You're hurting me

It hurts.

It feels like I'm burning from the inside out.

It feels like someone ripped a hole in my chest and is now trying to rip me in half.

It's painful.

I try to ignore it, try to remember the years past where I dealt with a similar pain, but this one is so much worse. 

Before everything was numb. 

The world was cold and nothing mattered.

Now I feel like somethings trying to suck out my soul and tear me in two.

It feels like I'm being roasted over a fire, dipped in lava boiled alive.

My mind is constantly in chaos, thinking, wondering.

Trying to rationalize only keeps them at bay for a little while, before they come roaring back to life, stronger than before. 

I hate it.

This feeling in my gut, my head and my soul. 

It hurts so much and it's all because of YOU. 

You're probably unaware of what I'm feeling. 

As much as I wish to, I can't blame you. 

It's my fault.
 It's always my fault.

I just want to see you, speak with you for a little while. 

Yet at the same time I wish to run from you as far away as possible. 

You're what's causing this pain. 

If I leave it will go back to the numb feeling, something I know how to deal with. 

I understand why I'm being torn in two. 

One of me wants to run to you while the other wants to run away. 

You have no clue how much power you hold over me at this moment and it's absolutely terrifying. 

I should speak with you. 

Talk like normal humans do, but I know I won't. 

I'm a coward. 

I'm the bad guy.

 I'm a worthless piece of shit that doesn't deserve to be here. 

That doesn't deserve YOU.

People ask how do you know that you're in love?

It's when all those sappy love songs start to make sense.

Took me two fucking goddamn years, but they finally make sense to me.

Pointless

    I hate summer.
    Not only because the weather is constantly changing between rain or heat waves, but mostly because of the endless nothingness I feel during this time. For the past few years it's been like this, I look forward to getting a break from school, yet all too quickly I'm reminded of the emotional roller coaster that awaits me.
    If I'm flying to my brothers home I sort of cease to exist for a little while. Its all fake smiles, laughter, psychologist and good daughter acting. After all my mother only gets to see me so often, so shouldn't I be on my best behavior for her? Whenever I stay there around the end of my trip I can start to feel myself slipping and hating myself even more. Just be the daughter she thinks you are, there is no reason to cause any sort of confusion or stress for her.
    When my brother comes it's easier, but I constantly have to be on my toes. What do I have to do in order for my father to be satisfied? How do I respond to this situation so that everything doesn't go to shit? Usually it goes well, specially since I can escape to Aster's once a week, but this time, this time I fucked up.
    Worst part is, I can't really bring myself to care. I'm fine with my father thinking less of me and I think it'd be best if my brother grew more distant from me. Since during his stay here I learned one very vital thing from him, neither of us are able to understand one another anymore. He views me as a snobby spoiled rich kid, while I just think of him as the kid who picked the shorter straw. He's my kid brother and I care for him deeply, but it'd be best if we distanced ourselves.
    That sounds so stupid specially since we live on different continents, you really can't get more distanced than that. I know my father wants Azael to come for the winter holidays, maybe I can convince mother to let me fly over to her place. It'd be the first time the two of us would switch places like that and I would definitely piss off my old man, but I think it'd be a good idea. I'm probably just being selfish though and just wish to hide away from my father and brother when they're together.
    Still I'm getting a bit off track. To quickly sum up the above clusterfuck of information, a part of why I don't like summer is because I have to deal with the emotional roller coaster my family decides to put me on. The other reason is the long strings of absolute nothingness.
    I don't really have friends, so during the summer I need to find things to keep myself busy, such as learning a new skill, video games, exercising and so on. These things can only keep me busy for so long though, this year I decided to try to find a job, something that I could maybe do during the school year as well. So far I haven't gotten any calls or emails, but I've really only been searching for about two weeks. It would be my first official job, so I wasn't really expecting it to be easy to find one, but the fact that no one's called is disheartening to say the least.
    Coupled with the fact that evening always brings about a mental criss within me, doesn't really help matters. I'm going to be very honest and straightforwards for once in this entire goddamn blog, but this past month has been really hard on me emotionally and I have contemplated on more than one occasion about finding a nice tall building and just jumping off.
     I can't find a sense in my existence, no matter how hard I try. I keep trying to find something that will put meaning in my life, but everything always leads back to nothing! It's all just this empty goddamn tunnel with no fucking light anywhere in sight. I've pretty much just decided to curl up and hope something runs me over while I'm in there. The fact that I'm going through my room and getting rid of a lot of my old things probably isn't helping too much.
    I had a decent amount of old shounen jump manga about two an a half years worth (2008-2010), but I knew I couldn't keep them all. I ended up going through them and keeping about seven while putting the rest on a book crossing shelf in the library. A little bit of me died when I abandoned them on the self. I gave a lot of things away to the library this month. Tons of old books I knew I'd never read or had read many times before, gone.
    I got rid of a lot of things, clothes, jewelry, electronics, books, random shit, everything was looked through and purged. A lot was donated or given away, but in a way it still hurt. I got rid of a lot of things from before the move and seeing how empty my room has gotten just makes me feel like it'd be even easier to just say goodbye right now. A part of me is whispering to just grab a backpack and go while the other is saying to just jump.
    After all the numbness I so hated in high school keeps emerging after it's long hiatus, stronger than it ever was before. The thing is before I was drawn to my knife, now the only reason my knife interests me is to shove it straight through my veins.
    I wish I was strong enough to talk to someone about this, but I can't. I'm a goddamn bloody coward who dreams about getting hit by cars, forever falling asleep in a hole and just leaving behind this numb feeling thats sunken into my bones.

Aimless

    I'll do it tomorrow I think before snuggling into my covers and falling asleep.
Sleep doesn't last long as I soon find myself in a feeling of free fall. I try to open my eyes, to see if I can't grab hold of anything, but I can't open them. I have enough time to put my hands over my face and register that my eyes have been sown shut before I'm swallowed whole.
    Where am I? I struggle in the sluggish liquid trying to swim up, hoping I'm swimming up, but ultimately unsure. I can't hold my breath any longer. My nose tries to inhale much needed air, instead I feel the sludge rush inside me, fill me, consume me. My body coughs out of reflex and I end up inhaling more of the terrible sludge.
     It tastes like burning motor oil and I find myself slowly losing consciousness. Suddenly I feel something tugging at me, a large hand closes tightly around my neck and easily pulls me from the liquid. It then drops me right onto solid ground before I feel it's presence sink into the background.
    I puke as soon as I breath in a couple of mouthfuls of clean air and I can feel the sludge slowly draining from my system. It's exhausting and twice as gross feeling the heavy sludge type substance slowly crawl up my neck, protesting each inch, tasting even worse than the first time. By the time I've expelled most of the liquid from my stomach, I feel dizzy and nauseous. My body is shaking, my throat feels as if its on fire and I don't want to lift my head from the cool floor I'm slumped on.
    After what feels like hours I attempt to open my eyes once more, yet they are still sown shut. So I try to stand on shaky legs and stretch my arms before me, looking for some kind of wall I could follow, some kind of clue as to where I could be. It isn't long before I've managed to discover a wall, a very grimy and sticky wall, but a wall none the less.
     I walk forward with one hand on the wall and the other in front so I don't walk into anything, although I quickly learn this hand is useless, for everything is behind me, right over my shoulder. They whisper and giggle, I can't see them, but I can feel their piercing gazes. Don't judge me, please don't judge me! I can't take this pressure so I start to run, eventually my hand loses the wall, yet somehow I'm still able to run without falling over.
    This doesn't last for long because something tangles my legs and I feel myself starting to fall once again. I fall straight into IT. Even without my vision I know what it is, what it feels like and I dearly wish to be back in the sludge. It starts to tighten around me, slowly taking it's time, it knows I am unable to escape, for I am nothing without my vision.
    I stop struggling, succumbing to my fate, but for some reason this angers the serpent and it tightens itself even more. I feel it's tongue flick out and smell the air around me. It seems even more displeased than usual. I then hear it freeing it's fangs, before it lunges for me.
    Only for me to fall from my bed in a sweaty heap on the floor.  

The Way I Remember

     I haven’t written anything in a long while. It’s been maybe two months, maybe longer. That’s quiet a dry spell specially since I’ve pretty much posted something at least once a month for the past two years. Really I’m surprised that this has lasted for as long as it has- writing on here. When I was younger I always wanted to have a dairy that I wrote in everyday. I thought it’d be a cool thing to have, something to look back on when I was older. I had many diaries as a little girl, but I rarely had more than ten pages scribbled on. This is because I tended to start out strong, writing almost everyday for a week. Then my interest would wane and I would write every couple of days before I stopped writing completely.

     Such a thing would happen every time I received a journal with a lock on it. Off topic, but those locks were the flimsiest things. I found out I could open one of those things just by pushing down on the lock and twisting it. Makes me glad I didn’t keep any super deep dark secrets in there. Not that a eight year old me had any super dark secrets. 

‘Today I stole a cookie from the cookie jar!’ 

     Sheesh, I haven’t gotten into the heavy stuff and my couping mechanism is already starting up. Have I mentioned that I deal with shit by making a total fool of myself or cracking stupid jokes? That’s one of the ways I deal with my life.

     Anyways the reason I brought up diaries, because in a way this is a diary, just a very shitty one. More often than not I’m not writing with a huge amount of detail nor do I really use names or state things. It’s mostly random in some shape or form hidden among all the symbolism. Honestly if I went back far enough I, the original author of the post, wouldn’t have a clue what the fuck I’m talking about. I’ve done it before. Gone back and read a post with only the vaguest idea as to what life event I was describing, even than I’m not a 100% sure.

     My memory isn’t all that great. There are few things I can remember and even fewer I can recall in full detail. Most people would probably pity me in some way because of that, but it’s something I’m used to. I grew up with this terrible memory, it’s something I’ve had since day one.

     It’s not that I don’t remember anything, I just can’t seem to recall things in as much detail as others seem to be able to. The only time I am is because it’s a building/ place I’ve spent a lot of time in. Even than it can be iffy.

     My first memory or should I say the earliest memory I can recall is of me and my dog. I was four, it was summer and we were in a large grassy field. I’m pretty sure I was with my mother and father as well, but I can’t seem to place them in this memory. Still that’s my ‘first’ memory for me. The only other things I can tell you is that I remember being mesmerized by my dogs almost golden fur and feeling very happy just watching her.

     My childhood sort of just blends into school and birthday parties. Guess I had my priorities straight back then. Still if I look back on it as a whole it was a happy time for the most part. It was fun and exciting, except for sundays cause we always had to go to damn church. If I try to recall a sunday from back then a wave of boredom will suddenly hit me, along with a flash of green robes and the line ‘let us prey’ sung in a low tone.

     My parents would often go to parties friday or saturday evenings, dragging my brother and me along. I don’t recall ever having a sitter or someone watch us. There were always other kids though so the parties weren’t terrible, just boring. After a couple of hours my brother or me would constantly be asking my parents when we’d go home. The answer was always ‘soon’, ‘soon dear, go sleep on the couch, we’ll be leaving soon.’ Eventually my brother and I learned how to read clocks so we were able to get a more solid answer than soon. Funny I’m unable to recall what time we would actually leave these gatherings, just that it was always dark out.

     While my early childhood is somewhat pleasant to recall, jr. high is another thing entirely. One of the first things that come to mind is a sad scene. I’m crying in a high school high way, curled into a bit of a ball with a teacher next to me is trying to console me. I know I’d started the sixth grade just recently and was having trouble with something. I was very emotional that day for some reason, maybe it was hormones, maybe I was on my period, honestly can’t recall why. But I gave some sass to one of the teachers and was told to go out into the hallway. There the second teacher that was helping came out to try to understand why I was misbehaving and then I broke down into tears. It didn’t last long, I got myself back under control within a few minutes and went back into class. Still the teacher that consoled me ended up being my eight grade english teacher.

     If I focus on school in general the first things that come to mind are art class, the smell of clay and paint, flashes of fake blond hair, cruel high pitched laughter and large empty hallways. Those snippets bring about exasperation, happiness, anger and calm. As a whole jr high wasn’t too much fun, still if I focus I can find some fond memories in there that will probably stay with me for a long while. 

Never being able to say one of my friends names right even after having the same class with her for a whole school year. 

Surprising my spanish teacher by cursing out one of my classmates in polish right after she handed me back a barely passed spanish test.

 Being welcomed with a smile every day by my group of friends that grew and morphed each year. 

Staying after school for art club and goofing off the entire time. 

Being allowed to sit next to my best friend the entire year for seventh grade history, even though everyone else was always split up and moved every couple of weeks. 

     Each little snippet is sort of like a snapshot in my brain packed with emotions that will stir in my gut if I think on it long enough. Still sometimes when I think about the past it feels more like I’m trying to recall a movie I watched not too long ago or a book I finished a while back.

     In a way this has sort of shaped me and I how I choose to experience things. It means that if I’m not in a hurry I’m gonna take my time, because then I can take more in. Even though more often than not I’m just barely on time to an appointment or late to it entirely. When choosing a career for myself I choose something that involved more doing rather than memorizing, because I couldn’t do something that involved me remembering and recalling things almost instantly.

     I enjoy taking it slow, doing things at my own pace, allowing myself to suck in information, events and hope I can recall something from the experience later. It’s never much, but better than nothing.

     Sometimes I worry that I’ll develop Alzheimer at a really early age, even though no one in my nearest family has had the disease, I could be the first. This doesn’t terrify me, but worries, because who do you become when you are unable to remember what shaped you? If you start to loose the memories that gave you certain characteristics, that shaped your personality are you still you? I guess it’s an age old question that will never have a true answer. 

If I ever get the disease I’ll regret three things. 

I’ll regret forgetting three things.

I’ll regret forgetting three people.

It's not our fault

I used to think it was impossible to understand such a person.

That their lives would be so difficult that they would resort to such measures.

It was such a strange thought for me, my younger self, for how could someone stoop so low as to think such thoughts, consider such actions.

It just goes to show you how much of a green horn I once was, still probably am.

I found it difficult to understand such things, thinking if they had the proper outlook and just kept a positive attitude they'd be able to overcome it. 

I think differently now.

These days I'm aware of why people fall into such habits, why they think that it's their only option, why it's the only way they could get better.

Honestly, most people can't understand such thoughts, unless they themselves have had them or have helped a family member/ close friend deal with them. 

I use the word habit, because that is what it can become, that is how you fall back into it. 

Not only is it a habit, it's a reliance, a lifeline, something that helps you stay in control, gives you control of at least one thing. 

You're not helpless, you aren't weak, because you have control over that one thing, you and only you are in charge of it. 

Those thoughts are what keep you going, what keep you coming back, keep you from moving forward. 

That's normal. 

It's understandable.

It's a circle that sometimes never ends. 

At first you do it once, mostly because you need to do something. These things inside you, your stomache, your gut, worse your head they tell you something has to be done. 

So you do it, telling yourself just this one time and then never again. Of course that a lie, although you aren't aware of it at the time. 

This repeats a couple more times, until you now know there is no point in lying to yourself, because you've become dependent on this action. 

You're almost at a point of no return, not that you notice this because you're too busy trying to keep your head above water. 

Soon this takes over your life, very subtly of course. 

It's often at the back of your mind, you think of ways to hide it, when your going to do it next, what kind of excuse you'll make up in case you ever get caught. How will you react when you get caught?

 Will you laugh it off? 

Maybe start to cry? 

Get angry and confrontational? 

There are so many ways to go about this, but really it's about who will catch you. These thoughts never last long, sometimes they are outright shoved out of your brain. 

After all no one cares enough to notice all the hints you let out, all the differences that they could easily see if they just looked, so there's no worry of ever being caught. 

No one cares enough.

There are moments, small tiny lucid moments when you want to ask for help, but you quickly dismiss such thoughts.

This is your problem, you deal with it. 

Here is where the path splits some will go one way, others another. 

Sometimes you find help or help comes to you, either by accident or on purpose. Still the help comes and you're angry at first, but also secretly greatful to this new light that seems to help, that soothes you over. 

Eventually you do get better, you stop with the habit you were once so dependent upon because your okay with not having control. 

You know that it's okay not to have control.

The other path continues to spiral downward, getting steeper and steeper until finally there really is nothing left for you. 

Your life revolves around your habit and your dependency on it. 

Eventually your light fades away from this world either by your own choice or the habit finally being too much. 

It's the ones that get out of the current that have the highest chance of falling back into it. They could go years without there once desired/ needed/ wanted action before falling back. 

It's not our fault, after all it always whispers such sweet nothings into our ears, it takes away the pain, it gives us back a bit of control, helps us steady ourselves. 

Is it really that strange that we would be tempted to fall back into such a coy habit after having known it's embrace before? 

After all, all we want is our own hope, our own life, our own purpose. 

What we're really after though is an escape.

Just Another DayDream

    It's quiet in the small lived in apartment. All the lights are out and it's late in the evening, so you can barely make out what it looks like. What you can see though is fairly average. There's a plain deep blue, three seater couch in front of a small coffee table and a television set with two bookshelves, filled with literature, on either sides.
    Behind the couch is a bit of free area, before you meet countertop and bar stools lined up on one side. The other side is an open kitchen area, that looks fairly neat in the darkness. It seems to be the whole room, although there is a dog crate in one corner and a box filled with toys, most likely for the canine. If there's a dog bed then where's the dogo?
    You notice an open door off the right of the living area and head towards it. Inside you find a large queen sized bed with dark grey sheets and colorful pillows. It's a very lived in room and there are things all over the walls and floors, but you pay them no mind for you know this is where you will find the dog.
    He's easy to spot, laying right in the middle of the bed, curled out on his side breathing deeply. He seems to be asleep and you take your time looking him over. He's scruffy, with white fur and random splotches of black and brown and a tail that seems a tad crooked. You don't recognize the breed, but he sort of looks like a mix between a basset hound and a daschund. Slowly you start to reach out, curious as to what the dog feels like, but before you get the chances the dog jumps up and runs right through you.
    You jump, suddenly broken from your trance and follow after the creature curious as to what he's doing. It isn't until you hear a key unlocking the door that you realize the humans of the house have arrived. The dog went through you so, there is little reason to worry about anyone seeing you, instead you lean against the couch wondering who's about to enter.
    A male walks in and the dog immediately pounces on him. He shouts "Bax!" In exasperation, but you know he's happy as he walks in and pets the excited dog- Bax. It takes you a moment, but you feel like the man who just walked in is very familiar to you. He has long blonde hair, that's tied back in a pony tail, pale white skin and eyes that look blue, but also sort of green. He's wearing dark jeans and a green button down shirt.
    The male doesn't stay for long, because after he greets Bax he puts on the dogs collar and takes him out. You're once again left alone in the apartment. You take the time to continue exploaring, the man will probably be back with Bax soon, so you should snoop while you still can. Returning to the bedroom you can tell the man doesn't live here alone, he has a companion, but it's hard to tell if it's a male or female for most of the items laying around are things that could belong to both sex's.
    You discover another a bathroom, that you avoid not wanting to know what's inside and a find a storage closet and a spare bedroom. Although the bedroom is empty, so you collapse on the couch bored. The place is small and very much lived in, and even though it's foreign to you somehow you find this place calms and relaxs you. The front door opens and you find the familiar male walking back in with Bax, he wrestles with the dogs paws trying to clean them, before giving in and letting the dog run rampant in their home. He just sighs and smiles fondly before looking towards the clock hanging on the wall. Seems he's expecting someone, maybe his fellow flatemate?
    The lights are finally turned on while the male goes to the bedroom and closes the door. The dog immediately runs to the door and seems to wait for the male, you smile at the attachment the dog has towards him. A moment later the man walks in wearing a t-shirt, and the dog jumps on him once again before runing to his toy box. The male plays with him for a couple of minutes and you observe wondering why he seems so familiar, why the situation itself seems to scream at you, but you just don't know.
    After awhile the blonde stands and goes to the kitchen pulling something out of the fridge, before setting the stove. It's then that you notice a single picture frame on the windowsill near the kitchen. You seem to jump towards it with a surprising amount of energy. It seems like a family portrait with Bax in the middle and two humans holding him. You can tell that one is the blonde, but for some reason you can't see the other in detail. They're smaller than the blonde man and have short hair, both of them are smiling laughing even, but who is this other person! Most importantly why do you care so much?
    You sigh in frustration wanting to know, but it's not like you can ask. Then Bax catches your attention when he scrambles to the door jumping on whoever is entering. The blonde says something from the kitchen, but you can't hear anything for some reason. You turn curious as to who the other occupant of the home is, but find that instead of turning you end up opening your eyes and are greeted with sunlight. You're struck with confusion, before you realize you must have fallen into another daydream.

Just another daydream. 

The begining of my masks and other crap

    I find it hard to express my feelings towards others, now at least. It's hard to remember, but I think it was easier for me when I was younger. It was easier to be bold and loud when you were unaware of the consequences of such actions. Even then when I tried to hide my feelings I was easy to read, like a book you could say.
    I couldn't lie with a striaght face, without my voice hitching or my eyes looking away. Now it's almost second nature in a strange fucked up way. It's something my father encouraged once I got older, the ability to lie being a highly useful thing in life.
    At first I was agaisnt such a thing, finding it distasteful and just wrong, but after a while I found it easier to lie in certain situations than it was to tell the truth. It became a slow downfall that I easily embraced and twisted into my own being. A beautiful mask handcrafted by myself and worn only when it was necessary.
    It was towards teachers at first and only half lies, after all the best lie is hidden in a truth. It was easy having already gained their trust earlier by being the calm student in class. Eventually it morphed and I started lying to my family. Such an easy thing to do, specially since it was over the phone and I just had to use the right tone of voice. I was really tested when I saw them all in person, another mask was born then- the good daughter. She said all the right things to make that part of the family happy and easily kept in their good graces.
    That mask has been lost overtime, for I have long since stopped caring what they think of me. It means little to me whether they care for me or not. It's easy to guess that as I grew older more masks were crafted and it became easier and easier for me to switch between them. Sometimes it's difficult to tell whether I'm acting a part or being myself.
    This probably explains my inability to express my emotions and be unable to understand them. Which is a curious thing for I still experience them, but just have difficulty grasping them. It took me the longest time to know what Aster truely meant to me and even then my subconscious had to help me by sending me a strange dream. Although me knowing what he means to me doesn't help if I'm unable to express that feeling towards him.
    One of my guilty pleasures is fanfiction, more speciffically slash/yaoi/boyxboy hint hint nudge nudge. If you don't understand than you're either really innocent or too young to be reading this. Either way you shouldn't be here. Please press Alt+F4. Gone? Good.
    Anyway, I enjoy reading about the steady building of a romantic male relationship, because more often than not both of the protagonists have difficulty discussing their feelings or expressing them in certain ways. That or they go about showing their feelings in the most ludicrous of ways that it's baffling to me that they ever manage to get together in the first place. Alas those boys have the power of an author on their side, which unfortunelty for them means they will somehow end up together.
    Back to my point, because surprisingly there is a point, I find it easy to empathize with these types of characters, the ones that are shy, embarrassed, or emotionally stunted because I'm so much like them in some ways. Finding it difficult to express my love to the one I care for, showing it in such small ways that they will likely never notice such things.
    Holding myself back from taking the lead or just letting myself go. Hesitating, because I'm a coward. That's the main difference between those characters and me they stand up and take charge when they must, me? Well I end up freezing, unable to react unsure of what to say, angry at myself for being so unaware of the needs of my partner and unable to do anything to help them. In those moments I'm worse than scum.
    I'm trying to change though, specially after I royally fucked up not too long ago with Aster and Larkspur ended up breathing down my neck trying to keep herself from strangling me. Since then I've been trying to show more, but it's hard sometimes, because there is still a tiny piece inside of me telling me to hold back because Aster will leave one day, they all do and it will only hurt more.
    It's hard not listening to that voice, but I've found it to be easier after I outright told Aster my fear. 'I'm used to people eventually leaving,' I told him. 'It's just a part of life and something that's a normal occurence in my own.' The obvious that means I'm waiting for you to leave as well went unsaid, still I wonder if he understood it completely. I won't lie to him, not anymore, but I still won't tell him everything. 
    I feel like I'm rambaling about nothing. Still I feel as if I'm in a stump. It's difficult to write recently, but I enjoy writing so this is me forceing something, even though it's just awful. I apologize for this horrendous piece of writing, I'll work on it. Maybe write out my daydream.

Till next time