can push myself to the edge without toppling over. i need that so bad, i want it so badly to be you.
im putting too much stress on this.
too many expectations.
the weight of the world.
i wish i felt good enough.
screaming and yelling. i am not angry at him, perhaps its a defense tactic? end things now, spare him while he still has a chance, before he is too attached, before i hurt him.
but fuck he is already attached. he already said those three little words, he has said them quite a few times.
but is it love? does the boy understand love? or is it just an intense for of infatuation? excitement over a girl who plays with fire who is a model who obsesses over art and understands your obsession for the artworld and is a damn good kisser.
the shy girl with the pink hair, the mohawk, the peircings, the frilly skirts, the corsets, the tutus, the neck ties, the collaged top hats, the fishnet stockings, and the combat boots.
oh i would give anything to be average. to be unnoticeable walking down a street. to have mousey brown long hair, no distinctive features. i want so badly to be plain. to go along with life unnoticed, and not bothered.
but then would i have caught your eye?
others i could do without, but yours?
i rather like having your attention. i like that no matter where we are, no matter who else is in the room, no matter what sort of shenanigans are going on, your eyes are on me. i like that you find your way back to me easily, that without me you say you feel lost. it could be a lie, this could all be a lie, thats fine. i just like thinking i have something solid to balance on. something to lean my head on and diffuse.
i need it. i hate being dependent on something that can't always be there.
i hate it.
...
i need to move to a town where there is something other than denny's open 24 hours.
i lay awake every night, restless, overthinking and overanalyzing every single little part of my life.
but what is the main focus? who headlines?
yes yes...i spend my sleepless nights overthinking and trying to find ways to ruin the things that make me happy.
fanfuckingtastic.
i don't enjoy lying around crying because part of me thinks i just screamed at tyler telling him he hasn't a clue what love is, and therefore cannot possibly love me. then i realize tyler isn't here, and i have not called him, and even if i did it wouldn't matter because he lives in buttfuck nowhere and has zero cellphone reception.
then i am angry. angry because he doesn't have reception. angry because, even though he has an excuse, a reason, he wouldn't answer his phone. and no reason or excuse is good enough to not answer a phone. what the hell could he be doing? angry because i am suspecting. angry because i am mad over things that haven't, that wouldn't happen.
angry because i haven't told him. because i can't possibly understand why he would love me, he doesn't even know me.
oh btw...that means he doesn't.
he can't love someone he does not know. no no no. sure, i can. i have mental problems. i have issues in lines of attachment, trust, relationships, affection, and appropriateness. i have every reason to love someone i hardly know. he does not.
knowing someone for 2 years, befriending them, spending every day with them...thats not knowing. thats not love.
he was going to give up smoking for me.
he told me tonight.
he didn't want to be a part of something that could hurt me.
it's funny. he loves me, he was willing to give up something he loves doing. i love him, i don't want to be the reason he quits something he enjoys. silly silly world.
he doesn't know, he hasn't a fucking clue.
i need a cigarette. i need to go for a drive.
i need it to be 8 am, and tyler to be out of church, and for him to come over and crawl into bed with me and calm my crazy ass down.
wait.
the person i am angry with is myself, not him. yet he is who i want to yell at, and at the same time, he is the person i want to run to. the person i want to calm me down and the person i want to hold me and tell me everything will be alright. and yet i want nothing more than to scream and yell at him and tell him that he could not possibly love me, why should he? how could he? why does he?
why?
i am a firm believer in truths and facts, more so than opinions. i don't believe anything unless i have factual evidence. evidence that i deem as being worthy of notion.
so why love me?
why?
i am crazy, clearly.
neurotic.
angry.
stubborn.
incompetent.
i've done nothing noteable with my life.
i am lazy as shit.
i am going nowhere, fast.
my mind flips and flops, my opinions waver.
one day i'll love you, the next i'll want you dead.
i can never make up my mind, i hate myself.
there is no truth to me.
there is nothing unique or fantastic about me.
woopdifuckingdo i have pink hair.
yay i know how to make faces out of clay.
i am one in a million burning man retards who plays with fire.
what substantial thing have i done?
i haven't saved any lives.
i haven't done anything on my own.
i am still living with my psychotic mother.
i am terrified to go anywhere alone, even just buy some cloves.
i am afraid of everything, to the point where some days i won't even leave my bed for food, or anything like that. ill lay around, sleep, wake up hungry, refuse to get out of bed, roll over, and fall back asleep, until an entire day at least goes by where i don't eat a single damn thing.
im exhausted.
i need to eat.
well, i felt sick.
so i made tomato soup.
just heated it really.
i didn't have the energy to make chicken & rice from scratch
so anyway, i heated this tomato soup...some sort of v8 campbells blend
which i know is delicious
and probably quite pricey. it was in a fancy container.
and i can't taste it.
not one bit.
i can almost taste the green tea i brewed 15 minutes ago.
my face itches.
i really really really need to not eat things i am allergic to.
and i really need to do some cleaning.
i've been reading grandpa's book. he put my favourite story in there.
i can't get away from it.
i can't sleep at night, and i lay around and read the book.
i do it during the day too
i don't get a damned thing done.
just lay around and read.
i am nervous about the plane flight.
need to stock up on cigarettes again.
cloves, darling, cloves.
i hate you.
and here i go again, around and around again.
it's always the same song, a different singer.
or something of the like.
i play the same chords, hum the same tune....
but now im trying to serenade someone else.
or perhaps, all this time, i've really just been trying to serenade the wrong person?
no, that isn't what i mean.
i mean...maybe ive thought i was singing to someone else, when i should have just been singing for my love of music?
er...
fuck.
i wish you could get text messages.
i wish you didn't have a curfew.
that you could crawl out of bed and come out here and calm my psychotic ass down.
or that you lived on your own.
so i could come over
and cause a scene,
and it wouldn't even matter to you.
you'd still love me just the same.
i swear you're numb to the horrible things i do.
the way i am, the ways i can be.
if only you knew darling, if only you knew.
one of these days we need to have a story time.
drive somewhere, stop, and just talk.
there are so many things i need to tell you,
things i need to warn you about.
i don't want to screw this up.
please please don't screw this up.
i don't want to hurt you.
it is so scary how i feel, and yet i am not entirely sure if i feel.
is this me? is it the bipolar? the mania? the depression? coping with my grandfather's death maybe?
is this who i am? i've lost sight of myself a long time ago.
adopting little bits of you, of him, of her, of them...putting on those faces and the masks and parading around in my disguises, i forgot who i really was.
fantastic!
i sound so pathetically emo!
hahahaha.
i want nothing more than to drive around and have a cigarette.
i miss burning man, the feeling of home. the feeling of hope.
the feeling of nothing can go wrong, no matter how hard i try.
my brain is exhausted, but my mind keeps humming and running and going
faster and faster she goes, up and down, round and round and round in circles.
she's losing you, she's losing you, she's losing herself.
the mind just keeps going, leaving you standing confused in the dust.
oh, to be an artist.
i want to tell you, i want you to know. i want to explain the things i have been through, the reasons i am the way i am, or at least reasons that can partially explain the way i am. i want you to understand, to love me just the same, and not to look at me differently from then on. i just want you to understand. i don't want you to think badly of me, not ever. i want you to just understand.
i need that so badly. i need someone to just understand, not judge, and love me regardless of history, regardless of thought processes, regardless of the fact that i put myself through hell and back just to see how close i can push myself to the edge without toppling over. i need that so bad, i want it so badly to be you.
im putting too much stress on this.
too many expectations.
the weight of the world.
i wish i felt good enough.
screaming and yelling. i am not angry at him, perhaps its a defense tactic? end things now, spare him while he still has a chance, before he is too attached, before i hurt him.
but fuck he is already attached. he already said those three little words, he has said them quite a few times.
but is it love? does the boy understand love? or is it just an intense for of infatuation? excitement over a girl who plays with fire who is a model who obsesses over art and understands your obsession for the artworld and is a damn good kisser.
the shy girl with the pink hair, the mohawk, the peircings, the frilly skirts, the corsets, the tutus, the neck ties, the collaged top hats, the fishnet stockings, and the combat boots.
oh i would give anything to be average. to be unnoticeable walking down a street. to have mousey brown long hair, no distinctive features. i want so badly to be plain. to go along with life unnoticed, and not bothered.
but then would i have caught your eye?
others i could do without, but yours?
i rather like having your attention. i like that no matter where we are, no matter who else is in the room, no matter what sort of shenanigans are going on, your eyes are on me. i like that you find your way back to me easily, that without me you say you feel lost. it could be a lie, this could all be a lie, thats fine. i just like thinking i have something solid to balance on. something to lean my head on and diffuse.
i need it. i hate being dependent on something that can't always be there.
i hate it.
...
i need to move to a town where there is something other than denny's open 24 hours.