The Prospective Possibility of Love...

It's just occurred to me that after the end of my last relationship, after trying to love someone, giving them everything I had held back from all my other relationships, only to find out I was the only one truly looking at our relationship as a whole, I have become more damaged than I realized. I found that I was looking for something that didn't exist in someone I had no true attraction to other than that of a friend, and you know what, when I broke up with him I told him it was up to him whether or not we would still be friends. Since I knew he cared for me - though he didn't show his emotions, express interest in our relationship, or even do things because he wanted to but because I had asked him to - I knew he cared for me in his head, but I also knew that the amount he cared was not love, despite his incessant words of love that were empty and void of feeling.

I knew because I looked, I saw, and I told him. I told him what love was supposed to look like, that when I was sick he should have come over because he wanted to see me, not because I told him to, that he should have sex with me because he wanted to be closer to me, know more about me, and make me feel good, not because he liked feeling good or because I asked for it.

Now that I think about it, the first time was strange for me; I had to outwardly say "I want to have sex with you" for him to do anything. He didn't follow emotion... not once did he follow emotions. It was like he was a slave, doing everything I told him, no matter what... I'm not that type of person. He made me into something I hated. I already know that I am a rather spontaneous person who does things in the heat of the moment, but I needed someone to filter my actions, to stop me, not to stand behind me and follow me. I'm not a leader... I don't want to be a leader... I feel insecure and scared as a leader... I told him that too. I told him everything that worried me about our relationship long before the break up... but he never did anything.

No, I'm not saying he didn't change for me, I'm saying he didn't talk about anything with me. In relationships you should want to talk things out, especially when your partner tells you something they feel uncomfortable about. He never talked about our sex life; when I would say to look some things up, to try to become more familiar with my body during our time together, to actually try to get to know what feels good for me, because that was exactly what I was doing for him. I gave him oral because I wanted to please him, I had sex with him because I wanted to be closer to him... but now those memories....

I can remember the feeling of his penis in my mouth right before he came, the weird vein-like movement of the semen up the shaft of his penis that ran across my lower lip... it grossed me out, the way he looked naked grossed me out, the moment I realized he has never once washed his body grossed me out, the fact that he smelled disgusting down there grossed me out, and I was grossed out at the thought of him being inside me after knowing all that... I don't like these memories. They make me feel so blind, like I should have noticed these things from the beginning, like I should have asked about them from the beginning. I've lived my life trying my best not to regret anything... but I truly think I regret having this relationship with him because of my sexual actions with him. I did so many things for him, put so much into the relationship as a whole... and got nothing but regret back. I told him it was his choice to be friends again... but ever since I broke up with him, he's never once held a conversation longer than "hi" with me, and I was the one who said it, not him.

A part of me hates him for that. He took things I can never get back, gave me memories I've relentlessly tried to forget but have too many memories to count, and yet he can't even say "hi" to me. I hate him for that, I really do. I spent 3 months with him, 3 months of my life that I will never get back... right now they matter, right now the wound is fresh and will not heal since I see practically every day. Seeing him reopens my wounds and all the memories flood back to haunt me.

Right now, my wounds won't heal... but I know that they will one day. I know that I'll meet that guy who can make me remember new sexual encounters, pleasant sexual encounters. He will mark over my memories of that relationship; like a video-tape being recorded over, loosing past data forever. I want that, I want it so badly... I wonder when that will happen? How long do I have to wait this time for someone to be with me? I waited 18 years last time... maybe I'll be able to find him sooner. My "Tristan" is still out there... one day I'll find him and he'll show me a love I've never known, a love that I need, want, and cherish. A prospective possibility of love that has yet to come... a wait that seems endless in the present and instantaneous in the future... but how long is the "instant" this time, I wonder?

Slowly dying...

Recently I've felt an amazing loneliness that doesn't seem to fade. It's affecting my grades, it's affecting my reason to wake up, and finding motivation to do anything is growing harder by the day. I don't know what it is, I don't know why it is happening, and you know what? It's scaring me. It feels like my emotions are dying. As though they were slowly growing dimmer by the second, then fading into a blackness - the perpetual black abyss that never rests and always hungers for more. I feel empty, lonely, and so dark.... Why? I wonder why this is happening... I wish I had a reason. Reasons for things that happen somehow make me feel better, it helps me "understand," rather than just "knowing" something is wrong. I want my emotions back.

I get the feeling that my lack of emotions has something to do with my process of healing. I file away the bad memories and as all memories go, they are not connected to themselves alone. When you take away the bad memories, you have no choice but to take away the good memories that are attached to them. It's unavoidable, yet I still do it. I lose memories this way. The good go along with the bad. As a result my memories fade and disappear... just like my emotions. It happens every time I do this. Just like the last time I did this, back when I tried to forget my years of turmoil, of fantasy and pain. The emotions I had during those times, fading long with the memories, never came back. I had to slowly gain new emotions, rekindle a broken flame. Will I have to do that this time as well? Probably... no, there's no doubt that I will. It's the price I pay, the contract I signed, and the deal that I accepted form the darkness itself. If I wish to forget, I must choose from the bad and indiscriminately lose the good. It's how the universe works: To gain something, one must pay an equal and fair price in return.

"Humankind cannot gain anything without first giving something in return. To obtain, something of equal value must be lost." - It's called equivalent exchange, and I know it's law to be truth. There's no running from it and there's no evading it.

I just need to gain those emotions back the hard way... that's all.

A hopeful time...

Have you ever heard of Omamori charms? In Japan, these small cloth bags, colored intricately and tied off with a specific knot, are something that holds great power. As far as my knowledge of the Japanese language goes, the word roughly translates to "protecting" or "protection." However, these charms do more than just protect their owners, they grant fortune as well. Good or bad, each fortune is unique. These Omamori are special because they allow the owner to place a written fortune of their own, and after writing something on small pieces of paper, they are placed inside the bags and sealed. In Japan, whatever is written on that paper is something that will come true. You don't tell anyone what you wrote, but it's fine to say what "type" of charm it is. For instance, writing "pass a test" would be considered a "good luck" or "academic" charm.

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I have an Omamori. Inside I wrote something special, something precious. Something that brings me hope. I haven't had hope in a long while. Do you know the reason? My dad, my grandma, and a lot of things to do with very good friends. But it's still there, somewhere deep in my heart, and it has manifested itself in the form of the Omamori paper. I won't tell you what's written on it, or the magic will break and shatter, but I will tell you it's type. It is called a love charm. A charm that brings love to your future.

My hope lives, once more, it lives. I have such a big smile on right now, I wish I could express this gentle happiness to you all, as it fills my heart once more. Oh, it feels so amazing, it truly does. Hope. It's such a strong feeling, and it is so very warm and comforting. It feels like I've been wrapped in a large warmth, something big and strong, but also calm and assuring. It's called hope, and it's finally within my hands' grasp once again.

You are worth the wait...

My dear Ashlie:

To a person who means the world to me, I don't know what I would do without you. You are worth more than you realize, and whoever cannot see that, is not worth your time.

Her heart was hurt, it was burnt, it was scared, and it was shattered and broken, but each time, she got back up and moved forward. I have faith in her, I won't ever judge her, and I will always be beside her. However, she was hurt today, and the person who hurt her isn't worth anything. He does not deserve her, and I know one day he will regret leaving her. She is beautiful - she sparkles and shines, she covers her eyes, and she is scared and wounded, but she is more precious than the most rare gem, more than the more perfect diamond or crystal. She is brighter than the sun, even when covered by clouds, she is amazing and she changed my life. I want her to be happy. I want her to find the person that can love her just as much or more than I can.

He was not that person, and he hurt her. I want her to know that she does not need to hide, she does not need to stop those tears, or stop the pain. I want her to know that she should let the pain out. She should scream and cry and wail and thrash about, that she should let her wounds burn and scar and fester. But also, I want her to know that the pain will heal her. That the pain will ease with the scaring, that the wounds that are not on your body in any way can heal, though slowly and harshly, they will heal. They will scar and leave marks, but those marks are what make her beautiful.

You are beautiful, Ashlie. You are amazing to me and you shine brighter than the most flawless star in the universe. You have no idea how strong you are, and I'm not saying that to burden you. You are strong. You have courage unlike all those people who have burned you and watched you bleed. You are worth the world, and when they can't see that, it makes me more angry than you could believe. I would kill for you. I would murder the world just the ease your pain. I am weak, but I am not about to stand by as someone takes you when they don't deserve you. You give until there's nothing left to give, you give your heart and your body, and for everything that you are, you are worth so much more.

When the day comes that you stand by the person that sees you brighter than the stars, I want to be there, to both congratulate you and see your smile, untainted by the past, untrained by years of fake smiles, and unbelievably beautiful.

Let your wounds out, let the tears drain out your pain, let it all go and don't you dare hold it back. Don't bottle it up, don't hurt more than you need to, and try to find the beauty in the sky once more. Look up and see the future that I do. Look out into the night sky and wonder where that true love is, because it is there and you will find it. Just as I know that you will heal, one day, I know that there is still hope in your heart, I know that the real reason you hurt is because you hope, because you innocently hold onto hope and for all the right reasons too. You are not wrong to hope. Hope is your light and I don't want to see you without it. So hope, heal and live on, and hope and love and live. Let the tears wash away the pain and let love heal a broken heart. You are worth all of it, and one day when all the pain seems easier to bear, you'll find a love so true that everything that has happened before will have seemed worth it. No matter how much it hurts, no matter who that scumbag may be, I will stand by you and be here, helping you stand once more, helping you hope once more. Hope, feel pain, heal, and love again.

You are worth it, don't you ever forget that.

You are worth the wait.

Emptier, more jagged, and lonely....

After the end of probably what I could consider my first relationship... it's hard to write this. Some of my posts just flow, despite the pain, but right now, I'm trying desperately to forget everything that happened. Absolutely everything. I want nothing to remain... so writing this is like digging into an open wound. I don't want to write this. I don't want to have to write this. It was supposed to be easy, but he made it so much harder. I was supposed to break up with him and then allow him time to heal from sadness, but he's not the type to show anything. He never showed happiness, never showed emotions of any type. Not even when we were together, which is one of the reasons I broke up with him, but instead of the sadness I expected from him, I see none. All I see is blatant avoidance, contempt, and hatred, but what makes it worse is it's not visible. It's like it's cloaked in a veil of false sadness and underneath is only hatred. A seething hatred. All pointed at me. It makes this so much harder. It's why I want to forget everything.


I told him when I broke up with him the things that bothered me: his lack of hygiene, his lack of emotion, his lack of personal opinion, and his lack of even the slightest care for how he appears (I mean yeah, it's good to not care what other people think and all, but there's an extent to it - he had no extent, he cared a total amount of zero percent when it came to absolutely anything). It was like, just when I had told him the things that bothered me, he decided to get back at me by making sure he did everything he lacked ten times more. It was as though he were rubbing salt in my guilt, ruining my every memory of my time with him. At first, they were good memories, learning memories, but now they just hold pain and mistrust. I had tried to give him my heart, but he gave me nothing back, only words that meant nothing. He would always say, "I love you," and whether he meant it or not, he did nothing to show it. Those words meant nothing to me to begin with, I told him that, but he did nothing to give them meaning. And then there's what I gave him....

I gave him everything. I tried to give him my heart and I had already given him my body. I hate that. Those words. That truth. The lies. The pain that before I was with him I was more lonely than my heart could bare, but now... now.... Now it's just empty. There was a hole in my heart, and now that hole has been dug out, emptied, and the edges have become more jagged. Most of all, my heart isn't broken, just hollowed out, carved out from the inside, like someone reached in, grabbed a chunk of it from the center, and pulled it out, leaving a gaping hole much larger than before. It hurts. I want to forget, to make the loneliness more bearable, but I have classes with him, I eat in the same place as him, and it's almost impossible to avoid him. So every time I see him, the memories resurface and dig that hole bigger. He took my everything... I gave him my everything... and he destroyed it. He made the relationship we were in empty and made the break up a nightmare.

I blame him. Why shouldn't I? I tried to give him my heart and my world, but he had nothing to share, nothing to give, and did not try to either. It makes me mad that I didn't realize this earlier... no, that's not quite right. I feel like I knew the moment we were first together, that first night, that first time I gave him everything. I feel like I knew, deep down, that things wouldn't work out, but I tried anyways. I tried to make it all work somehow. Tried to make something out of nothing. As time went on, it became harder to lie to myself and I think I only held on because I wanted so badly not to be alone. I wanted so much to have someone love me back as much as I loved them, but I didn't love him to begin with. I tried to turn my desire for love into love itself, and all I got in return was pain and an empty loneliness.

I feel like my heart is hardening... like I have no reason to try anymore. I feel like the only thing I have right now is just an empty pain, a soulless body, living but not alive. I feel so empty... I just want it all to go away, all of it to disappear. I don't care what memories I have to lose in return, I just want these memories to die, to never have existed. I want them gone... because if I don't, I know it won't be long before I break. I'm not strong enough to handle this, so I need support, and I don't have that. I am my own support and all I can do is try to make the sadness go away. I feel like that relationship was a mistake, like it all shouldn't have happened to begin with. I want it gone.

My memories are so fragile and my memory itself is so fluid and mutable. I can take away what I like and destroy what I must, but trying to remember the little things that I want so badly to remember is like swimming in an endless black chasm, with no bottom or jagged edges to catch what has fallen. In order to find what I've lost, I would have to give something in return, and the same goes for memories that I want to forget. In time I'll have forgotten him, but then I'll also realize that something has been lost along with those memories. It will be something precious, something I will not have wanted to forget, but I won't be able to get it back, and I understand that risk. Right now though, I just want these memories gone. So I stand at the edge of the darkness, take a breath and plunge myself into it. I wait, the darkness surrounding me slowly eating the memories I want to discard along with another that I wish to hold onto, but for my selfish desire to forget, the darkness claims something in return. That is the rule, that is the law, and that is something I cannot change. I will take that risk, and soon, these memories will be gone.

Reliving the pain...

I wanted to see it all, the pieces of my life that I've slowly gotten used to, the pieces that I had suffered over and then written in this blog. I wanted to see who she was, that person from four years ago. We're not the same person, we never could have been. She and I are two different people now, and though we share a past, memories, and scars, we are different. I was reading one of my posts, reading one of the sadder ones, the ones that feel empty and lost in depravity. One that seemed hopeless and damaged, so painful and so raw and bare of all masks. It was like I was watching the memories of those words, the memories hidden in my writing, play out before me, but the person they spoke of, the me they spoke of, she felt like a stranger. I had to remind myself, with tears in my eyes, that she's no stranger, she's me. She is me. That won't ever change. There's always been that part of her that wished the me right now or even a future me could go back to her and tell her that everything would work out somehow, that one day everything would be okay. I remembered that I had once even believed that might have happened. Maybe it had been a dream, of a fantasy that I had conjured up, but to her, it was the closest thing to reality. I wish right now, in this very moment, I could go back to her and tell her everything was going to be alright. I want to be her strength, to thank her for pushing through it all, for living long enough for my future to be possible. I owe her so much, and after everything she's been through, all for me and my future's sake, I don't even know where to begin.

I don't know what to do...

I got a boyfriend... and I'm not sure what to say about that. It's new, and right now, it's not exactly concrete or set in stone. It feels uneasy, I feel unsure, insecure about it. He says "I love you," and I believe him, so I reply with "I love you, too." There's a problem though. What does that mean? That word... "love." I don't know what it is, I don't know if I actually "love" him because I don't know how to love... that feeling is very vague and ambiguous to me.... I know from my experience with my grandmother that I understand what is important to me, what is precious, but that also means I know that Alexander is NOT precious to me... not in the same way... he never could be. That I have no doubts of. My grandmother was someone more special to me than anyone I had ever known, and though she's gone, that doesn't change. Alexander though... I just don't know. What is he to me? What do I feel for him? Sexual attraction? A need to be loved? Is that it? Is that the only thing I feel for him? Nothing else? Is that really it? Because as far as I know, it is... and that scares me. It's like I'm trying to prolong a relationship, to see how far we can go, when in my heart I know it is going to end, and painfully at that. Normally, in a situation like this I wouldn't have hesitated to break it off... but there's something holding me to him, something different about him, something that makes me very unsure. I don't knot if it stems form the sex that is unsatisfying, the fact that he never truly expresses any of his emotions to me (never truly smiles, laughs, or indulges in pleasure), or if it's just because it's all new to me and he isn't helping me overcome that anxiousness, that anxiety. What if it's all of the above? What if it's both he and I that have made me so unsure... is he even aware that I'm so unsure and insecure? Does he even see it? Or is this one of those moments where I'm hiding it too well and need to make it obvious? Or what if he just feels content with the way we are and that's it? Does he even want to pleasure me in bed? Does he even truly want to express his pain, his happiness, his anxiety with me? Does he have a past he doesn't want to share? Does he have a reason for his expressionless face? I've opened my heart to him, I've opened my pain to him and showed him my wounds, but does he even have any to share? Is his life so perfect that he has nothing to share with me? I want to get to know him, but if he remains a blank slate, I'll never know him.

I want this relationship to work. I want him to want to look well groomed, to trim his beard, wear a proper shirt and pants correctly, and bathe with soap. I know it's just simple stuff, I know it's something he isn't used to, I know it sounds like I want to change him, but I like him the way he is and I want to show him to the rest of the world, show the man I see to the everyone. I like him. I know that. I don't know, however, if that is "love." I want to be near him, of that I am sure. I love to be around him because he makes me smile, lets me forget the pain in my life, and holds my hand through the toughest times. He's good to me, but he's also very soft. He's tender. He walks as though there are jagged rocks underfoot. People have told me he might be insecure since this is his first relationship, that he is not sure how to tread in the waters around me, how to approach the emotional side of intimacy, but I don't know if I believe that. No, it's not a flat out, "I don't believe it." I'm just not sure if that's true. I want more from him, I want someone who will be aggressive in their advances and sweep me off my feet without me having to lay out the path and put down the steps. I don't want to be in control, I don't feel comfortable in control, it scares me and makes me feel insecure and afraid. I'm scared.

I'm scared. It's just become obvious. I'm scared that this is all he expects from this relationship. I'm scared that if it ends, I'll end up hurting him. I'm scared that if I let him go, I will have lost a very good friend. I'm scared that once it ends I won't be able to turn back to what things once were, or know how to go back to how things once were. I've forgotten how to watch a movie with him next to me and not hold his hand. I've forgotten how to be near him and not fantasize about a night of 'would-be's and 'hope-to-be's. It's been too long. I'm scared to lose him and then be all alone again. What if it ends? What if I tell him I want to break up? What would be my reason? I feel insecure? I'm unsatisfied with the sex? I want him to be an aggressive person that he could never be? I'm asking for too much and I know he can't give it?

I don't know what to do...

I can either stay in the relationship and ride it out, insecure and scared the whole time, try to fix it in some equally frightening way, possibly hurt him with what I say, and hope things get better, or just end it now, somehow find a way to return to just being friends, and be filled with a pain that I wouldn't know how to handle. It's hard, this relationship thing. There's no doubt though, that I would do it all over again. No, I wouldn't do things differently. It's hard... but it's supposed to be. Nothing is easy. It's how I learn, how I grow, but that doesn't make it any easier in the moment. It is still hard.

I want to talk to him, to try and figure this out, but every time I think like this, I go see him and he's all happy about something or another, and I feel guilty for wanting to interrupt his happiness and possibly hurt him. I don't want that conversation to end in a break up... I really don't. I'm scared. I really am. Too scared. Scared to face his pain, scared to hurt him, scared to lose him, scared to say "I can't do this anymore." I'm just scared, and I don't really have anyone to talk to about this. The people I have talked to have told me to talk to him, but that doesn't make it easier. They can't talk to him for me, they can't take away my fears, though I wish they could. It's between Alexander and I, a situation I'm far from used to, far from comfortable with. He's the longest I've been with, the longest relationship I've clung to. He's the one I thought I could see a future with, but the more I think, the more I wonder and hope, the more I feel unsure, uneasy about it all. These doubts... they are hard to deal with on my own. I wish I could talk to him, but I'm afraid and I don't know what to do...

I just don't know what to do... and it's tearing me apart and breaking my heart. It's making me wonder what "love" truly is, if I am in it, and what it feels like. It has broken my mind to pieces with endless fear, endless doubts, and I don't know what I should do anymore...

You've given me so much...

I can't stop crying long enough to do anything. I have a final tomorrow, I have homework to complete, projects to do, life to continue living. But right now none of that matters. She's dying. There's nothing I can do and she's dying. My grandma, the one of three people that I love most in the world is dying of cancer and I can't do anything about it. She has only a few weeks left, says the doctors, and I can't even go see her right now because of school. This is probably the one and only time I've ever truly wanted to completely skip out of school for someone else. I want to be there with her. I want to hold her hand and say "everything is going to be alright," even though I know it won't be. I can hardly see the screen or the keys as I type. I think I've been crying non-stop for the past 4 hours now. I don't want her to die. I don't want to loose someone so special to me. She helped me get my daddy back. She helped me when no one else saw my pain. She was there for me when I needed someone the most. I don't want to loose her. I want my grandma to be okay. I want her to live, to be there when I graduate from college, to see me make her proud, to be there when I tell her how much I love her. Words aren't even enough to express it. I love her more than words can fathom. I love her more than life, more then a future of happiness. I love her and I don't want her to die. Please, by some miracle, please, if there is any god in this world, any heavenly being, please... please somehow make everything okay. Please somehow fix her. Please somehow make her better. Please somehow allow her to live long enough for me to say goodbye. Please. Please. I don't want to miss my chance. I don't want to get there too late. Just one day. Just one day to say goodbye is all I ask. Just one. Please just one. I just need one. Just one. She's given me so much that I couldn't possible give back to her, and now I'll never have that chance....

I love you Grandma, I love to more than anything in the world. You've given me the strength to live, the will to keep trying, to never give in. You've given me the best grilled cheese sandwiches I could ever have. You've given me a loving family I can run to when I need them. You've opened my world and freed me from a cage. You've given me the meaning of life. I love you so much I can't stand to see you go. You'll be in pain, you'll suffer and it will hurt, so I won't ask for anything more than just one day. If you can hold out till I can get to you, I'll promise to hurry as fast as I can to get to your side, to be able to hold your hand tightly and say "I love you more than you'll ever know, you've given me so much I'll never be able to repay, and I know that somehow, someway, everything will be okay. I love you more than life. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you so much. I love you."

One person, one chair, one table, and one star...

The hallway of my dorm has slowly become like a getaway to me. There are the occasional persons who pass by this late at night, but mostly, it's quiet and empty. It feels nice, very calming, very solitary. Most people thing that "solitary" is a sad thing, a lonely feeling, a thing void of all things - I think of it differently. It's the absence of what is, it's the possibility of existence. The void that is to be filled, the room that has life to come, the empty chair in front of a single table, waiting for that one person to come and sit down. Solitary means a void of possibilities to happen. It is the emptiness that has all things and nothing in it at once. I like that feeling, that "solitary."

I'm sitting here, the hallway is a vacancy just silently waiting for those who inhabit it. I'm not that person though. I'm the observer, the one who stands by and watched the events that happen. I like it like that. If it were anything else, I don;t think I would be writing this. I want to see the world like this, sitting here, my back to a wall, the empty chair and single table of possibilities in front of me. It's times like this I wish I had a camera. Something to capture the emptiness, the possibilities that I see in this moment. Something that I can look at later and understand in totality. It's that artistic side of me that I want to submit to, the side that I want o thrive, and I want to give it everything I can to appease it, but that's not something I can afford to do right now, so I'll wait.

In the mean time, I look out the window of this hallway, the reflection making the sight from outside difficult to see with the light of the hallway behind me. Beyond the reflection, I see a single star, adding to the singularity, the solitude, the endless possibilities. There we all are: one person, one chair, one table, and one star... all of us, the possibilities forming in an endless motif. A picture to be found, a story to be written, a camera to capture the sight, and a person to watch the possibilities forming.

This is my peace, my calm. This place had become more than a home to me, it has become my possibilities, my place to belong. The day that I have to leave it will be a sad one, but when I return, it will be waiting, new possibilities to watch forming right in front of me.

One person, one chair, one table, and one star... the solitary silence of endless possible futures to come.

Romance under the stars...

At the beginning of the year, I had met what I believed to be one of the first guys I really just enjoyed the company of. He was into all the same stuff I was and we always had something fun to talk about. He quickly became a very good friend, dear and precious to me. As time went on, however, I found that I liked his personality and not just his looks. I found the urge to touch him in simple little ways growing with time, slowly escalating to the urge to kiss him. He was suddenly so much more attractive than I originally thought. I loved his company, I loved being around him, I felt at peace near him, and nothing felt forced or tense at any time. We talked because we wanted to, not because we felt like it, and just a few minutes ago, I got back from one of the best experiences I had with him.

We had originally gone out to explore the night with another friend of mine that I had spent the day with. (On the off note, during the day we also playing in a fountain... IT WAS AWESOME!!! But anyways...) As the night went on, we headed toward the stadium at a time where we were just watching the sun set while the girls' soccer team finished practice. When the sun had gone down and out of sight, with the last bits of light left, we went to the actual field, with the artificial turf on it. There we ran around, and just played like idiots because we could. When the night sky started to glow with the traces of stars off in the distance, I decided to lay down. A few moments later, the guy (named Alexander) laid down next to me. I scooted a bit closer so that our heads were at the same level. At this point in time, my other friend (named Kia) was still with us and we just stared at the sky making sense of the shining lights in forms of pictures.

At some point, Kia decided to leave us two. Right before she left, when I lifted my head to fix my hair, Alexander moved his arm under my head and I didn't refuse it in the slightest. Somewhere in my mind I felt we made Kia uncomfortable (in my head we were flirting with each other and neither of us would say we liked each other), making Kia feel like the third wheel. (SORRY KIA!) But after she had left, we kind of slowly got closer and closer, the arm-pillow becoming an elbow-pillow, then a shoulder-pillow, and finally just laying on my side with my face resting on his chest while his arm kind of wrapped around my back.... We were cuddling.... It was comfortable and nice.... >3< We also saw a shooting star that night, and what's amazing about that, is that when we had come out to the stadium maybe a month or two back, we also saw a shooting star. I wanted to think it was some sort of sign... but I don't really believe in that kind of stuff... so I'll make believe that I do for just this moment. :3

Later on, he started to shiver and I kept bringing it up every time he would get those really bad shivers and say we should go back because he was cold, but just like me, he's stubborn and until 2 hours later when I decided holding my pee in any longer was a bad idea, I lifted myself up and took him with me. But keep in mind he kept getting me to leave him be cold for, oh I don't know, over maybe 15 times of this conversation:

Me: "You're shivering, we should go."
Him: "Why do you want to leave so badly?"
Me: "Because you're cold!"
Him: "Not really."
Me: "Hmph *continues stargazing*"

My point is.... Well actually, I'm not completely sure what my point was, but by this point I'm just smiling remembering all this, and the subtle moved his hand to poke my head, cover my eyes, or hold me was so very nice~. I'm crushing hard and I don't care~ I'm not going to confess though. I've had too many experiences where I confess or the other guy confesses and then the relationship between us gets really awkward and then ends completely. I don't want that to happen again, so I'm going to wait till he says something and I'll see where things go from there, and since I already know my answer to a confession from him would be "Yes," I don't feel like I have to worry about our friendship quite as much if he confesses instead of me. I've given him all the signs, so maybe he feels the same. Or maybe he just sees me as a friend he doesn't mind having physical contact with... and I don't know how I'd feel about that in the long run, but for right now, that's just fine by me. For now, at least.

I really... uh......

So... um. The only reason this is going on here is so I can remember it 50 years down the line... uh. How do I phrase this? Let's see... um... I'm not... um. Oh fuck it. I'm not a virgin anymore. Guess that sums it up pretty well....

I was in shock for a while. Know why? Cuz I lost it to a girl.... Yeah, I said it. A girl. Oh and by the way, apparently I've been interested in girls for a while now and didn't know it.... This is so... shocking to me. What's even more is that I didn't hate it... in fact... I liked it. I'm just going to... uh... hope no one hates me for this (Grandparents, Dad...), but I don't think that will be the last time either.... I guess we'll have to see?

This is so very awkward... my mind feels like it's been blown through the roof.... I feel like the me that existed before now was just avoiding the possibility? Or maybe just hoping that I like solely men? Don't get me wrong, men are fucking hot, they still are, always will be. I am still, no doubt about it, attracted to men, and that won't ever change. That I know for sure. But... you know... I'm just... apparently okay with girls too? Well... this is a predicament.... Hmm... I can't think of anything else to say.... I'll just stop here, I guess? Oh, I hope no one hates me for this....

Sorry guys... but it happened.

Spontaneous...

I came back just a few minutes ago after posting my last bit. Right after I wrote that, I went out, walked for a long while and found a good place to cry... and cry and cry and cry. I cried long and hard. Over and over. It hurt so much. Eventually, I came back, then while I still wallowed in self-pity, I took a cup of tea out to my dorm hallway to look out the window. I watched as the people walked past, oblivious of me. Then, out of no where, someone started talking to me. He invited me to come with him and three other friends. They led me toward the city, down the long and winding hill, toward a Hookah Lounge. Surprise, surprise. My gut told me no. So I ignored it. And instead went with them for the adventure. With three strangers. That I didn't know. At 10 at night. In the dark. The only girl. Wow, my gut was screaming. But anyways, halfway down the hill, I decided I wouldn't go in and just head back on my own once they got there. They convinced me otherwise. So once we got there, I wasn't really expecting to go there and event led to event and I didn't bring my ID with me. (Lucky me?) But either way, I was going to walk back on my own.

Then the guy who invited me, without batting an eyelash, said he'd walk me back up that enormous hill. On the way up, clumsy me slipped and landed on my hands. (Not until just a few minutes ago did I realize I dropped my precious headphones at that moment - great, right?) He got my shoe that fell off for me and asked if I could walk. All nicey, nicey without the cliche crap that I hate. Concern without intention behind it. I liked that, a lot. Later on, as we got higher up the hill (all the while we talked - though it was mostly him since I never started a conversation - and completely casually too), and closer to our college, he took us up toward the other side and ran, so I followed running. He stopped, looked out over the edge, and I think we stood there talking about nothing in particular for about 10 or 15 minutes, all the while catching our breath, as we looked out over the most amazing glitter of lights.

It's funny, I made so many little signals, though they were probably lost to the darkness, and he never made a move. I wondered if he either had no interest or was just being considerate, either way it put me at ease. It felt totally natural being with him, it was the best way to end a horrible night. I hope he takes me out again, and this time, I'll bring my ID and some money, just in case. No worries, I won't be smoking anything ever, so you can relax. I'm really glad I went. I'm still smiling. :)

I want... him

I feel empty, sad. Like I'm missing something... someone. God, why does it feel like I need to have sex, or at least some sort of sexual interaction, to make this empty pain go away. I've moved. I'm out of that house, but this feeling doesn't lessen. It hurts. Make it stop. I need someone. Please. Someone, wherever you are, come up to me and hunt me down. Don't let me go. Grasp at me and hold me tight. I don't like this emptiness. It's too painful. It hurts. It hurts so very much. I don't want to be alone.

I feel so desperate... saying all this. I know it's useless. I know it won't change anything, but I needed a place to put my thoughts. I have nothing else. I need someone to make all the pain seem pointless. Someone who won't make me feel forced to talk when I eat across from them, just to still the silence, even though I prefer eating in silence. Someone who will sit there with me, hold my hand, smile at me when I look up form my food and make me blush. Someone who will take me out and around, my hand held tightly in their's, just so I get outside and so I feel like I have a purpose in being there. Someone who will let me lay on their chest and just run my fingers up and down there skin, just to reassure myself that they are really there. Someone who will force a kiss on me as I push away in a purposely fruitless way. Someone who will lick my tears away, kiss my eyes, and hush me, saying they are there and they won't leave. Someone who will get jealous when another guy looks at me and then prove to me I'm his by taking my body in his hand. Someone who won't let me feel lonesome. Someone who is there. Someone who won't stop being there. Someone who wants to be there. Someone who will make the silences between us natural instead of awkward. Someone who will tell me "You're mine" instead of "I love you" because he would know that those words have no meaning to me. Someone who will slowly give those words back their meaning with the heat of his passion. Someone who will stand beside me not as equals, but as a man and his possession. Someone who will mark me and make me his through physical action, not through words. Someone who is strong enough physically and mentally to bare the burden of owning me.

I want to belong to him, and him alone. I've said it so many times, I've waited and waited. I want nothing more. I want to be his. I want to know what he looks like, what he feels like, what he tastes like, what he sounds like. I want nothing more. I want only to be his possession. It's not much, just to meet him, or to kiss him, or to have his affection. Just that. Please, even that. I want... him. I know he's out there. I've seen people like me with their match, with their owner. I just have to wait, right? I don't want to wait anymore... I want him. So much more than I can bare. I'm so lonely.

In the end, I was brave for once...

It was harder than I thought to go see my dad again after seeing him in the hospital after open heart surgery. A good hard, but hard nonetheless. About a day ago, I wouldn't have been able to even talk about it like this. I've shoved the thoughts of that one scene so far down into my memories that, even after coming to terms with it, I find it impossible to fully reclaim those memories. Only a few pieces resurface and then fade just as quickly as they appeared. Like the scene as I first walked into the hospital, the look, the smell, even signing my name on a sheet of paper the lady behind the desk gave me. I can remember that easily. But as we walked closer to his room, the images get harder to recall. I can get clear images up until his door was just a few steps away. Then it snaps to when I first saw him, tangled and covered in wires and tubes. Next is the way he forced himself to talk. It hurt. It hurt so badly it literally took all I had in me to keep from crying my eyes out right then and there. Then I snap to when we left, just as we passed out of the door, I broke. I choked back my voice and shook, tears rolling endlessly down my face, my hands pressed heavily against my eyes and my brother holding my shoulder tightly against him. I cried harder the farther we got. I'm about to cry now as I remember all this. It still hurts. No wonder my mind buried my memories so well. But then, why would it allow me to recall only the most painful parts. I know there's more to this timeline then just simple snaps of images and scenes, but recalling it just causes my mind to hide them away as quickly as possible.

Today... yes, today. Things seemed just a bit easier. It took all my courage to come up and visit him, all my will to keep from thinking about it till the last second. I forced myself to come. I forced myself to witness for myself what events had left me with. Whether he was crippled and sickly or just moments form death, I had prepared myself to see all of it, but I hadn't prepared myself to see what reality gave to me. It gave me probably the one thing I needed most right now. Pure faithless and childish hope. That's right. Hope. We sat in this restaurant, my mind constantly distracting me from what was to come. But no matter what I thought, I would have never expected to see what I did. I caught a glimpse of him in the corner of my eye as he appeared beyond the entrance to the restaurant. No crutches, no wires, no tubes. In fact, no nothing. He stood on his own. He walked in the room completely unhindered. As if nothing had ever happened, he walked in and gave me a smile. I smiled back, somewhat in shock, but not really realizing what was happening. The only thought going through my mind was, "I have to get to him." I stood there for a minute, listening to him speak. Waiting for the others to sit down. Then my legs started to move. Before I could even understand, I had weaseled my way past chairs and people and I stood in front of him. He opened his arms and I reflexively did the same, accepting the invitation for a hug. All at once, it hit me. "He's really here." I thought. "He's alive... he's really alive. I'm not dreaming. It's not a dream. Oh thank god he's really alright. Not dead. He's not dead." I couldn't help myself. I hugged him tightly, tighter and tighter with each thought. I didn't want to let go. I thought I might still be dreaming, just maybe, that tiny chance that it was the happiest dream ever and I didn't want to let go.

I had gotten another chance to get to know him. He was alive! I cried, and cried, and cried, and cried some more. My sweater was soaked by the time I could finally speak and look at him and say "I love you" back without bursting out in tears. Oh god, he's alive! That's all that matters. He's alive. He's really alive.

Because I love him, I'm still alive...

Do you know why I stay up so late?

Do you know why I stay awake until the beginnings of light start to trickle over the horizon and the night's darkness begins to fade? Do you know why I stay awake when all of you have fallen so far into sleep that the world is as good as dead to you? Do you know why I am still awake when the house is quiet and still? Why I find peace in the absence of light, in the comfort of dark? Why even though I fear the night's silence I still prefer it over your presence?

Do you know why being around you feels like I am being confined in a small box, while a noise unlike any other suffocates me whenever I hear you move or speak? Do you know why I hide in the darkness of the late night just to find relief and release from being near you? Do you know why I wait every day for midnight to come because I know you won't wake up? Do you know why I use the drastic difference in sleep schedules between us as an excuse to avoid you?

Do you know why I hate being around you?

Of course you don't. You've never asked. You never will.

The simple question of "Why?" The simple thought behind my actions and my reasoning.

Those are the things you will never know. Those are the things you won't care to know. Those questions and thoughts that I know you will never have, but have wished so badly for you to ask only to be disappointed.

That is the reason I hate you. That is the reason I will never love you. That is the reason.

That is the reason why I am immersed in loneliness every day. That is why I clutch desperately at the pillow against my chest until my fingertips burn with pain. That is what you have driven me to.

That is why my chest aches when I try to think of my "Tristan." That is the reason behind why I can barely stand the empty feeling of loving someone I've never met, someone I've never seen, never heard, never known.

I may love him, but I know "Tristan" doesn't exist. I love him, but he won't ever be real. I love him, and I will wait for the man who will become my "Tristan." I will wait for my eternal lover to finally surface from the sea of people in the world. I will always wait for him, because I love him.

Because I love him, I'll wait forever for him. Forever. No matter what. Because I love him....

Hope is a pointless lie...

Please note that I have NEVER said any of this aloud. Not even to myself. None of it. This is my last resort to try and feel something again.

I thought I was done with this place... I really thought I could handle my fears, my pain, and all the hurtful things on my own now.... What a stupid lie. What a stupid and ignorant lie. I was wrong, so very wrong that it hurts. I made this place to shelter the painful feelings and after some time I was beginning to feel the warmth of reality after being lost in a dream for so long. I had thought that I wouldn't need this place full of all the pain I've locked between these words rather than within myself, within my thoughts and my heart.I thought I could finally be strong enough to stand on my own two feet... but I was wrong. I'm weak. I'm so very weak. My mask will only take me so far. After all that has happened, my dad especially.... That's right, I haven't said anything about all of this, about all the things that have happened. I thought I wouldn't need to come here and say anything... but that was my stupid hope, a hope I should have known wouldn't work out. I should have known how weak I was. After the ups and downs of having hope my dad would pull through, eventually along the line somewhere, I just gave up completely.


It was easier to give up any hope of him surviving, it was easier to convince myself he was dead rather than have hope he would be fine and find out he died in spite of my hope. Hope is useless. Hope won't change what will occur. Hope won't change the fact that he went in and out of surgery, or the fact that when I went to visit him he looked so frail. He looked like he would break, like that was the last time I would ever see him... and I had no choice in the matter. I didn't want to go see him, I didn't want to see him like that. I wish I had never gone. You're reading this thinking I'm just saying that, but you don't get it. I've lived without regrets and now I believe the only regret I have is going to see him. I would have rather seen him once he was better, or at the very least, email or texts, but not that. Not seeing him like that. I wish I hadn't seen him. I wish I hadn't. Seeing him didn't make things better, seeing him unable to speak and so close to death only brought more pain, more fear, more sadness. I didn't want that. I didn't want to feel so close to giving up on seeing him ever again in this life. I didn't want to feel like I had to die just to see him again. I didn't want to feel like that, but after seeing him, I did. So I shut it off. I shut off the pain, locked it away with ALL other things that hurt me. EVERYTHING was locked away. Things about my mom, things about being lonely, things about being mentally abused by my family when I was younger, anything that hurt was locked deep inside. Every now and again, some of it would resurface and in fear of the pain, the memories, and the tears, I would push it back down and lock it up again, except it would be a tighter lock every time. I would have rather died than feel like this again after such a long time.

I'm still locking it away... I had no idea how much pain just doing that would cause. I want to cry. I want to feel even just a little bit. It hurts. I don't remember how I used to be able to let it out before. I can't remember how I used to allow myself to feel and then move on. How did I do it? Even now, while I'm writing this, I want to cry, but I can't. I feel the tears in my eyes, but they choke up and fade away too quickly. It hurts. I want to feel something again. Something.... I used to be so strong. I used to be able to shoulder this burden. Hearing the things about my dad, going to see him, being trapped in this house with my mom and the family I resent and hate for what they did to me. All of it has made me weak again. That fantasy I was lost in not long ago, the one that was literally inches away from killing me, it seems so inviting now. I want to go back. It was easier then. I felt none of this because it didn't exist. Nothing but my fantasy world existed... Daddy....

It's easier to let myself believe him to be dead. I don't know if he'll read this, but it doesn't matter. Not now. If he's alive, then that's fine. Just please, please don't tell me unless you're sure you're back at 100% for good. If not, I don't want to feel that painful hope again. He's dead to me now. He died the day I went to see him. His heart stopped and he died. It's easier. He has no idea, none of them do. One day I get a call from the half sister who abandoned me saying our dad was in critical condition and headed to a hospital. "Daddy is going to die," was what I thought. "Before I even got the chance to know him at all, the only one I can't hate because I don't even know him. He's going to die. He's dying and I can't do anything. I can't do anything. I'm useless... please don't die." My hope began with that. "Please don't die." It was all I could think about for the next few weeks. Then I get a call saying his surgery went well, but was nowhere near fully recovered and would need rehab. "At least he's alive," right? No. I went to see him then, stuck in a long car ride with mom, her boyfriend, and my brother and his child. The last two were fine, but the first two fought, loudly.

Ever since I saw my mom and dad fight the night before he left, I've always been afraid of fights. It hurts to see two people fight loudly and shout things. It hurts even more when I try to stop it with "please don't fight" and get yelled at with "shut up." "Shut up" has become a poisonous phrase due to my brother when he was younger. He used to tell me that all the time after Daddy left. The reaction I had then hasn't changed to this day. The moment I hear it I shut down. I go quiet and fearful of the slightest sound, afraid I'll be yelled at again. Fear. Fear. So much fear. When I went to see Daddy, my hands were shaking. Fear of what I would see setting into my heart. I don't love Daddy, I can't love him when I don't know him. It's the same reason I can't hate him. But that doesn't mean that I don't fear his death. Even if no one else "fears" his death, I do. I'm deathly afraid of it. "Please let me at least get to know you first." "Don't die yet." "Not yet." The moment I saw him: wires, tubes, and monitors everywhere. My brother took the lead and started saying hi. Daddy couldn't talk. He couldn't talk. "He's not better yet." "Why did I hope in the first place when he's not better yet?" I said hi, clenching my fists, holding back tears. Fighting the loss of hope, fighting the pain in my chest that gripped at my breath. "It's okay, he'll get better." There it was again, hope. I said my goodbyes, said "I love you" like it was the last chance I had. You think I'm being dramatic for thinking so much over his inability to speak. "Well of course! He was just in surgery! There's bound to be recovery time. Just be patient!" I was. Patience... yeah, I had it. I had it. Then my half sister called again. She said he was rushed to another hospital, another heart valve ruptured or something else unexpected and urgent happened. "Hope... what was the point? He was going to die anyways." I had patience, I had hope, but nothing changed. Believing in something doesn't change fate. Believing in a fantasy won't change reality. Heh... ironic, isn't it? I was living in a fantasy for 5 years, all alone in my own world without anyone noticing. I had to realize that hiding from my reality, my fate, wouldn't change anything... and yet, I still believed that hoping Daddy would get better would guarantee his recovery. I'm a fool. I'm a stupid fool.

After all this, I was done hoping. I gave up. In that moment, Daddy was dead. He wasn't coming back. Just like the night he left out the door of this house, he was never going to come back. I said my goodbyes... but it still hurt. To me, and to no one else's knowledge, in my heart and in my mind, I forced myself to accept that Daddy was dead. I forced the pain to go away. I forced ALL the pain to disappear  It's gone. All the tears are gone. I said goodbye to more than just Daddy. I said goodbye to all my emotions. I don't know how to get them back. I want to feel again. It feels like when I was in my fantasy. During that time, I felt nothing. How could I? Nothing around me was real, so none of it could hurt me. Maybe that's why the silence made my head hurt so much.

Back then and still true now, I was afraid of silence. Do you know that sound you hear when there is no sound to be heard? That high-pitched nothingness. Back then it hurt my head so bad that I wouldn't be able to take it. I would scream of the floor in pain. I called them my "attacks." Some weren't so bad, some were horrible. I remember two of the worst. The first: I was at home alone and I had the TV on (back when I still watched TV) and the moment I turned it off, the silence set in. I heard that sound and the pain was unbearable. I screamed and screamed until my own screams made the silence disappear  The second: it was late at night and I woke up from the heat. People were home, but it was still quiet at that time of the night. I listen to music as I fall asleep because of my fear, but after that goes off, there's no sound in my room. The silence became deafening. I clenched my teeth, grabbed my head, covering my ears, and wished the pain to stop. I wanted it to go away. But it wouldn't. I started banging my head against the wall, hoping it would stop. "Make it stop, make it stop." I kept saying it over and over, like a chant to the gods (if they exist). My mom woke up to go to work around this time and heard the banging from my room. She came in to see what was going on and she couldn't figure out what I was talking about. Eventually, she accidentally pressed a button on my stereo and turned my music back on. The silence stopped. I told her I was fine and to leave, so she left to get ready for work - clueless of what had happened. I concentrated on the music and calmed myself. That was when it really hit me that not one person in this house gave enough crap about me to notice the pain I was in. Even though they were always around, they never knew. The next day, I tried to talk to my mom. She had forgotten all about it. I gave up. I had no hope in the first place, but I couldn't feel anything at the time, so giving up was easier than trying. The past repeats itself I guess. It's easier to give up.

Normally I try to end these posts with some bit of inspirational stuff to lift myself up after finally getting it all out, but not this time. This only scratched the surface of what I've buried deep inside. But I've had enough. I don't want to think anymore. I don't want to go anyfurther. For now, I'm done, and even if I had continued with this, I don't think I would have ever been able to get it all out. It's been 18 years. That's a lot of time filled with painful memories. I don't have the strength to think about the painful things for such a long time. I've had enough. I'm done.

My reality...

Living a life of lies and this is all I have to show for it:

"I don't have the strength nor the desire to talk to any of you, so I shall ignore all of you. It's so much easier that way since I don't get as sad, angry, or afraid if all I can feel is loneliness from the absence of a love I never knew." This is the mindset I go into whenever I return home, have vacations from school, or am near family members. Makes me think what exactly made the collapse of my family happen and why not one person in this household seems to notice that their futile attempts to fake a loving family only makes the situation worse. When you haven't got anyone to talk to but yourself, all you have left is an endless cycle of pain. Knowing that the only one you'll ever be able to explain everything to is yourself, listening to the pain in your own voice as you realize you can't change a damn thing, and forcing yourself to admit that no matter what you do, the only true freedom from the never ending pain is death; every moment I allow myself to break down is just one step closer to that freedom and more than anything else, it truly scares me. Inside I know that if I constantly wear a mask of smiles I can easily deceive both the people around me and myself, but at the same time I know that doing so means forsaking the little sanity I've been able to retain after all these years of suffering. If it weren't for the belief that if I were to give in to that promise of freedom those oblivious bastards would win; if it weren't for the pride I tightly hold onto, I would have died that night long ago when I picked up a knife and pressed it to my skin.

One of these days, the constant battle between pride and true freedom will end, and when it does I fear I will not live to see it's aftermath.

People go through many different problems, but only the psychological ones such as fear, anger, sadness, or loneliness can leave behind scars deeper than any physical wound could inflict. Unless you've felt that true form of suffering you can never hope to understand another person's pain, but even then the depths of each person's scars can never be fully realized unless you are that person yourself. The next time you think of saying "I understand what you are going through," make sure you know that no matter what you yourself have been through, you can never truly understand what someone else has witnessed, felt, endured, or lived along side. The demons in someone's heart and mind are very different from person to person and regardless of whether a situation is identical or not, the way a person reacts to or reflects on it depends on their own thoughts, personality, and if they are able to become strong enough to live through it on their own. Every human being is alone until they find someone they believe with whom they can share the weight of their suffering, but until that person comes around, the solitary inner battle must be fought with their strength alone.

It's a lonely battle, but if we push through it long enough, even if it takes countless decades, one day our solitary battle will be fought with someone's back pressed against ours. That is the day I live for. That is the day for which I put back that knife, that shortcut to my freedom, in order to wait for it's arrival.

Stopping to smell the flowers...

It's strange, ya know? People constantly talk about how they should stop to enjoy life, but when they actually get down to it, they never do. I hate it when things rush past me and because of that, I tend to build up stress. I keep telling myself that the stress I feel is because of the pace of the world around me, but in actuality, it's from the pace that I move through life. So every now and again, I lay longer in bed, I sit and listen to the sounds around me, I walk past trees and notice how they glimmer in the sun or moon light. Things are so calm around me; it feels reassuring to stop and stare at the clouds hanging in the blue sky - especially at night. I've always been nocturnal. I love the night life, the quiet of the air; all of it puts my mind at ease. I feel happy and safe in that darkness with the light of the moon outside my window and behind the clouds scattered in the sky. I love it. I love it. I can't say it enough. I love it.

Sometimes it's not fair though; my mom doesn't get it. Constantly telling me that I should wake up earlier, stay with the family, do family things, talk to her. I can't stand how regardless of how much I hate her, she doesn't bother to figure it out. She doesn't care enough to notice the pain I go through just being around her, she doesn't care enough to ask the reason behind why I act certain ways, and the rest of my family (that live in my house with me) don't help at all. They tease me 24/7, they bother me with their stupid and painful jokes. I hate it. I tell them to stop joking with because every time they do, it hurts to feel like they ignore my feelings. It's like I'm supposed to trust in them and like them because they are family, but what if I can't feel anything for them but hatred? Where and in what rule book does it say that family members have to like each other because of blood ties? Why do people say that I can't really hate them because they are family? What concept is that based on? I've hated them since I was very little. If that feeling hasn't changed until now, why would it suddenly change just because they are family? After all that they've put me through, I can't wait to get away from them. I hate being around them. They irritate me with they presence; they ignore my wishes, they lie to me, they constantly bully me, they make me feel like I'm insane, and they never try to ask what the reason is behind my actions or behavior. Excuse my language, but fuck them! Screw their wishes! If they won't treat me like a human being, why the hell should I even bother to give them the time of day? Just recently, I told them I don't like the way crabs look; they scare me and creep me out, so I told them to stop trying to get me to go near it. Especially if it is alive. I feel bad for it since it is going to die. I'm not a vegetarian, mind you, but I still think it's cruel. But anyways, so after I told them that, they put the live crab in front of my door, they put it on my bed, and they pushed me into it so that it was right in front of my face. I hate them. My mom kept telling me to get out of my room and come watch it get killed. I hate them. That bitch then opened my door forcefully and brought the crab with her, telling me to come and watch it's death. Fuck them. Screw them. I have very good and realistic dreams about killing her and the rest of them. Go to hell. All of them can go to hell. Fuck them. I hate them.

Stopping to smell the flowers is the only way to keep my sanity while living in this house. I love those moments, but I can't wait to get the hell away from these assholes.I dedicate this post to those simple moment where my mind is at peace and away form the hell that exists in this house. The simple moments that exist after the sun has long set beyond the horizon. The days that have nothing but moonlight to illuminate them. The nights of the full, blue moon glowing from the heavens. The moment in time when all I want is for time to stand still. My sanity is still here because of those moments. Stop to look at the world around you, for if you don't, the insanity that rushes past every day will catch you and never let go. The world around you is much more beautiful than you've ever known, all you have to do is look for that one spot in this world that makes your heart feel at ease. I've found mine and it has kept me sane for the last 3 years, the years that followed after leaving my fantasy behind.

OH! And update on that tattoo I was talking about forever ago! I'm seriously considering getting it after I get into college and am 18 years old. The year I turn 18 holds extraordinary significance to the reasons behind getting those wings tattooed on my body, so I want to get it done before I get lost in the real world. I want the tattoo to remind me of where I came from and to never let go of the future I've carved for myself. Also, instead of getting it on the under-side of my right wrist (since that is very easily seen by others and I don't really want to display it - the only reason I picked that spot was because of for 1. my fetish for wrists, and for 2. I wanted to be able to look at it all the time), I decided to get it on the front of my shoulder. Ya know, that open space between where your shoulder starts and your collar bone ends. Right in the front, above my breast and bellow my shoulder bone on the left side of my body. That way I can cover it up easily and can look at it easily and whenever I feel like it since it is right in the corner of my eye. I'm excited for it.

And on that note, I stop for this post. :)

Don't let me forget...

I know this post means absolutely nothing to any of you reading this, but this is something that has an enormous significance in my life. These names are the names of the people that never existed but of whom I have believed in for 5 years of my life. Like it was truth, I believed in their fantastical existence and with their existence came the fact that "I" was slowly being eaten away. At some point in life, "I" was non-existent and to gain back my existence, I fought for my sanity and made myself let go of the lie that span for those 5 years. Now that I'm trying to remember it again, I've realized just how much of it I've forgotten. One of the main "characters" in the fantasy I believed in was the one whom I believed I "loved" and I realized I had forgotten his name, so because of that, I came back to this blog that I thought I would almost never use again to make sure all "their" names stayed where I could find them.

These are the names of the ones I loved, even though they never existed. They were real to me for 5 years of my life and I never want to forget them. I can't remember if I posted it here before or not, but the reason I want to get a tattoo of wings on the underside of my right wrist is because (as far fetched as it may sound, this was all my reality for 5 years of my life) they were all angels, with wings. Whether they had black wings or some other color or form meant that they were either Demons (black wings only) or Angels (other colors and forms of wings). They were my reality, my escape from the real world; they were what saved me from my pain and time of darkness. I truly believe that without them, I would not be here today and instead, I would be buried 6 feet under with either wrists cut or rope marks around my neck. They saved me and changed who I was into who I am today. I don't ever want to forget them and now that I have this, that "portal" that existed on the dark side of the moon, the one I looked at when I talked to them, will never go away. I will always have a connection with them. They won't cover my reality up anymore, but remembering that they existed, that it wasn't just a dream, gives me the strength to move forward.

I dedicate this post to them, the ones who never existed, but whose existence is the reason I am still alive.

Sakuya, Mitsuki Kansaki, Yuki Miyume, Tsubasa, Kasumi, Kouta, Sora, Yuna, Yukito, Solaria, Yunaria, Sora, Akuma, Tera.

I forsake my wings to you, and I give my life to the future.

Is this "it"...?

I know this is kind of weird to say this, but when I do, I'm completely serious. I don't know if this is what it feels like and to tell you the truth, it kind of feels a bit empty, lacking, and strange. When I think about "him," I feel like I want to be around him, to touch him, to hug him, to hold him, to look at his face, to just stare at him for hours. I feel like I want him to touch me, to hold me, to listen to me, to chain me to him. I feel like this is what it would feel like to be in love, but if that's true, then (though it may sound ridiculous) I'm in love with an imaginary person I have never met, never seen, never touched, never talked to, and never even heard the real name of. I call him "Tristan" and he takes the form of my big, fluffy pillow that is so soft and squishy. It feels so good to smother my face in "his" "chest" and wake up in the morning and feel "him" against my body. I've thought this way towards this "guy" for the past 5-6 years or so. Ever since 7th grade, I've always fallen asleep with "him" pressed against me. I feel like I belong to "him" and that "he" belongs to me and that as long as "he" is there, I can be strong. "He" is my safety cushion and my chains. I need chains. If I don't have chains, then I feel like I'll fall deeper into the hole in my heart. I want chains, something to tie me to this reality around me; even if that means I have to use a fantasy to do it. "He's mine." That's all I care about. I don't tell people about it and this is kind of my possessive/jealous side showing. I don't want people to make fun of me for my delusions and so long as I haven't been able to put a face to the feelings or name of this "Tristan" existence, this is the way things will stay. I know that once I find someone I've really fallen for and have become obsessed with, "Tristan" will have lost his purpose, but so long as I have someone to love and someone to chain me down, then I don't mind. "He's mine," whoever "he" may end up being, I won't let him go once I have him in my grasp. This is my type of love, and this is the type of love I need. Without it, I am nothing. So long as I have it, I am me. This is me, my type of mind set, my type of "me." Nothing will change how I feel about my current "lover" or about how I want to think. This is me, deal with it, or take your sh*t and leave! :3

Remembering a lost friend...

I know she may never read this and if she doesn't find it herself, I probably won't ever show it to her. This little post is for a dear friend I lost over a boy that ended up not meaning anything to her in the end. Sometimes I feel like she used him to get me off of her, like I was just a parasite to get rid of. Then I think about how much she meant to me and how much she changed how I look at the world around me and I can't hate her no matter how much betrayal I feel from her or how much I feel like she lied to me all this time. To me, no matter how hard I try, I still can't hate her... maybe that's why it hurts so much to think about her, if only I could hate her, then maybe I could forget about her. This is for you Justine... maybe now I can just let you go:

It feels like I haven't talked to you in ages, and thinking back, I remember how much fun we had talking about random things that really didn't mean much of anything. I know that these past high school years haven't really been the best between us, and now I feel that looking back at it will only hurt more, so I just want to say my final farewell before the end of the year. I know how important you were to me and how much you meant to me, although I'm not sure how you felt toward me, I will always feel sad to know that I lost you for good. However, I also realize that it isn't the fact that I lost a friend that hurts so much, but the fact that I've lost someone that meant so much to my life that when I thought of losing you, I also lost my understanding of how to live. When you were still with me, I remember thinking that if I lost you, I wouldn't know how I would live in this world without you. As things went, however, I seemed to do just fine without you and I can tell that you never really needed me anywhere near as much as I needed you. You were always the strong one, the one who could stand on her own and be able to support the world on her shoulders without breaking a sweat. I missed you so much that I broke down in tears almost every day thinking of you and you alone, but I am glad to see now that my worries for you were pointless. Whether or not it is of any concern to you, I plan to become a successful graphic designer in the future and do a bit of writing on the side. If I ever encounter you again in my field of work or otherwise, I would love to talk to you again, even if just for a short while. You will always hold a special place in my heart regardless of how you think of me, that will never change. Do you remember what it was like when we first met? I was the one who was almost always alone and bullied by those around me for my lonesome attitude and standoff-ish demeanor. When you approached me to be my friend, I told you that if you stayed, you would be bullied too, but that didn't seem to stop you. When you were by my side, I felt as though the world was invisible, like everything around me didn't matter so long as you were there. Maybe that kind of thinking is why I was so hurt when you left me. Even now, thinking back, I was probably the only one who clung so tightly to our friendship. I am sorry for all the pain I have caused you and I am never going to be able to hurt you again. One day though, even if it's a million years from now, if I were to meet you again, I don't think I would stop trying to be your friend. I will always think of you kindly and I hope for your success in the future. Goodbye my dear lost friend, and I will always love you.

The end...

Hey, it's been a really (and I mean REALLY) long time since I last wrote on my blog. Remember when I said that my blog existed as a place for me to vent? Well, it has served for that purpose very well, and I believe that because of it, I was able to live the way I needed to, without getting lost in the depths of my own dark thoughts, in order to follow the path to the future I yearn for. I remember when I wrote about my dad or my best friend (even now it hurts to think about them) and I cried as I wrote and the tears fell silently and made it hard to see as I typed. I remember the pain as I wrote on this blog and now that pain remains hidden in the words wrapped within this blog. Those words stay there and hide until I find them and read them over again. I relive that pain as I read them and I never want to forget it. Its the pain that made me who I am, who I want to be, and who I remain as while I grow. I know that when people grow the hardships they experience can change them and that truth has been thrown at me since I was 4 years old. I don't mind changing, but there is one thing I never want to forget. I don't want to be like my parents and completely ignore my children's worries and pains like my parents did to mine. They brushed it off as teenage angst or childish behavior. They never stopped to question why I might act a certain way. Everyone has a reason behind their actions, whether they say it outright or hide it inside like I do. I know that whatever that reason is, it is never childish because it is the reason that they have changed and it is the reason they have become who they are.

What I'm trying to say is that, when I have children of my own, I want them to know that they can tell me anything (and unlike my parents who say that and then make it so I can't trust them by lying straight to my face, I'm not like all those people who say that to their children while their children say "I know" and think "You're lying"). I don't want them to feel that I never knew what they were going through. What they experienced was not just a mystery to me or something that I have shrugged off into the past like most adults. I want to become the type of person who remembers the pain I felt as a teenager, the way it felt to be lied to 24/7 by the people society expected me to have the most trust in, my family. I hate my family, the people I live with, because of the way they act. They treat me like a burden without ever saying it out loud and by finding people they feel comfortable around, they have left me alone, scared, and sad. They bring me on trips and take me places with them and the only thing I can say truthfully from those experiences is that I have gained the ability to fade into the background. I hide in plain sight and that has been the only way for me to really protect myself from all the pain of being anywhere near them - to disappear has been my only escape.

I'm saying that I want my blog to be the reason why I never forget the most painful times. The times that have shaped who I am are written here and they are something I never want to forget throughout my life. I want to be able to show this place to those who have forgotten what it is like to be a teenager, or even teenagers themselves. I want the people who have forgotten to think that they once felt this way and remember those times. For the teenagers, I want them to know they aren't alone like I felt I was. That they can confide in me and know that I am someone who hasn't forgotten the way it feels to be hurt by those around you.

I remember a time in my life that if I tried to explain it now it would be tedious and you would think me insane, but it is the time in my life that has effected me the most and when I turn 18, the age that is most relevant to that time in my life, I want to get a tattoo on the underside of my right wrist of a  pair of outspread wings no longer that 2in and no wider that 1in. I know my memory isn't very good, but if I am to forget everything on this blog, if I can remember that one moment in my life, everything else doesn't mater. That moment in my life is so important to me, I want to carve it into my skin so that I never forget it for as long as I live.

I know this splurge has been a bit strange, but it wasn't specifically written to be totally understood either. Anyways, I'm not sure I'll be writing much on my blog anymore. I'm going to be a senior next year, then spend a year off before going to college, and once I get to college, I doubt I will use it much. After all, the reason for all my pain is my family and once I move out for college, I'm hoping all the pain will disappear with them as they leave my life hopfully forever.