Aches, pains, swellings, and depression.
I've already given up on myself twice.
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm.
Threw caution to the wind, but I've got a lousy arm.
And I traced your shadows on the wall,
now I kiss them whenever I'm down, whenever I'm down.
Figured, "I'm not figuring myself out."
I'm depressed, LiveJournal.
No, you're not going to get a sappy, angsty, teenager-y post because of it. Instead, you're going to get me complaining about my ailments. Then a little happy anecdote and the rest of those Fall Out Boy lyrics to finish up your day. Sound good? Alright, let's get started.
I'm not a sickly person, LiveJournal. I was at one point, but I'm not now. But lately it seems that whatever I do hurts me. Could it be from being out of shape? I don't know, and I don't care enough to find out. Even sitting, at this point, hurts me. Current pains: hips, one entire leg (left,) every toe except big toe on left foot. Usually it's my legs. But that's all I really have to say about those, because they're mystery pains as of now.
Happy little anecdote: My friend Aly is back from the dead! No, she wasn't dead. She just figured out how to use AIM on her phone. I'm proud of her. So she gets a shoutout today.
And just because I think this entry is a little short, I'm just going to say that to that special person out there (since she reads this [[or so I assume]]) that I'm sorry for being such a depressive emo bitch. I know what's happening is not at all your fault. But I just wish that we had more than three hours of complete silence to share. I just wish that neither of us had to want to cry ourselves to sleep every night. I'm just sorry for bringing what I did to your attention. I don't want you to feel bad about it, okay? I want you to be happy, even if it means that I have to hide here in the blanket of my misery. I love you. <3
Things aren't the same anymore.
Some nights it gets so bad, you almost pick up the phone
to trade baby-blues for wide-eyed browns.
I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes.
I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you.
I'm supposed to love you.
G.I.N.A.S.F.S (Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty) --- Fall Out Boy.
Alive at last,
Riddy S.
Third time is the charm, third time is the charm.
Threw caution to the wind, but I've got a lousy arm.
And I traced your shadows on the wall,
now I kiss them whenever I'm down, whenever I'm down.
Figured, "I'm not figuring myself out."
I'm depressed, LiveJournal.
No, you're not going to get a sappy, angsty, teenager-y post because of it. Instead, you're going to get me complaining about my ailments. Then a little happy anecdote and the rest of those Fall Out Boy lyrics to finish up your day. Sound good? Alright, let's get started.
I'm not a sickly person, LiveJournal. I was at one point, but I'm not now. But lately it seems that whatever I do hurts me. Could it be from being out of shape? I don't know, and I don't care enough to find out. Even sitting, at this point, hurts me. Current pains: hips, one entire leg (left,) every toe except big toe on left foot. Usually it's my legs. But that's all I really have to say about those, because they're mystery pains as of now.
Happy little anecdote: My friend Aly is back from the dead! No, she wasn't dead. She just figured out how to use AIM on her phone. I'm proud of her. So she gets a shoutout today.
And just because I think this entry is a little short, I'm just going to say that to that special person out there (since she reads this [[or so I assume]]) that I'm sorry for being such a depressive emo bitch. I know what's happening is not at all your fault. But I just wish that we had more than three hours of complete silence to share. I just wish that neither of us had to want to cry ourselves to sleep every night. I'm just sorry for bringing what I did to your attention. I don't want you to feel bad about it, okay? I want you to be happy, even if it means that I have to hide here in the blanket of my misery. I love you. <3
Things aren't the same anymore.
Some nights it gets so bad, you almost pick up the phone
to trade baby-blues for wide-eyed browns.
I sleep with your old shirts and walk through this house in your shoes.
I know it's strange. It's a strange way of saying that I know I'm supposed to love you.
I'm supposed to love you.
G.I.N.A.S.F.S (Gay Is Not A Synonym For Shitty) --- Fall Out Boy.
Alive at last,
Riddy S.