i'm supposed to be fixed.

i'm not supposed to cry myself to sleep every night, still.
im supposed to have the energy to go to school, and come home and not need to go to bed right then.
im supposed to have enough energy to have fun, to dance, to run around.
i'm supposed to be able to deal with stress instead of just letting it crush me.
i'm supposed to want to learn, to be creative, to see my boyfriend.
all i want to do is sleep.
all i want to do is cry.
all i want to do is have dylan holding me, all day.

i used to be fun
and interesting
and skinny and pretty and
active and happy and not
THIS.
i'm so tired of this.




i'm taking all of my medicine,
so why don't i feel like a normal fucking human being yet?

my brain tells me i have the world to live for,
but my heart just can't hear it.

i miss me.

i miss me.
i don't know where i went.

it's always when i think i've finally found some balance in my life

that someone comes crashing down on everything i've built, telling me my vision was perverted and needed to be fixed. no suggestions, no kind words, no pulling me aside to question my intentions. no, a fucking slap to the face every. fucking. time. how am i supposed to be myself when everyone is busy telling me that the person i want to be isn't good enough?

can't you see that i've got a tinder heart and a paper body
that could burst into flames at the slightest spark?

doesn't that matter to anyone?

no, let's give her a name tag that reads "anger" and ship her off to yet another doctor's office,
corner her on car rides, dinners out with the family. break her down until she hates the very foundation on which she has prided herself on forming, and then tell her to cheer up when her bedside manner is bringing daddy's birthday party down.

fuck you.
you do not know me if you're tossing me into the anger management bin.
because maybe my emotions don't play out on my face the way they do inside,
so here's a backstage pass: inside of me is broken. all the strings are frayed and have wittled themselves down to threads.

and every time you do this to me, a few of them break. and sure, there may be hundreds, but once they're gone, they're gone for good. and i fear the day when ive only got one or two left when my foundation is shattered.

not that i'm blaming this all on you, because i'm not. mostly i blame myself. ive broken more of my strings than anyone else has. and that's the problem. i'm constantly teetering on the very edge of losing myself to a black hole of self-loathing. i'm my own punching bag; i can handle that much. it's once you join in on the punches and kicks, once you train me to make more and more accurate and painful blows to already-tender areas, that things start to look a little hopeless to my guilt-ridden psyche.

i don't know,
but i'm drowning here.
i need a change, and now.
i'm calling a new psychiatrist tomorrow.

nothing i can control

is going right this week.


pandora is nice to me
and dylan is nice to me
and blake is nice to me
and that is all.

kickass self esteem today, but i've been off my synthroid for four days now, and i'm starting to get depressed again. I NEED MORE MEDS!

sleeping

i don't want to go to school tomorrow

i feel like i'm getting sick
and i just want to sleep it off

so i think that's exactly what i'm going to do.

caught

last night, i went to denny's with nathan and jaime at 1 am
without asking my parents
and we got caught
because the dogs got into chocolate
and then jumped on my mom and dad's bed.


i'm grounded for at least a week,
heavy chores and homework every day, nothing else allowed unless the house is spotless and all homework is completed.
no seeing boyfriend/friends.
straight to school and back home, nowhere else.

but they didn't take my phone or my ipod or my computer
so i can still communicate.


i'm more upset with myself than i am with my mom.
i deserve the punishment i've been given,
and it's not really that bad at all.

i don't think i was thinking; i was just hungry and decided to go on an impulse.
i had a panic attack when my mom called me and asked where the fuck we were
and i called dylan when she hung up on me three times in a row, then turned her phone off.
and i let him see the messed up part of me, that guilt monster.

in those moments, i'm a ruiner
and i didnt want him to see me that way.
it tears me apart how stupid and reckless and fucked up i am
when i'm like that.


so dylan,
i'm sorry.
i'm working on it.

accents

sure,
someone's accent can tell you where he's from,
but it can't tell you anything about
everywhere he's been.

maybe i'm beating a dead whore

(ha) by posting this, but i'm tired of your blatant disregard for anyone other than yourself. s my d. i don't have to deal with you, and i promise that next year, i'll be seated as far away from you as i can be at all times. i don;t understand how you can be so fucking fake all of the time.

i'm sorry i haven't called. i consider myself friendless, when i don't think about what we have. (had? :/) i texted you earlier but i think you were sleeping...maybe we can just skip the past three years and go back to being best friends? i miss having you in my life; you've always been my closest guy friend, even when you pushed my princess cake off the table and ruined it all those years ago. i have taken your allegiance to me for granted, and i'm sorry. please call me.

happiest birthday, i miss you. you've stayed by me, so thank you. i promise we'll find a way to hang out soon; i didn't forget about you.

i still can't forgive you for that. i don't know if i ever will. how could you do that to your child? i will protect him with all i have for as long as he'll let me, and you won't do that again.

you've been weird lately, and i hate it. maybe you've been a little more snide, maybe it's just my imagination. but for now i guess nothing can be done.

i know we've both been busy and therefore distant this week, but i love you. see you thursday.





sleep beckons.
tomorrow i'll finally put down a story i've been meaning to write down for a while,
about a man who lives in the attic that adjoins my room (:
night