Carousel De' Reality

The Ramblings of Insanity

These are my short stories, ranging from a paragraph long to a few pages and the subjects are varied. Enjoy!

A Magician's Hat

Sometimes I wonder, what connects certain parts of our lives together. I never really find the answer. Everytime I think Im close, I forget. But I suppose it's meant to be that way.
        It was just the other day, tonight actually, when my brother pointed to the clock and said "Look mom, it's 9-1-1." Nine-one-one? I thought. Strange. Very strange...
        I wondered if somewhere inside of that digital clock if there were a unverise in which America, the digital clock America, was reliving the experice we lived on 9-11; reliving maybe some small compacted one minute version of it. Perhaps, but I guess we'll- I'll, never know. It's odd though. Cause I kept glancing at that clock waiting for it to turn to 9:12, but it just took so long. And I thought that maybe this is what it felt like to those who were there to witness that disaster in New York, New York of 2001. Did time feel like it had frozen? Did everything go by in such slow motion that you could barely focus on anything but what was going on at that moment in time. And even though the day seemed to have lasted for ever, when it finally faded into the darkness of midnight, did it feel as if it had gone by in a flash? Just as I felt the clock moved from 9:11 to 9:12 just as quickly as I felt it were slow sixty exact seconds before?
       It's strange how our perception and ability to percieve changes things like a magician switching three hats around at super fast speed telling you to guess which one the ball was under now. It's funny because some of us pick the right hat everytime.

 

 

A Note To Lovers

How many times have I asked myself? How many times can I question my happiness before realizing what exactly it is. Happiness is an illusion, and only when you allow yourself to be delusional, can you truly be happy. A person will smile, laugh and feel good; then question on whether or not they meant it. And the truth is if you really have to question yourself for more then a few seconds of curiosity [curious seconds]- then you don't know happiness and you were not delusioning it.
           Love has the same effect. I once asked myself sometimes ago; do I really him. I felt sure that I did but I still worried just in case I was wrong, or being naive'. But did I even have the right to second guess my own emotions? A man will raise hell if another man were to question his emotion. He would most likely reply "Am I not the ruler of my emotions? Am I not the only one who knows the trueness of what I feel? How dare you question my introspective perception." Well I say to any man; how dare you. Man is so quick to anger at a person's question of emotion, but are you not a person too? Should you not scold yourself thrice more then the man who questioned your emotive? If shame were a thing of existence in my world: this is where it would exist- in the man who questions his own happiness or love. And so if shame I believed in, ashamed I would have been until now. It was wrong of me to question my love for him. I should have asked and answered myself these questions before I questioned love. Does he make me smile? Yes, more then anyone. Does he make me happy? Yes, indeed. Is he the only one I want to be with? Yes, this is true. Can I see myself with him for more then a little while? Yes, definitely; this is true as well. Then should I question, or have the right to question my love for him when all the signs are present? No. And do I love him? Simply, yes.

 

A Piece of Clay

I had to stop everything I was doing, to come and type on this dinky word pad of mine. I called my lover today. I call him my lover but I know he's not. He's my lover in the sense that he loves me and I love him. But we're not together. No. Im with Matt. Matt is my boyfriend. Im in love with Colton, and Colton is in love with me. I called him on the phone, private, and asked his brother where he was. Brandon handed Colton then phone and I heard his familiar, yet so unfamiliar voice speaking back to my from the other line. It had changed over the last two years, but it was still the same deep and mysterious voice it had been for so long. "Hey, do you know John's number?" He stood silent for a moment, and instantly I knew he was contemplating the voice on the other line of his phone. I knew instantly that he knew instantly that it was me. "Well? Yes, no?" He stood silent a few seconds more before stuttered "Uhh, no. I- I can't remember it really". I wanted so bad to say something else. But I had heard voice and that was enough for me. "... Al-Alright. Well never mind then. Thanks. Click". He didn't even wait for me to say goodbye. He was always good for that. It was hard for him to hear me over the phone again I know. But I needed to hear his voice. It was a necessity to me at that moment in time. I could have ignored it like all those other times, but I didn't. And that was the end results of it.

I have woken up every morning for the last couple of days. I can't exactly remember how many days, though. This past week has escaped my grasp far faster then I thought it ever could have. It really feels like only yesterday I was saying "I only have nine days before my concert". And now Im saying I only have five. I've been thinking about Colton a lot more lately and I just don't understand why. I love him, I guess would be the answer. Im sure he thinks of me at least once a day. And especially now. I see it in his eyes that he has become to miss me more these last two weeks. The same time I began to start to miss him, again. Im not quite sure how it started like this. I first thought that I was okay being with Matt. I wasn't mourning the fact that it was Matt and not Colton like I had every other guy. So I thought this relationship would work out. But now I know that it isn't. I know that me and Matt will not last much longer then we already have. Or perhaps we'll last for the next couple of weeks and I'll just keep pretending like I love him, I keep telling him every night that I love him, and I'll repeat it in between each bell. My best friend will advise me to try and ignore the fact, or just break up with him. Bit I won't either. I'll let my self silently suffer, while Im with some man I don't love, and yearning for the one that I do.

I had often found myself wondering how a person can go on for years pretending like they love someone, and maybe even really loving them. But how could a person be married to some man or woman when there's someone else out there that they love so much more. What does that say about your marriage? What does that say about the children that have come from it? A child should be able to say that they came from two people who love each other deeply and wanted to form a life between the two of each other. They shouldn't have to know that their mother or their father was all along in love with someone else and yearning for that person everyday of his or her life. It was like that we me and my father.

I know very damn well that my dad loves someone out there much more then he loves my mother. Which is a strange concept to me because my father got married at such a young age; which means he found this love a child. And there is no greater love in a world then one that forms in the childhood and lasts well beyond adult hood. Every now and then I find myself thinking that I shouldn't be the kid sitting here on this couch that he worked so hard for. I shouldn't be the kid that broke his thousand dollar screen projector. It should have been a kid that was formed out of this deep love that wasn't meant to fade. But it wasn't. And here I am.

I see it in my fathers eyes everyday. He thinks about that woman he loves and looks at us children thinking that they should have come from someone else. From someone not my mother. From some woman who probably lives back in his home town in Massachusetts. And sometimes I want to ask him about it. But I'm scared. Im not the kid he wants, I was never the kid he wanted. I think that's why he treats my so badly. I think that's why I treat him so badly. Because I know I was a mistake. I know Im not supposed to be the one here.

I don't want what happened to my dad to happen to me and Colton. But here I am, watching history repeat itself. "We repeat the sins of our fathers". And this proves to be true all over the world, but especially in my world, right now. Who knows? Maybe be and Colton shouldn't be together right now. Maybe the longer we wait, the sweeter it will be. I have no idea. All know is that I love Colton and Colton loves me. Matt loves Sarah and Sarah loves him. So why are together?

We break up. That's the answer, the answer to my question. I broke up with him on the way to bed. I didn't mean to. But it just happened that way. When he said "I love you" and I didn't respond, he knew very well what was about to happen. He said he understood and I apologized so many times. I knew I was doing the right thing, but for some reason it felt so wrong. Usually it's such a relief after I break up with someone who I know I can't be with, but this time it was a different kind of relief. I don't know how to explain it, but it was a relief that hurt.

When I saw Matt in the morning when I got to school, it broke my heart. I wanted instantly to wrap my arms around him and kiss him the way I was so inclined to do every other day. But I didn't. And it hurt. And what hurt more was seeing his face. Seeing it hidden behind his beautiful hair. As hidden as it was, I could still sight the pain from a mile a way. And almost instantly I began to have second thoughts about what I did. But it was done and I still had to go on with what I planned to do.

The whole day consisted of me trying to figure out what I was going to say to Colton. But I found myself looking for Matt around ever corner. Of course being the great person he is, he was around every corner, and that made me smile.

During third period, I was in my Advanced Choir IV class and a girl named Brittany White informed me that Colton and her had a conversation that lasted for two hours, and was completely about me. And then I knew instantly, with this gasp of realization, what I would do. I tried to convince myself that Colton and I would get back together, and in some small way I did. But then I continued to think that Matt would be a problem. I wasn't sure if I could get back together with Colton. I wasn't even really sure if I wanted to anymore. I knew that if things happened the way that I thought they were supposed to happen then I would have a really hard time getting over Matt, because I realized my feelings for him were deeper then I thought. But I knew that what I felt for Matt had no comparison to what I felt for Colton. If I had more time, and patience, I would write about everything me and this beautiful person went through together. I would right about it and write about it, and my fingers would cease to type. But I can't. All I can say about Colton is that him and I went through more then just hell together, and we love each other more then I've ever seen two people love each other.

But with love comes the acceptance to know when to let go. I spoke with Colton like I had planned. It went exactly the way I thought it would go. And as of right now I refuse to say what happened, because that would destroy the end of this book. Now don't cheat and go to the end to read about what happened, it will only destroy everything, and make my soul seethe. But what I got out of the conversation (if that's what you would call it) was that my name is "Krystal Fucking Lachance", I'm crazy, and I'm me. This will all make so much more sense later on but just acknowledge the fact right now. And so I let go. I let go and I moved on.

My mom told me that you never forget your first love. The same way that Matt's mom told him that Sarah would never forget him because he was her first love. But the love between me and Colton was, and is, so much different, and it's such a beautiful and sad thing.

I decided that if me and Matt were to work out, that we would have to take things slowly. I didn't want to tell him at first that I was ready to attempt to try and get back together with him because I know he (and even you as you read this) didn't fully comprehend why I had done what I had done, and I didn't want him to stop his process of degradation.

You as you read this are probably thinking one of two things (or both) one: she's fucking crazy. And two: what the hell is up with this chick. Well, I'll tell you what's up with me.

I hate people who form to the shape of their masters hand. And what I mean by this is people who change who they are every second of every day just to please one person. I despise when people will completely do a three-sixty, and change everything about themself, and forget all the ones they love. And I see Matt doing that.

He has told me so many times before that he does everything in the world to make me happy. And that is the sweetest thing, ever. But what drives me crazy is that he's so willing to change who he is to please me. I didn't fall for some clay mold. I didn't let myself begin to get so close to some piece of rock that I can shape and mold. I thought I fell for a guy who had his own personality. A guy who will change on his own accord, and not on mine.

And what I see in Matt (just as what I told him) is that he is a piece of clay. He has been formed into this beautiful vase, and every time a person comes along, he will pour water on himself. He'll wet his surface so that he can remold himself to someone else liking. He will change who he is, what he thinks, and his system of believes even.

I don't want that for him. I don't want that for anybody. And especially not him. And this is where his mother came into play.

She doesn't know who I am, or what my position is. But for some reason she thinks I am trying to control him. She thinks Im trying to manipulate him. Why would I practice an art for that which I hate so much! Well the answer is that I wouldn't. I wouldn't do that. I have been accused of doing the exact opposite of what I was actually doing. I have attempted to form him into his own person, and tried so hard to not let him try and change for me, and here this person is, that doesn't know me. Accusing me of doing it!

I understand a mothers position to automatically take a gun and put it to someone's head for her son's sake. I know. I've raised a son myself. And I'm still raising him. But perhaps why I don't so much comprehend why she would do that is because I don't understand at all, in any way, shape, or form, why someone would judge a person in any situation, at all. My philosophies in life that Im sure all my readers have come to notice through out this book, don't understand the judgmental part of society, because I practice such a complete set of looking at every single little detail and perception that there could possibly ever be in any situation, because that's just who I am. And I know what it's like to be judged. Even as a small child (as far as I can remember, three: which goes back to the story I told you about at the very beginning of this book), I have attempted not to judge anyone based on any one or even many facts. And that is precisely why I haven't judged Matt's mother. Because one: I understand her position, two: I don't know everything that's going through her head, and three: she seems like such a wonderful person that I am so sure she has some logical reason in her head (which I probably don't understand because of my perception), which rationalizes her having judged me.

What's my point of having written all of this? Well the point it that you can't be who other people want you to be. You can only be who you want to be. You can only mold yourself. You can allow other's to mold you, but you shouldn't. You shouldn't because then when you fall in love and have a family and get married, who are you? A clone? Someone's machine? Some man or woman's mind slave? No, that's not how it's supposed to work, not at all. But of course as I say with all situations of life: If that's really your choice in life, then don't let me stop you.

 

 

A Pointless Short Story

I taught myself today,
A lesson that meant nothing,
To anybody other then me.

I caught a bird today,
It was blind,
And couldn't see.

I sat there all day, staring at those words; wishing, hoping, praying that it would say something other then what it already said. I thought that maybe, maybe if I sat there long enough the screen would come to life and my conscious would make words appear in the minds eye. But it didn't. So I clicked save, and I clicked save again. Then I went to file+ save as... and saved it as what it was already saved. And when it told me there was already a saved file under that name, and asked me if I wanted to over right that file, I clicked yes. Then I went to file+ open and re-opened the file to make sure that it was as I wanted it to be.

Hello, my name is Mirror, and I have Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. I've been like this my entire life and most the time I forget I even have a sickness. But it's okay, that just means I'm a very careful and aware person. Or at least... that' what I tell myself.

I often sit there in my mind for hours at a time and ponder the theories of life, philosophy and religion. To the outside world it's only a couple of minutes. But my brain is so complex and I've taught it so well, that I can think two or even three and four things at a time; which in turn helps my thoughts get done a lot quicker then it originally would have. Yeah, I know it sounds silly. But that's okay, cause Im a silly person. It's fun being a kid when you're an adult. That's my philosophy. You weren't a kid just to suffer and grow up and suffer more; you were a kid so you could grow up suffering, and learn to have fun. Then apply that fun to your life as an adult so your not a boring person who has kids and raises them in the same old boring ways and just repletes another brainwashed clone into the world. Yep. A brainwashed clone. That's what I said.. or well, typed rather.

I would have you notice my unique style of writing. I write as I talk. I write using punctuation marks so you can almost predict the tone of my voice and hear my pauses and maybe if Im good enough... feel my thoughts. I guess a literary professional would probably say I write with the literary device called "stream of consciousness", which I guess would seem so, but if I wrote with my stream of consciousness, then you would just get a whole bunch of jumble. I mean, since I think usually two things at a time, I very well can't type them to you that way. Like I said, it would just be a bunch of jumble.

Yesterday I went to the movies and I watched "Stranger Then Fiction". It's a movie about an author who's written seven books and in each book it ends with the hero dying. The special thing about her latest book is she's writing it about a man named Harold Crick, and she can't figure out how to kill him. And what's even more special, is that it turns out she's writing this story of hers, as if she is god. Herald Crick is a real person, and his life happens as she writes it. This author goes as far as to watch people die in a hospital so she can feel the effects of death, and then write about it. And I guess why I'm writing about it right now (no pun intended)... because I am the same way. See, her philosophy is that a good writer writes as it comes to him/her. A phenomenal writer doesn't have some plan that can be drawn out in case the story doesn't go as he/she wanted. And after hearing her talk about this philosophy of hers, I realized that it is mine as well.

So I started writing a poem. The one that was at the very top of the very first page. I wrote it, and I know I can write more to it. But I want it to be a beautiful peace that will touch peoples hearts, or maybe slap them in the face. But I know that if I just keep writing, it will be good... but not good enough. And really, the over use of the word "but" and "that" is getting to me.

Anyways, today I went to school. I walked into the hallways and noticed all of the regular stares and comments that people so lovingly torment me with, were less then usual. But I didn't care. To tell the truth, I was focusing on the walls. They are a beautiful thing you know. Walls. They're what hold a building up. They're what keep a building from falling. Sometimes they're what a person uses to make sure they don't get hurt. To keep him or herself from falling also. Sometimes walls are what keep people from getting in. From getting in and hurting someone, or from getting in and helping someone. So if you look at it in a different, although weird, perspective; walls are like life. They are contradicting, they help and they hinder.

What could possibly be my point in writing any of this truly? I honestly couldn't tell you, or at least even begin to tell you. All I can say is that things in life are simple. So simple that it makes life an extremely complex thing. The reason why? The reason why is that the human race is made up of a vast majority of people that just couldn't bare it if life were simple. So they make it hard. They strive to find things like complexities and goal hindering situations. It's human nature. And I, have been so special enough [or unfortunate] to rise above that.

I taught myself today,
A lesson that meant nothing,
To anybody other then me.

I caught a bird today,
It was blind,
And couldn't see.

I wrote a poem today,
One that was just as useless,
As never having written one in the first pace.

Then I wrote a short story about it,
And I entered it into some meaningless contest,
Being judged by meaningless people

Who had no idea what the hell great literature was

 

 

There was something in the air and there was something in the color. Oh jeeze, I don't know. Was it the color? Did it change? No, it couldn't have. Well then, it was the taste. Something tasted different. She's not the only one who tastes with her mouth. No, not the only. And we aren't the only one's who ramble incoherently into the crazy night. Oh, strange. How strange that such a stranger could still make such a difference in the taste of the air. Oh what a difference. What a tasteful yet so distasteful difference. Monster, how should I know? How could I know. Well, I do know. Yes, I still see. Forever rambling, writting about the chiasmus I so enjoy. Oh the chiasmus, not quite so forbidden as you'd have me believe.

January 11, 2009 

 

 

Are We Greater Than Animals?

How much filth can you fit into a human heart, when once it was so pure. Apparently an entire life time's worth. You can take any one infant and see that twenty years down the road, he or she has no innocence, no purity, and possibly not even one strand, or thread of goodness left in them. But this is what it's like to be human. Some people work their entire lives just to support their family, some just to support themselves; and if you have one hint of being something other then un-humane, then you work to support as many people as you can. We take pride in being humans, but why? It's not just because we have apposable thumbs and can communicate; monkeys can do that too. So what is it? There are some people who will say that what sets us apart from the animals is the fact that we are not barbaric, and they are. But do we not too kill our young? Do we not too leave behind the weak and put the strong on a pedestal? Are we not the only species known to the human race that intentionally will set out to murder each other with no purpose or greater meaning for that act? Are we greater than animals (although we be animals ourselves), because we have a heart, and can feel emotion other then that of basic instinct? We are a race that evolves and adapts and helps each other. We are a race full of people who wont and will leave behind the wounded. I see some animals doing our humanly duties better then us, the humans. A gorilla can find it's way out of a steel and bolted cage; where as we, so used to being on the other side; would just lie there and wither, possibly scream for help. Gorillas will help each other in times of need, even if it means putting themselves in danger. But humans aren't really much like that. If you were locked in a steal and bolted cage some would try to help you, but most would not. Not if they knew that it could get them killed. Not if they knew it would put their life in danger. It doesn't take much to convince an entire society to allow other human beings to be held captive and tortured. As long as you're strong and we put you on a pedestal, as long as you can have us shot with a sniper rifle at the first sign of protest; we'll listen, oh boy will we listen.

 

 

Cutting My Way Through This World

Some say that the past leaves scars, that over time the past can heal, but mine doesn't. My past is written on my skin. They say that when the past heals it leaves a scare on your heart. But not mine. My scars aren't on the inside, they're on my body where everyone can see them. They're real, they're not just a figure of speech or a visual out put of emotion; they're real and they're on my body.

        I was 10. The first time I harmed myself I was 10, nearer to the age of 11. My body was broken and my face pale. Not pale in skin pigments, but pale in an expressionless gaze.
        At first it was meant for amusement. No, not amusement, curiosity. They said curiosity killed the cat. But what they forgot to say was inside. Curiosity killed the cat inside.
        And not only did I not know that when that first cut was made that I would be sucked into a warped reality full of: staples, pencils, small pieces of flexible metal and eventually razors, I would also hurt the people I love the most, then eventually forget to care.

        As time went on I began to cut deeper, and then more creative. A few slash marks here. A few slash marks there. I'd get desperate and rub the skin of my arm with an eraser. And sometimes when it got really bad, I would dig my nails into my flesh.
        I became obsessive. Each day a new cut would find its way to my body. I began realizing that the world provided me with many sharp tools, and took advantage.
        Sometimes my cuts would be deeper after picking the scabs. At first I couldn't stop myself from picking them because they were ugly. Ugly like a pile of shit smack dab in the middle of a white carpet. But one day, when I ripped off that nasty layer of epidermis. I bled, I bled and bled, and blood got all over my gorgeous ensemble and dripped on the floor and all the way to the sink where I washed it off and applied pressure to keep it from spewing blood like the ashes from Mt. Vesuvius.
        After that incident the cut on my arm, which was actually an eraser burn, was twice as deep and 10x more gory looking. And from then on, to me scabs were beautiful. And helped destroy my body.
        The more I picked the scars, the longer it took to heal. And the longer it took to heal, the bigger the scar, and the better. My life soon revolved around cutting. Cutting and hiding them. But eventually everyone found out. I don't remember how people reacted, but I do remember being half way relieved because since everybody already knew about my nasty habit, I needed not to hide them, anymore.
        One day at church I told the pastures that I cut and I couldn't stop. I told them I need help. I screamed and cried and begged, and pleaded. But they wouldn't help me. They didn't care about the voices in my head or my fear of telepathy. All they did was refer me to "god".

        Months later I found a new habit and a new game. Bulimia. I didn't know what it was called back then but I sure as hell knew how to do it. It was a never ending game that I hated to play. Half of the time I had my finger down my throat, and the other half I was tearing apart my body.

        For a long time I thought I was lost. I thought that if I kept cutting that I would find myself, but it never happened.

 

 

Dear World

Dear World,
Parents need to learn how to treat their kids. Dear world, parents need to learn the difference between chores and slave work. Dear world, parents need to learn fair play. Dear world, parents need to realize that they're not the center of the universe. Dear world, parents need to realize that pretending like they know everything rubs off on their children and can turn them in to snobby nosed preps/jocks. Dear world, parents need to take a stand against other parents that aren't doing their job right and stop standing against their children.

When the world falls into darkness the children of the world remain a light. Sadness infects us all and each light slowly begins to fade. Why do we corrupt our only hint of sun, with harsh words, smiting hands, and richeous ignorance? Where do we learn the difference between innocence and misery if there were no predecessors to fill in the blanks? Simple, we take a step up and look down on all of those who thought that in the eyes of their child that they should be God.

Dear world, parents need to step up and be a fucking parent.

 

 

For Once through the Eyes of a Witch

Like father said, ‘trying to find peace on this earth is like trying to find paradise without believing in an afterlife.’ I believe that this earth is paradise, and there is an afterlife, for there is life after life after life. And after death we are reborn into paradise time after time, given another chance to see the beauty in this world, another chance to save it from the evil that attempts to overtake it. It is said that only the blind can see, and I can see heaven on this earth, for I am blind to its hell. And hell would freeze if only we would stop hating each other, if only.

I Dream...

What do i dream? I dream of a day where I can wake up and not be depressed. I dream of a day where I can wake up and not feel like rolling over and dying. I dream of a day where I can wake up and say "I feel like being here today". I have a dream that I will wake up one day and say "I wanna be here today" and mean it, I mean really feel it. I dream of a day where I can wake up and think "I wanna be here today" and not wonder whether or not that feeling will flee before noon. I want a day whre I can wake up, look out my window and see the sky. See the sky for what it really is. Blue and beautiful. Full of life. I wanna be able to see that sky and not have to imagine seeing that sky with all the birds and smiling faces. I really want to see the faces in the clouds. I dream that one day I will wake up and I will see a face from the celestials smiling down at me, and I wanna really see them. I wanna wake up and and not have to pretend to see the birds fly.

 

 

I am Bella...

Bella, no matter how hard she tries, no matter what she does, is always falling, leaping, stumbling, walking, trotting, slipping, crawling, or running into danger. She reminds me so much of myself it's damn ridiculous.  Except instead of always seeming to find danger, I always seem to run into problems, although danger really is never that far off.

Bella never escapes the danger that follows her no matter how hard she tries, quite nauseously similar to the way that I can never get what I want. Not once. Not ever. Not with out going through hell for it, and not only having to paying for having it later, but also it's never exactly what I want, hardly ever even close. But it's strange, because, I've always known this. Always felt it, I've always been aware of this. And I thought that by some measurement I was doing it to myself. How? I don't know. It makes no sense that some how I could be forcing everything to go wrong. Sure I could be the cause for what's wrong in my life, but can I blame even that on me? I didn't ask for the molestation, the beatings from both my father and my nana, I didn't beg the gods to kill two of my unborn children, didn't ask him for the gift of empathy, that burden that I could never live without. But even so, it's my life and I affect it right? But what about the other things? What about how computers seem to spasm at the sound of my voice or the touch of my fingers? Why do electronic just seem to break no matter how carefully and correctly I handle them? Why after weeks of researching items before I buy them to make sure everything will be just fine, do I find out after spending hundreds of dollars that suddenly there are a thousand reviews that weren't there before telling me all the bugs, all the inconveniences, telling me how it really isn't worth it and how it hardly even works. How could I be the cause of that? And how could I even manage to do it four times, yes it has happened to me four times, never mind just once? Is it my fault when I can't even clean my room without something happening?

All these things that just always seem to go wrong, I've felt for so long that the pain I hold inside, the frustration, was too over exaggerated. In my mind I thought that other people must go through the same thing day in and day out and they don't almost have a heart attack every time one small thing goes wrong, no matter how reoccurring. But then reading Twilight seeing how it really wasn't Bella's fault that she's just always in the face of danger, I realized that it's not my fault that things never seem to go right. I never seem to do anything good enough, and when I do, it literally disappears. Years of poetry, pictures, lyrics, will literally all of a sudden be erased from my computer, and the entire collection of backup CD's mysteriously missing from the place that I guard with my life. And the terrible pain? I realize now that it's not me being overdramatic or melodramatic, or any form of drama anything at all. I don't know of anyone else who can't breathe without something going wrong never mind working with computers, cameras, camcorders, homework, calculators, bikes, walking, seeing, cleaning, everything. It's not my fault that no matter how much I know about computers, that no matter how well I take care of them, no matter what they will always spasm at the sound of my voice and I will always have to save everything I write every three seconds or else the computer will decide to just shut down.

This is funny because I just wrote about a whole entire page to add on to this and the internet page I was writing it on, decided to randomly exit itself. How ironic. How impossibly frustrating, I'm definitely fighting the urge to shove my head through a wall.

So…. On with the story. God knows I can't remember all the pain I poured into that page but I do remember the last thing I was typing about… hopefully I can get through this without having to stop and hold myself together. I won't stop. Nothing will stop me.

 *           *           *

The Last Thing:

So what if you stubbed your toe as you were walking out the door? What would the average do? Probably swear a little then bend down and swaddle their foot. Or maybe they'd just hold it in and go on about their day like nothing had happened. Why fret right? I'm sure everyone in this world will stub their toe or some part of their body a million times by the end of their life. But that's just what it is. Life. It's just a part of life. But what if someone stubbed their toe everyday and very nearly every second of the day? What if no matter how carefully they walked, no matter how gentle their steps, they still continued to stub their toe at every turn?  What if they became so absorbed in trying to protect their toe from stubbage that it consumed who they were and took over their life? And even though their toe was numb to the pain, what if it just never stopped? What if it just kept happening? Would they just sit on a couch for the rest of their life knowing thankfully that the only time they would have to worry about their toe would be when they had to consume sustenance, and use the bathroom. Or would they keep going, knowing that every time they stubbed their toe they would be that must closer to ripping it off or throwing themselves out a window? Would they blame it on themselves like I have for so many years? Say that maybe they were just ultimately a clumsy person, doomed forever to stub their toe a sickening number of times a day? What then?

I've been sitting on a couch for so long, and being smacked in the face every time I made an attempt to get up. Yet I've been strong because I still go outside, I still venture every so often. Every time I do, a thousand things go wrong, and after the day is over, I climb back on the couch afraid to even move. I've been pushing myself more harshly lately, and every time I stub my toe I nearly fall apart. Now, thanks to Isabella Marie Swan, or should I say Stephenie Meyer, I have the complacency of knowing that it's okay to fall apart. It's not my fault. And yes I will never find too many Jacob's or Edward's in my life, and I will always chase away the people I care about with the constant blood that pours from my mutilated toe, but just knowing it's not my fault and it's okay to throw myself out a window, almost makes me feel good about doing just that.

Last night in the process of cleaning my room Zakk needed my assistance in opening the door. I had a huge cup of water shaped like a guitar that I got from Hard Rock Park and placed it firmly in between my teeth, something I've done successfully many times before. I didn't even feel it slip out. It's as if the fates defied the laws of nature and let it pass through my teeth like a ghost passes through a wall. I threw everything in my arms down, kicked some things, threw some more things, and then ran into the bathroom, laid myself down into the bathtub, curled into a ball, and just held myself together. It's okay to hold myself together now. It's okay and I like that.

 

 

I Live for the Happy Moments

Life is one big contradiction in itself. What is the point in living if you are just to die? Some people would say "I live for the happy moments". But how many happy moments are there? For some hardly any. People live to die. People are happy when they cry. People will sometimes laugh when they smile. Sometimes you'll smile when all you really want to do is roll over dead. Sometimes you cry when your happy because it's been so long since you've been happy that it actually scares you. A door is there closed, only to be opened, only to be closed again. There is really and truthfully no point to everything or anything, but for some reason people like you and me keep living here. We keep causing our selves to suffer. When we know we could end it with just one simple bullet, or rope ro razor, but we don't... we never do.

 

 

Just Jump

I keep saying to myself "Why would you keep trying?" The words sound to me like a broken record player. Sometimes that's all I can hear through out my day of relentless attempts to remain half way not insane. If you tried to fly but knew you couldn't what would be the point in jumping off the roof? If every time you jumped off that roof you fell and broke an arm or sprained a wrist, wouldn't you eventually learn to stop jumping?
           So why do we continuously jump? Off that bridge into the river of love, or off that skyscraper into the streets of elation. Why should I knowingly break my heart over and over again? Why would anyone? If you know that no matter after how many attempts every friend you had would eventually lie to you, stab you in the back, and break any confidence in them, then why in the hell would you continuously yearn for friendship? Why would I even begin to go through the nearly unbearable task of climbing that damned skyscraper when I know that after the second I jump off, all I will endure is a moments second of imagined happiness and a thousand minutes of pain?
           What is it about the human nature that makes us try unstopping-ly to achieve that which we know can inevitably not be? Is it the theory of soul? The theory of emotion, that makes us different? Some how I feel that only death will bring the answer.
           A lion will chase it's prey until he feels that it can be chased no longer. A human on the other hand, will chase his prey until he can no longer endure the chase. Perhaps this is what sets us apart from animals. Perhaps this is what makes us superior. Because even though I know my arms will break and my feet will blister at the unmerciful-ness of foregone conclusion, I am willing to endure that life's time suffering in exchange for that diminutive piece of benign fortune.

this picture hates you

 

 

My Quest for Water

My Quest For Water My night is Myrtle beach was as follows. And hold your breath because this is a long as story. [Though totally worth the read].

[Note that this was my spending time with my cousins from Boston and my celebration with Zakk for our two weeks and two days because two weeks and two days is usually when a guy breaks up with me or I break up with them, so we were celebrating knowing we're not gonna break up] So first off after waiting an hour for my aunt to get to my house so I could see Ryan and Cassidy and being an hour late from leaving at the time we set (which was 7:30) we took 17 all the way to Myrtle Beach at around 8:30 and started off with going to the Riplies Haunted House. It was me, my best friend Zakk [also bf], and my two cousins from Boston Brittaney and Ashley. We all went into the Haunted House except for Brittaney who was too scared and decided to stay outside. I saw Zakk run fast, and boy I mean fast! There was a man with a chainsaw behind us and he ran like a bitch carrying me with him! So that was neat except that they closed down one of the three floors of the haunted house that night but it was still fun. There's even this room that makes you feel like your upside down. It was crazy.
         So they we proceeded going to different shops, me and Zakk got our picture drawn in a booth and well, we weren't making out or anything, I swear, but we were kissing a lot [lips] and didn't realize that it was being televised on the outside of the booth! But then the girls bought some things and Ashley got a fake 45 day tattoo. We ended the night by getting ice cream and then left.

         When we were leaving I was really wanted water to drink I had to pee but I figured I could hold both for the hour it would take us to get home [oh and Zakk called his parents to let him know that he was on his way home]. Boy oh boy, was I ever wrong about it taking an hour.
         When we were leaving we all pretty much thought we were on the same road and so I commenced to getting sleepy thinking every thing was fine and dandy. Well me who usually doesn't fall asleep in a car but usually just keeps her eyes closed, I fell asleep on Zakk and Zakk in turn fell asleep as well. And this is the part that happened while I was sleeping [Ashley told me how it went].
         According to Ashley they were driving straight for legit an hour and Brittany was claiming that this and that looked familiar so they thought we were all good and going the right way. But then things got darker and there was nothing around. So after a while Ashley [who was driving] told Brittany to wake me up. They said it seriously took five minutes. Ashley said Brittany was pushing my arm and Zakk kept hitting her arm away. Then she started hitting m harder and I started to wake up and he told her to leave me alone and told me to go back to sleep. Which I apparently did do. Then Brittany screamed "HELLO! YOU NEED TO WAKE UP!" And boy oh boy did she sound like her mom. I thought my aunt was there. They told Zakk we were lost and he woke me up.
         So they tell us they've been driving for an hour legit and they haven't seen anything and don't think we're in the right place. Me and Zakk are all like "Shit, what the fuck, where are we?" So we were definitely lost. We kept driving a little ways and saw a sign that said "Mariam County this way ^". Me and Zakk had no idea where that was and obviously my two cousins from Boston didn't either.
         So we turn around after we figure out that we really don't have the slightest idea where we are, Zakk calls his parents to let them know that we got lost and that we were heading back to Myrtle Beach. Mean while Brittany informs us of how this is exactly the shit that happens on a scary movie and how it was perfect setting for us to be murrdered[you know nothing but trees and creepy gas stations around, not to mention not a soul in sight]. And well Zakk's mom got super pissed for one because it was already really late, and for two because apparently my smart boyfriend who refuses to ever lie to his parents, didn't lie, but also neglected to tell them that it was only me and Ashley and Brittany and not my parents. So he was getting bitched at and Brittany was on the phone with her boyfriend cussing up a storm in the background. Zakk got off the phone with his mom and then I started to hear this noise. I told everybody to shut up and listen and they all insisted it was the back window despite my futile attempts to make them realize that I drive the car all the time and it never makes that noise, so we left it at that. Then we were just talking about how parents should always wait until kids get home to yell at them so they don't make the situation worse and then recounted how my aunt helped guide Ashley back when she got lost in Massachusetts one day, when Zakk's parents called back and helped us out a lot. Yeah cause, apparently Zakk's parents are super genius maps that know where everything is even though we described the very much of nothing that was around [You know trees, random billboards, the occasional BP], and they helped lead us on our way. But the entire time Brittany was screaming and cussing at her jackass boyfriend in the front while Mrs. Tiffany was trying to give Ashley directions through Zakk. And there was one point and time where me and Brittany looked at this gas station and I go "Holy fucking shit dude! That looks like the gas station off of-of-" She cuts me off and finishes my sentence "TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE!" [Yeah no f*in kidding, an exact effin replica!] So Ashley's kinda freaking out and she's like "Shut the fuck up you guys that's not funny!" We're like "Yeah I know it's madd scary!"
         Well then Zakk's parents lead us on to 17 and into Ash. They're attempting to get us to McDonald's when Ashley realizes that the car is way over heating and the needle is past the red area. So we're all sort of getting nervous and telling Ashley we need to pull over while Zakk's going "We need to go to McDonald's". It pissed me off cause he didn't realize the immediate danger we were in, ya know over heating in a car on the middle of a highway. So we pull off into this random gas station that looks halfway safe and is lit up. We have some difficulty opening it, but we get the hood open and inspect the damage. Mean while Zakk's on the phone with his parents still trying to get us leave ebcause he just doesn't get the concept that the car is way over heated and Brittany's still on the phone with her boyfriend going between cussing at him and talking all friendly like.
         Well if you know me, you know I still had to pee so I got some paper out of my purse [yeah paper, ick] and announced that I was gonna go pee somewhere. I found a place that looked relatively like it wasn't harboring any men with chainsaws and proceeded to pee. Then Brittany comes up and I go "Hey, I'm peeing over here". Well then she starts screaming bloody murder. And god I mean bloody murder! It was so loud and she screams three times, runs away and starts screaming "There's a fucking person over there, there's a fucking person! [still on the phone with her boyfriend" And I'm like "A person!??? WHAT!!??" I look behind me and I see a man standing by the woods, jump up and pull my pants half way on and run the fuck away. So I'm scared shit-less, Ashley's freaking out Zakk's going "What!? What!? [still on the phone with his parents]", and Brittany's boyfriend thinks somethings happened to his girlfriend when Brittany goes "Ohh!!!! t was you" and points to me. I was like "You fucking bitch! You scared the fuck out of me!!!!" and realized that I didn't see a man but just a weird looking tree. So I go back to where I was to finish peeing and and I'm still all nerve wracked and something in the garage of the gas station [which is what I was beside] starts screeching. That scared me but I was determined to finish peeing. So when I'm done and I go back and we start looking at the car again. Then after looking in the owners manual we find out where the radiator reserve is and find some water in the trunk and pour it in there.
         Well I'm the luckiest fucking person in the world and we realize that the reserve it waaaay cracked and way broken. The radiator itself is still too hot to open and so we're freaking out. Ashley breaks down into a fit of laughter and Zakk's saying god knows what in the background and pissing me off. So after a while we decide to get back on the road and Zakk's parents lead up to a gas station next to McDonald's. There we see some police men there and feel a bit safer and we wait there for Zakk's parents to arrive. Zakk's off the phone but Brittany's still on the phone and me and Ashley are just chillin'. I cry a couple of times because I'm freaking out about how much trouble is and cursing Brunswick County for all of the back luck I've gotten from it since I've moved here. Then I go pee again [in a real bathroom this time] and when I come back I try to whisper something private in Zakk's ear and he refuses to bend down so I can whisper to him. So me pms'ing and really stressed out from the situation get's really pissed and walks off to the side of the gas station. He comes, apologizes, I apologize back, and we go back to the front to talk in awe about our day and what's happened so far [little did we know it wasn't over]. So Zakk's parents arrive and I realize "Ohh I took off my over shirt because it was hott and now I look like a whore". So yeah they pulled up and I put on the nice impression of a whore. Yay me. So Zakk's dad's got water, puts it in our radiator and the pressure forces a lot of it out. Zakk talks to his mom, I start crying again and Zakk's dad tells us a few things that we need to know, and gives us two bottles of Sundrop filled with water, that they no doubt emptied of Sundrop just for the occasion. So they follows us to our exit [obviously Zakk's with them] and we go on our merry little way. Well we take a left instead of a right where we're supposed to [because I'm a directional idiot] and end up back before our exit after the Huddle House.
         Mean while I'm telling Ashley we need to pull over cause the cars over heating real bad and I can tell the wheel is still hard to turn and she's saying we're close so we don't need to. Then I realize that my high beams are really dim and ask Ashley if she's got the high beams on. Well she flicks it and the lights refuse to turn back on while we're driving on the highway. We're all freaking out screaming for her to turn them back on that we can't see anything and she's screaming back that they wont. Then the radio turns off and all the lights in the car begin to dim. The car completely over heated and stalled. So we veer a little off the side of the highway and wait like chickens in the dark. Me I turn on a light and look for a weapon. All I find is a golf ball. So I keep it in my hand.
         Well Brittany was freaking out cause her window was down and she was on the side near the woods so we tried turning the car back on to roll up her window but it wouldn't roll up. Well I suggest taking my shirt to open the radiator using it to stop us from being burned and thank god Brittany was on the phone with her boyfriend because he informs us that if we do that we'll burn our aces off because of the pressure and the heat. So we all get out and inspect the damage inside the hood [using the headlights that are now working again miraculously for light]. We're standing there for like ever and the cars needle for the heat goes down a lot but everything under the hood was still pipin' hot. So I'm trying like hell to call my house and no one's answering because we make sure at night that our parents can't hear the phone cause my brother and I have friends that call late into the night. Well so I call my dad's cell phone because it rings really loud and he usually keeps it in his bathroom. Well no one answered any phone. I call Pat's house and ask Kellie to have someone go tell my dad the car over heated a while past the Huddle House and got off the phone with them. I call Zakk and let him know what's happened and promise to call him when I get home so he knows I'm safe.
         Well all these cars and trucks and shit keep going by and Ashley, Brittany, and I keep huddling together hoping really hard that no one slows down to help us just in case they might be a mass murder. Well at one point this big eighteen wheeler tried slowing down and we all about pissed ourselves. Then what we thought was a toe truck stopped and we about died of fear, but to our relief it kept going. Well after a few more scares with cars slowing down and what not those toe truck people came back! Me? I had that golf ball in my pocket and I took it out. Ha I know it couldn't do much but I figured if a guy tried to hurt us throwing a golf ball at his head nice and hard would give us ample time to kick him some where special and then run like hell. Well two men stepped out and I weighed the chances of being able to hit them both with one golf ball. Kind of like killing two birds with one stone. But I saw that the chances were way below low. They approached us and we were like hiding behind my Probe going "No we're fine you can go, we're okay!" But it turned out they were just trying to push us more off onto the side of the road so that we wouldn't get clipped by a truck. So they helped us and Ashely succeeded in not turning the wheel too much and driving it into the rather large ditch by accident.
          Well, I finally got a old of my dad and told him the story was too long to tell that he just had to get down to us. So after a while he came, stepped out of his car and went "Need a ride?" Ha. And of course right when he got then THEN some police came. After we had been scared countless times, then the police came to help. Never really thought of calling the police really. Don't know why. But either way my dad went and talked to him while my cousins and I stood there being blinded by the cop lights, Brittany made some comment as to how sh felt like we were on cops and me and Ashley just laughed. So the cop turned out to be with the cops that were there when we pulled into that second gas station and he proceeded to ask us where Zakk was. We promised we didn't throw him in a ditch somewhere and I helped him push the car off to the side a little bit more. He made some rude comment to my cousins [which I suspect was because they were from the north because he didn't say anything to me. Ha ha little did he know I used to be from the north as well] and then followed us back to the house for some reason [dad said to make sure he wasn't kidnapping us] and we recounted the whole story to my dad. The ride home was fun because we were safe and could laugh about the situation, and we chatted about how we felt really bad for Zakk.

So I get home and call Zakk and tell him exactly what happened and I talked to him for a while. He was really upset and blamed himself for everything saying he shouldn't have fallen asleep and he could have done this or he could have done that. I assured him that this all would have happened even if the both of us didn't fall asleep because of the circumstances. What happened that night happened and no one could have done anything about it. But when I got home before called Zakk I gasped in realization. My dad told us that we broke the belt and that's why the car over heated so quickly. I gasped because I then realized what that noise was that I heard. And I realized that fate does really play apart in our lives. Because:

Fact One: If Karen had come before 7 like she was supposed to we would have drove around in Myrtle Beach a lot more and broke down in the city which although would have been more comforting, there's a lot of cars there that could have crashed into us and a lot more of a chance at being mugged and what not.
Fact Two: If me and Zakk stood awake we would have realized that we were going the wrong way sooner (probably after 30 minutes of driving as compared to an hour) had Ashley turn around and we would have ended up breaking down in Myrtle Beach which again, not safe.
Fact Three:If we would have stopped when I heard the noise like I wanted to, we would have realized that car was breaking down all the way back near that sign for Mariam County and been really far away in the middle of no where with no service to call anyone.
Fact Four: If Brittany hadn't been bitching at her boyfriend for the many hours that she was, he wouldn't have been there on the phone to tell us not to open the radiator when it was hot and one of us would have ended up severely burnt.
Fact Five: If I hadn't have lead Ashley in the wrong direction after we went through our exist, we would have broken down in the very middle intersection of 130 somewhere between the high school and my house which is usually more busy and not as many places to push the car over to.
Fact Six: If Zakk hadn't called his parents all those times he did, they wouldn't have been able to lead us out of where ever the hell we were and we would have been stranded somewhere else. God knows where.

But yeah before I went to bed I was still amazing thirsty for water and couldn't take more then a few sips because I wouldn't be able to sleep due to peeing all night. So no water for Krystal. Krystal went ot bed half way dehydrated. And that was my quest for water.

 

 

Never Again the Burning

I don't know how there can be anything but silence at the end of something like that. The Diary of Anne Frank... I often picture myself in a similar situation. Only, not so fortunate, or unfortunate enough to be brought to a camp, full of people alike, waiting for the liberation, more, for death. But, on a cross. Not crucified, but, by myself with my feet straight and my arms out stretched, waiting for the torture and anticipating the pain. Sometimes I see myself wrapped around a stick. My thick beautiful hair intertwined, and my scalp standing alone; exposed. Other times I see myself burning. I see fire and I smell burnt flesh, but it's not me that burns. It's the seething pain, the broken skin and dislocated bone structure. I see faces contorted in hate as they damn me to hell and condemn me to the fate their bible picked for me. Stones. My face is bruised, and my body is lost. Lost from my soul and lost from their god. Covered in soil and blood, surrounded by their messages of hate, I wonder? What will happen when they go home? Will they discuss the days event? Will it even make a difference?
         I doubt it ever did. . . Millions of people killed, billions of people watched... and some how, the world ceases to know.

 

 

Oh Edward, My Jacob

What would Juliet do? Is settling for Jacob okay? What if Romeo did die, but not in the same context? What if Romeo and all of his coldness left Juliet, then died somewhere else? Would it be right to marry the man who in her eyes would only ever truly be her best friend? People say that your husband should be your best friend. And I hate how believed this so fiercely until Twilight.
Zakk was my Jacob, he was my Paris behind the scenes.
And Colton...was he my Edward? If he was then my Edward was dead.
No not dead, still living, and still breathing, but dead in the context that he was not my Edward, he was changed- and not for the best. But the fact that he could even change... does that mean that he's not my Edward, or that he was unselfish enough to truly let me go? How could Juliet ever truly marry if she were not sure where her Romeo was? Or even if he was dead in the latter context of the word? How could she get married and have children and how would that be fair to the children? Would Paris, Bella's Paris, but in all other contexts of the word, Paris, would he be okay if he realized that he was second to Juliet's heart? Would he be okay with knowing he could never be her number one and his face would never be the one she saw when she closed her eyes?

I looked down at my pregnancy test in cruel dissatisfaction. Something that I have wanted so fervently, so intensely until just a few days ago.
Until I realized that Zakk was my Jacob and quite stumbled over the possibility that Colton was my Edward, or perhaps my Edward was still out there somewhere.
Until Twilight.
But what if Juliet did marry Paris after Romeo leaving her then dying a changed man? Or at least, what if she got as far as an engagement? What if despite the fact that she tried for years, she realized that what she thought she wanted wasn't in fact what she wanted but what she lived for vicariously through Paris? To be alone, or not to be alone. That was my philosophical question. The one that would plague me oh so guiltily.
Until just yesterday, perhaps day before yesterday, I was utterly convinced that Colton was my Edward. But last night, yesterday, which ever, I realized that maybe he wasn't. Maybe my Edward was something much more and I just haven't stumbled across him just yet. But it goes deeper than that. Much deeper. It was and is deeper than skin deep, it's... soulfully deep. My soul. It's life. Immortality.
..

I have secretly yearned ever so gratefully for immortality. Not for the fear of death, no, but for the want of eternal life. Many people distort their face in disgust at the idea noting that immortality would entail watching all of your loved one die- something gratefully painful I'm sure.
But did any of them stop to think that you'll be doing that in your old age either way? Yeah perhaps you wouldn't be the very last one to die, but if you were healthy like I am, like I always intend to be, then that means you would at least be one of the last, ensuring that you watch not only the deaths of those older than you, but the untimely deaths of those younger than you, something much more common than dying of old age. But the fact is, this makes the choice that I have to make that much more complicated. Even though I had been so excited until yesterday about the strong possibility of being pregnant, when I looked at the negative sign my heart twisted and contorted in spite. Relief was actually one of the last emotions I felt. For this just made it that much more real, the fact that me having children won't happen but through thousands of dollars of fertility treatments and insemination. Before I even realized that immortality was my biggest and most burning want in life, bearing children was my first and foremost goal that I set at top priority. Especially because of the dreadfully precog notice that it would be more difficult for me than most.
Not only had life taken nearly everything I loved away from me, while torturing me with what I still had left, the one thing I truly did have left, the ability to at least give children, truly wasn't there. I burned with anger at the site of conformation that the gods had taken the last thing plausible and sane that I could wish for. But this almost sends hope tingling cautiously through my spine.

Does that mean that I do or will get my one secret wish? Does that mean that somewhere along the line I will become immortal? Such a foolish and painfully set up way for me to think when I knew that in the end all likely hood pointed to be only being disappointed. And besides, part of my secret was my seventeenth birthday. When I turned seventeen I felt funny. I didn't like it. Normally getting older was something that I didn't yearn for like most teens but actually took as a passage of life knowing that it was inevitable. But this day, March 30th of year 2007, there was something different, a yearning different in my heart.
Not a yearning to be older, or even a yearning to be younger, but a yearning for my eighteenth birthday not to come, a fear that it was coming. I never wanted to be physically older than seventeen. In my strangely deformed heart I wanted immortality that started at the age of seventeen. Funny that it just so happened to be the same age that Bella yearns so eagerly to become immortal in.
Funny that she doesn't become immortal till she's eighteen and that's humorously the age that I am right not, which makes me wish even harder that I was Bella. But still I have a problem, one that won't be solved by immortality, at least, that's not something that I can depend on.

Do I choose between Jacob or a possibly dead, perhaps non-existent, Edward? I truly have been fond of the cold my entire life. Walking casually out in the snow barefooted and half naked as a child.
But I have gotten used to the heat these past couple of years, of course all the while still missing the cold desperately. Choosing my Jacob means that I'm getting the normal more 'mortal' part of what I've always wanted.
Being married young and having children young, which of course is actually the thing to do in my case if I want children at all since my body's reproductive organs have been slowly invaded by building up scar tissue since I was fourteen. But even now that might be too late, and even so.
Even if Juliet did still go through with the engagement... her love would still not be requited, only merely replaced by a warmer less desirable friendship.


.. ..


"Instead of moving, I thought about Juliet some more again.
I wondered what she would have done if Romeo had left her, not because he was banished, but because he lost interest? What if Rosalind had given him the time of day, and he'd changed his mind? What if, instead of marrying Juliet, he'd just disappeared?
I thought I knew how Juliet would feel.
She wouldn't go back to her old life, not really. She wouldn't ever have moved on, I was sure of that. Even if she lived until she was old and gray, every time she closed her eyes, it would have been Romeo's face she saw behind her lids. She would have accepted that, eventually.
I wondered if she would have married Paris in the end, just to please her parents, to keep the peace. No, probably nor, I decided. But then, the story didn't say much about Paris. He was just a stick figure—a placeholder, a threat, a deadline to force her hand.
What if there were more to Paris?
What If Paris had been Juliet's friend? Her very best friend? What if he was the only one she could confide in about the whole devastating thing with Romeo? The person who really understood her and made her feel halfway human again? What if he was patient and kind? What if he took care of her? What if Juliet knew she couldn't survive without him? What if he really loved her, and wanted her to be happy?
And… what if she loved Paris? Not like Romeo. Nothing like that, of course. But enough that she wanted him to be happy, too?"

.. ..

It's dangerously yet at the same time so frustratingly hilariously and overly coincidental that the only reason that I never even left Zakk in the first place was because I was more focused on making him happy, knowing fully well that despite my love for someone else that I knew would eventually burst out of me no matter how non-existent or dead he was,  because I knew that my happiness was already a thing of the past and quite possibly never to be a thing of the future. He's the closest thing I'll ever get to what I want. But like I said earlier "I can never get what I want. Not once. Not ever. Not with out going through hell for it, and not only having to paying for having it later, but also it's never exactly what I want, hardly ever even close." It's so pathetically sad how I never even begin to put my priorities in the right order, how I always seem to be last on my list of important things, always doing for others and not for myself. Even to the point where it hinders any infinitesimal chance I have for happiness.
It almost feels wrong to do that to myself, no matter how small my chances of true happiness stand. But I really did want a family, and now I just really want the unrealistic immortality that the Cullen's have.

In my heart I have always believed in vampires, but if I have ever met one, which I probably have, I'm sure there's nothing at all especially alluring in my blood that would attract one to change me, let alone become my Edward. I feel so burned by the world in my lack of pregnancy, but at the same time so grateful and hopeful because that means that I'm not that closely committed to my Jacob just yet. If I do some how miraculously find my Edward or become immortal, or quite impossibly but yet oh so hopefully both, then I have the right to leave and never look back.
Right?

 

 

Oh the Exuberance

It's always an eerily satisfying feeling that washes over my body when I'm done reading, watching, hearing, or seeing a lesson instilled in this nearly final but oh so wonderful second. Each new piece of information that becomes apart of my brain brings new life to the bubble that floats around me-who I am. Though some are more effective and long lasting than others, it is quite amusing how every moment that stole the breath from some god to pleasure my heart for a mere second but change my body quite exuberantly for the rest of it's existence, is stolen from fiction, a book, a movie, a tv series...
How impishly trivial that such a second should come from something so mundane, yet here it is, the evidence before us. Where else could the magick put itself though, but in a book to be passed secretly down the lines of the avid readers. How else do legends of the more truer kind preserve themselves? It's literature, the less aptly biased version of history.
 

Life Paints Death

"Lie to me convince me that I've been sick forever, and all of this, will make sense when I get better...."
I walk through the hallways every single day repeatedly. I watch hundreds, maybe even thousands of kids stroll by me with out even a second glance. I realize how they are so different, yet so much like me. Every person chalk full of different quirks and qualities. Every little flower has a tragedy written on it's bleeding petals.
        Do they see what I see when I look in the Mirror? Do they see the truth or what they wish were the truth? Maybe one day we'll all see the same reflection in the water, but until then I guess we're all damned to an eternity of individuality.
        Hundreds of thousands of eyes look at me once and don't think about it second. But who's to say they don't see a broken piece of their own past in my pale face? Who's to say they don't feel a sense of understanding and a warmth in their heart, that comfort of the depression that we all know so well.

I walk through the same hall way a year later. New faces and old, and still the same, still strolling by with out a second glance. But with each passing year comes the understanding of life and death, happiness and saddness. With each passing year comes more wisdom, and with that wisdom comes more pain and the knowledge of how to deal with that pain.
        I look deep into the eyes of my best friend. But do I really see who I think she is? Could she just be a figment of her own imagination? Pretending to be someone she never was and expressing her true self only through the tears that she never lets anyone see. Does she put herself completelyout there, plain to eye? Maybe, but we'll never know.
        I can tell you over and over again that I love you. But each time that I say it I could not be lying to only you, but to myself. And when you saw my mascara running would you understand my pain inside? Would you see deep into my soul?
        It's funny how the world works. With the strangest of ways that make so much sense in such a complex plan. But what no one seems to get is the fact that it's not complicated; it's simple. But for some reason our minds tells us that's too easy, because it is. And we make it that way.
        Trust is nothing but lies that are vastly over rated. And I think Im just fine with that. Maybe because I don't know what else to do or say. Maybe it's because Im too weak to fight, or too strong to let go.
        Should we sit back in a world that's brought nothing but pain? Are we allowed to feel the happiness that we so easily tossed out of the chance window one time so long ago?
        Do we live in a world where people cut to make it feel better and bleed just to prove their really here?
        Does it make sense to live in a world where loud music brought nothing but silence to our minds?
        Should we lie about who we are and who we think we are? Does it make sense when we say there's no answer to any one question you or I may ask?
        Do we put up with a world where you get hurt before you could even manage to get close?
        And how is it that the whole time you feel you've been betrayed you were the one portraying the betrayal?
        How is it that just the sound of one word could destroy someone's entire life?       
        How is it that I smile just to ensure my loved one's happiness, when Im not even really sure that I love them?
        I think I'd miss everyone and everything, even if I never met them.
        You'll bleed for me like I bleed for me, and I'll bleed for you like you bled for him.
        Does it make sense?
        Emotionally abused and physically worn out. What else is there to do but give up?
And who's to say that when you keep going it's not just the same as throwing in the white flag?

I walk through the hallways every single day repeatedly. I watch hundreds, maybe even thousands of kids stroll by me with out even a second glance. I realize how they are so different, yet so much like me. Every person chalk full of different quirks and qualities. Every little flower has a tragedy written on it's bleeding petals.
        Maybe one day we'll all see the same reflection in the water, but until then I guess we're all damned to en eternity of individuality... but not me, no not me. I refuse to let myself fall into the same arms that so many have before.
        My hope was brought by the thought that one day I would be happy.. Until I found out that day never existed and never could exist. Until I found out that there was no difference between being happy and sad. And only shortly after I realized that death is a beautiful picture painted by life, and the only way to become a part of that picture is to become a part of death itself. So maybe a bottle of pills and a glass of vodka could really bring to me all the answers. Maybe, but I gues we'll find out.

 

 

Slashing My Way Through This World

Cutting my way through the world seemed like an endless gift of burdens that felts so good while doing so much damage. Never did find myself in that red sea of macbre fantasy, thought perhaps cutting wasn't the answer and so I stopped. Some years later I discovered a beautiful little miracle- a razor. From then on it was on again off again every couple of years; each on again period becoming more and more dangerous. The instant release of unbearable emotional pain that never goes away otherwise is an addictoin much trickier than common street drugs. It's almost like the physical pain that a razor inflicts upon your body drains some of that emotional pain, and even though 99% of it is still therejust that tiny bit of relief makes all of the difference and can calm down any manic episode no matter how terribly bad it may be. I stopped and I started and I stopped and I started. Then I became curious. Veins? If the physical "pain" of slicing yourself open takes away a little of ones emotional pain what if, what if you did more than just slice open your skin? What if you went deeper than just fat or some muscle? Veins, the red and blue life force of ones body. Slicing that should release more than just some of that emotional pain, right? The first time was just a nic, a tiny delicate very precise cut to the surface of the vein. Years later the second one was much messier; it was bigger, wider, but the damage to the vein was just another nic. Years after that in a moment of despair, of a desperate need to bleed out the emotional pain my right median antebrachial vein, which is actually a branched network of superficial veins, was sliced right through. It was like severing through the first two prongs of a pitch fork and severly massacreing the third. Had I cut that last branch all the way through like the others it would have meant business. As it was though I didn't so what could have been serious problem became just a pesky problem. I was just slashing in the same place hitting the veins over and over, feeling physical pain associated with cutting for the first time, and when I when I was done I wrapped myself up, climbed into bed.. and slept like a baby.

2011

Sad Little Sallie

Sad little Sallie went for a walk through the woods, carrying her ripped bag of sweets. Two different kinds, five at a time, swallow them all at once. The white ones get stuck in her throat and make her gag, the red and tan ones slip down just like they should. Ten, just keep walking through the woods, ignore the pain of the thorns ripping at your skin. Twenty, thirty, keep walking through the thick brush, you’re like a kid again, eating sweets and hopping through the forest. Forty feels good, no forty feels bad, keep taking them, keep taking them and walking, it’s just a matter of time. Fifty, fifty is good, fifty is bad, find a place to rest and try sixty, don’t throw it up, it gets harder and harder to keep it down, take ten more and things will be right with the world. Sixty. Lay your head down sad little Sallie, in a nest of pine straw and bush twigs, wait for that adrenaline rush of the sweets to kick in. “Sallie! Sallie!” Ignore him Sallie ignore him, if you wait long enough you’ll feel your body shutting down and you’ll fall into a peaceful sleep. But how long do you wait. How long does it take? Sad little Sallie doesn’t want to move, she’s dizzy and thinking about how laying down on these seemingly uncomfortable sticks is quite comfy at a time like this. A very beautiful place to die. Sallie dumps the rest of the pills, her body is screaming“live, live, live” and her mind is just floating there, letting nature take its course. Letting nature take its course. Sirens sound in the distance. Did he call for help? Is he going to use the note on the door as evidence against me, to lock me up and take away the sweets? Steal them from my stomach and put life back into me. I’d rather there be sweets in my tummy then life. Get up Sad little Sallie you may have to run. If they come you can run, run and never look back. Then you can fall again when you’re safe, and stay falling forever. But the sirens pass, and more sirens pass, and it seems to take an eternity but finally the coast seems to clear. And the candies aren’t doing their job, because you’re still here Sallie, you’re still here. Walk through the woods some more Sallie, follow that path and walk to where ever it leads, just keep walking. “Here puppy here puppy!” where’d the dog go he just walked by a moment ago? No matter, keep walking. My this place looks familiar. You’re back in front of the gate that leads to your house. You chose the path facing away from the house how did you end up back here? “Sallie?” Freeze, maybe he won’t see you. “Sallie! Come here right now!” Don’t move, don’t go near him, he will take the sweets from your stomach and replace it with life.

2012