PART I I haven't written an actually journal entry in so long. I used to have note book upon notebook FILLED with words and pictures and things like that, but.. blah. It's just kind of terrible now. They were too incriminating and one of my most 'indepth' journals.. half of it is now rolled up in a white plastic bag, in pieces, waiting for me to take tape and have an emotional re-attaching of myself. It's kind of awful now. I can't.. write or talk about what i'm feeing anymore really. It's lonely how substances now spur such things, and even then it's just severe emotional drops and myself revealing that i'm actually fucked in the head. I think that i've just become immune to keeping things inside, and the only way it really effects me, and i feel it, is when i sit in silent introspective negatived aura'd moments. It makes me push people away when i need to talk to them the most. I'd rather talk to people like Shea, and Kandice, Brendon even, than those retarded councellors. I have my own analasis of them. Mandy's so old, you can tell she feels like it, even if she's just twenty-some. Or you can tell she did one too many drugs awhile ago, and hates looking at her lips and cheeks in the mirrior. Doug's not like that though. You can tell he thinks highly of his shiney round head, and his retarded little beard goatee thing, and too cliche outfits. I hate sitting in that room. They video tape my mother and I, and once I saw myself on the screen (its covered) and almost had a freak attack. I saw myself standing there, bad hands, bent neck, and you could see a fucking scowl on my face in the tape. I hate the fact that when i'm just sitting there, looking normal (in my eyes) that it looks like i'm oh so saddened, or about to cry or something along those lines. Even when i'm the happiest of happy kids, i'm not that cynical am i? I found pictures the other day, one from shealyns birthday party a long, long while ago, and it's just amazing how we've grown. That was when I was afraid to befriend Shea, yet wanted her to love me, and adored Lisa like I had. Things are so screwed up now, I see people I hate, soaked in their vulnerability and sometimes narcisissm, and I just don't know how to take it. Shealyn said, once upon a time ago, that i am a sensualist kind of person. I DID NOT UNDERSTAND IT. But apparently I feel the full fucked-up extent of each and every emotion in it's severity. etc. I hate too easily, and I love to blindly. Heart ache and lonliness walk hand in hand, I suppose. I hate how emo and cliche I can be. and I usually greatly dislike how i write and write and write like this. It makes no sense to me, and provides NOTHING of a release, because I always reread it and end up cringing and getting angry. I hate my mother, to what extent? I do not know anymore. She's always like to mandy & doug (even with louise&jerry) OH MAI GAD I KNOOOOW MAI DAUGHETTTERR /cough IS TEH SHAWEETEST LITTLE (piece pf shit) IN DA WHOOOOOLE WERLD./hack hack. go choke on your bloated fat, I am not a whore, or your ''little daughter''. (oh my; i just wanted to say: "you like it when the men look at me don't you") I'd bet she knows i've had sex before (let's bite the bullet--sex sucks) and i'd bet she imagines me as such a hooker, "YES MOMMIE ILL CLEAN YOUR CLOCK, YOU'RE PART OF THE FAMILY, NO CHARGE *wink wink*" fuck off. My mental self is really starting to dislike my sexual life, plus my misdemeanor and... everything? I don't even know. Maybe one day, I should bring everything back from Shealyn's. The only reason it's there, and the only reason we have these problems, is because i'm a maniac and i should finally get some perk-a-sets(shit) and be happy about life! and be on this random disturbing high that would make my face gleefull and stretched into a perment smile. I can imagine myself holding this match above my duffle bag full of words, and my box full of pictures. I'm just looking for someone/something that'll appreciate what i've written and tells me how it makes them feel, and would actually take interest in my photographs and memories and pieces of trash that i've saved from the people i've loved. I mean, i am that disgusting. I have a juicebox STILL from grade 8, when Lisa and Julian and Tyler and I went to go see "The Day After Tomorrow" and we all squished into the back of julians truck, and trudged through the snow, and little did we know how young we were. I think we've grown to old in the time that we've lived. What with sex-addictions, drug-addictions, and alchohol-addictions. Plus HATING your old friends, is apparently the new ''it''. Also in this season; trying to find the person you're meant to live your life with. I hate not talking to the people I used to be close with. It's really disheartening, I mean, Joe was my best friend in the whole entire world, but then he got mad, because i was really sad in the summer. I became addicted to alchohol, and started smoking, after quitting for two years before that. I hate growning up and all it's fears. And now, all I can think about, is that Dana lady I met at a party on July 11th I believe, and the boys I fell in love with, and never ever see. They're growing up, and I feel the way that i do, rarely feel. It's like when you're riding on a bus, or grocery shopping, you're with all those people on the bus, and for one point in your life, your life and their life is acted out the same. You sit on a bus, you sit and think or sit and talk and fidget and get comfortable, shiver, cough etc etc. And you make eye contact with someone, or study the movement of their hand with your eyes, and for that time you're on the bus together, it's like you're apart of them, and their lives and never will be ever again. Just like at that party. I haven't seen Tim again, nor Dana. Vonn a few times, same with Josh. Kiefer twice, Emily and Becki once and that's it. I don't keep in touch with people anymore the way I should, or shouldn't. Maybe I just want to keep in touch with them so that I can make something of myself (yells at mother; fck off woman) and make some kind of mark at them, so that maybe one day if sadness did succeed then it wouldn't be anything like; "That girl I met once..." a shrug, or a slight thought of who I WAS, and why I died. Most people wouldn't care, it's pathetic how I talk like this, and I do hope no one reads such bull shit like this. I guess I kind of rant about things like this, because I need to get somethings out. I used to beleive in love at first sight. true love, good grades, jobs, families, growing old and not dying of cancer, and being this happy productive teen that was beautiful in highschool, even if few people thought it, who didn't have an eatting issue, or self concious fuck'd issues and paranoia, and fear of people and such things. I've become such a moody antisociallite its pathetic. I can't even be with the people I love. I want them to die, so I can die. And thinking that is what hurts me the most. I can't go on with this kind of head. I need to find myself and strength in someone and it's murder trying to find it. I'd love to be a hooker, then taken by a serial killer, fucked-raw and gutted, left to die later. And all I would've wanted was a little coke, meth or a dick to make me feel loved. If i was a hooker, that's what life would be. I truely feel that there are people that have moved me to immaculation, about three I know of for sure. I can't say though, because then the dream would be over, just like every other day dream and night terror. When I'm high or drunk and sickly sad, i write and write for days after. I imagine girls hitting on me, and people whispering with leather tongues behind my back, and I think that lovers are haters and bite my fists raw. I WAS PROMISED AND FORCED TO PROMISE UP TO SOME LIE. Im too young for dreams to come true, and they won't at the rate i'm at. I think my head will rot away. AND AS ROBERT SERVICE SAID: "A promise made is a debt unpaid." Remember that, boy, of whom I promised a summer. It won't happen, i'm afraid to admit. I don't think I can make it that long. Im pathetic. Bah, I really feel... stupid saying all this. People are probably going to read it, and think "OH MY GOD WHAT AN EMO" but maybe they dont understand. I've seen the most beautiful people contemplate suicide, they had families that loved them, some didn't, the had lots and lots of friends, others didn't. and it's not being a fucking emo.It's actually having something wrong with you. WANTING TO END YOUR LIFE ISNT EMO, ITS REAL. Some people wouldn't understand what others go through, thats why the weak ones vocalize it. as a warning. It's not to be betrayed and mocked, and I hope this won't. Im in love with the older people I know. They live life like they're supposed to, and no one can take that away from them. I envy it fully. PART II. this is the second time i've come back to this, in all of half an hour. I am going to rant and rave in my little teenage girl nostalgia about how i miss everyone and missing people as much as i do, really hurts. It does, because there are so many memories and I can't go back to them, I can't go back to what we used to be as friends, and who i used to be, and.. just everything. I envy people for having thier things. Like theres kandice, tyler julian and jono, and they have their partying and drugs and drinking and I know its not the best hobby to have, but it's their thing. THey'll talk about it when theyre married and laugh and tsk tsk their kids for being as bad ass as them. If its one thing i've realized, you are your parents. Does that mean, when I think i'm in love, my husband will leave me? and my daughter will hate me too? That i'll try and kill myself by gaining enough weight to weaken my heart severely and I'll cut my wrists and make it seem like a work place accident like my mother does? I don't know why i'm saying this. Maybe I just need to get it out. MAYBE. i just need to get out, how much of a dumb whore i am, for making one of the best people in my life hate me, because i fell for her boyfriend. who never would've liked me anyways, because im disgusting and boisterous and an alchoholic and a fucking girl. i've tried to take away from so many people in bouts of shallowness and i hate it, it hurts. I've told lies, and shed secrets like second skins just to get other people to show some kind of respect for me. I am a fabricator. I lie. I hurt people so I can find satisfaction in my own trival... hurt. My skin is hot just like yours, and I cry just as easily as others. People are supposedly seeing me as strong, but i see myself as falling in love with everyone who will let me. I tried to kill myself when my dad left, un knowing, but now i know why the feeling of wanting to die is so fucking familiar, because its happened when i was 18 months old. Head meets wall as mommy cries, and head meets wall while 15, drunk and stoned. It's like a petty intake of pills. these words, theyre making me sick. all i can think about now, is morgan and how i ruined her camera, and how i made her miss sony becuase i was obsessed with listening to RHCP and things. I liked that one day, we made really oily shrimp and listened to the beatles and dropped this really ugly glass off her balcony, and when i came over and she fed me potatoes at 11 pm, while watching sexy olympian swimmers and our FRIENDS MARATHONS! oh i remember those! and how we used to skip school and go to lisas house and decide which 'firend wed be' i was always monica. i loveeeed her. and i remember when my mom would go psycho and tyler would lie with me on lisas green couch and hed talk to me and make me feel better, and her psycadelic rug on the basement and how we'd pretend to get realllllly high off of incense but it was just the thought of simple rebellion and being together that really got us. but now, its just like the rebellion is simple enough, and we dont need to TRY at all. we just need to give up now, and grow up and forget about being a crazed teenager because thats apparently not what its all about. i feel like this is my suicide note, but it's not. it's like a letter saying; 'hello; im forgetting you as you have forgotten me. maybe one day you'll remember that we were friends, and made videos and there was once love for each other' without us together, it doesnt appear as if theres really anything but.. old. i dont like writing like this, i'm past hysterics. honestly, in my head, all I can fucking see if laurels eyes and me leaning on the fence, and i can feel brendons hands on my glasses and jarrods arm across my nose. it's like, every part of every person is stretched across every part of my body, and i can not breathe from it. please dont call me. i am not home. i dont want to know you anymore. i wish people would just tell you that they dont wat to now you anymore. like that one kid did, whats his name? im not saying because he wont even read this, he ignored me when i needed the help, so i lay there, suffocating to his sister on the telephone. ive always wanted to be a mother, maybe just a mother, but when i think about them growing up, i dont want them to have to deal with all this feeling. i think i may have to stay up all night writing all of this out. i feel like an addict to sadness. I WANT TO SAY EVERYTHING, because this is the only journal entry i will write for a long time, but i cant because what about the person that reads all of this? what if they find out everything about my thickskinned body and how i was almost pregnant once. i wouldve had such a beautiful baby, it wouldve been born of so much love. and it would've been beautiful and myself hated by my mother. I wish she had me when she was younger. maybe then we'd be closer, not such a large generation gap. and i'd hope that we'd get along. maybe thats why i'd love to be a mother, i dont know what im saying. i want to get married young, then forget my husband and just die face down in the ocean. the ocean is me, even though i am a fire-d zodiac. FORGET ME SUN I AM THE WET. loud music hurts my words and makes my knuckles cramp and me unable to type. this is getting ridiculous, maybe it's just becuase im lonely. maybe ill be able to be happy now, if i get all these thoughts out. every time im fucking high, it turns into a script. s fucking script and it wont stop writing itself i have all the wrong people in my head playing the parts that i speak and theres too much song and dance, this one time. i remember fat truckers with baby soft skin that wear womens underwear and want to be made fun of, i know this because i will be fucking them one day. i think less of myself and its somewhat fabulous. dear you; maybe each song you listen to, the one of love, and hope for those girls that have lost themselves and wish to give up as much as i, remind you of me? and my heart? yes? please meet me like you had that one time. we should get together and forget life. love; me. do you ever think ill stop writing this. i cannot get dana out of my head! shes gunna end up with kiefer, i know so. i can feel it. and shealyn will fall in love with someone she wouldnt expect to, and brendon will end up with someone the same way shea will. and kandice will leave when men love her, shell run away and drive to new york and have sex on porches and smoke dope being single until shes 80. with maybe one kid, and shed write me letters from every where. i hope im situated in california with a boat, and christmas trees and mexican food and a shack that has a little shrine to all things immaculate and tiny and unnoticed. i think my mom went to bed and this is too long and becoming airy and incoherent. i hate the way i write, so i dont see why i do, i hate the short stories and two-liners and poems and prose etc etc. i wish my brain would stop and apathy set in for good. life would be easier. i cant swallow and im feverish. i really like when couples match each other in order to impress eachother, and i love realizing things about people that you never noticed before and how people are so young, and volitile and you dont even notice your greatness until you start to forget it. old. i like when people try to keep each other and when i realize that this life, being a teen and trapped in this melancholic fever of self-angst and figuration will all go away soon, and in the end what we used to be, wont mean anything. nothing at all. was all of this written out of spite, jealousy, or just...saddness? maybe i just needed to talk.