it's four am and i just realized that i have a blog where i could post literally fucking anything and not care so here it goes i guess; don't mind the ramble like nature of this i'm just kind of exhausted.
there's something that's been bothering me for a long while and i didn't have anyone i felt really comfortable talking about it to; because it's just, i don't know, weird? unnatural? too unspecified? i don't even know.
my sexuality was never something i really struggled with. the first person i liked was a girl, and throughout my childhood i was so separated from everything that i never really realized how homophobic the world was. even so, i was, interestingly enough, kind of homophobic for a while. not towards myself, but the type that's just kind of weirded out by it and says it's unnatural. i moved past it, all fine and dandy, whatever.
gender was something i never really thought about, because i didn't know anything on the topic, you know? no one ever spoke about it, no one ever made me think about it, not in terms of gender identity. somewhere from the internet i learned about the fact that there are people who trans, and i was like ok, and still didn't think about it. since then i've learned a great deal more but again, i never gave it much thought in regards to myself.
but recently i have. a lot. and here's the thing.
fuck it's even hard to write. i don't know what the thing is. just that there's something, i think. i'm just perpetually confused, because there's things i'm now realizing i've always thought and done that i've just assumed were normal but now i'm thinking maybe they're not. and i'm not trans, i don't feel like a male.
most of the time.
and some times i don't feel like a female or a male and i'm just a fucking lump of nothing and i don't understand anything and it's so fucking stupid. i have no problems with female pronouns, or male pronouns or anything, but that probably stems from the fact that my mother tongue is a language with non gendered pronouns so to me, it's kind of all the same. i have no issues with my body being female, but sometimes, some fucking times, i just want it to be a dick instead. or both.
and it's not really a big deal, because i guess all of this is one of two things. it's either me just being fluid on the gender spectrum or just me being weird. either way, not too big a deal. but what's been bothering the fuck out of me is that i have no one to talk to about it. because i want to, who knows, maybe it'll help me figure out what the fuck i'm feeling.
i have five people that i would feel comfortable talking to about something this personal in detail, and with this i can't for any of them.
christina has been a safe haven of no judgment and comfort for a lot of topics, and i would have gone to her with this too except that i know she doesn't really believe the whole gender being a spectrum thing, as a lot of people don't. and i'm scared of becoming another person that she will support but not truly believe.
ana would believe me, probably, but she would kind of cling on to it. she would bring it up more than i would want her to, she would make it bigger than it is. she would make me feel alien because she's trying so hard to make me feel normal. she's a fantastic sister, but i've come to learn that she can't give me what i need in terms of things that really bother me.
kaylyn i might've told if we saw each other more often. since i moved we haven't seen so much of each other and i don't want to unload this kind of shit on her when it's the first time i'm seeing her in months. if given the right time and opportunity i might, because i know she wouldn't make a big deal out of it, and she wouldn't not really take it seriously.
asma and shidi are kind of a similar case, but also not. they're my fucking soulmates and i love them both so goddamn much but i don't know how much they know about gender stuff, and there's also the fact that i haven't seen them in like three and a half years. we talk all the time, sure, but that's different. i'm going home for like 6 weeks during the summer so maybe then i'll talk to them but i just don't know.
i'm exhausted. i feel like i'm lying to people, or lying to myself. i feel like i can't tell people because they won't understand or try to or even care or believe and i don't blame them because i don't understand it, i sometimes feel like i'm making it all up. like it's something the internet put in my head, something i'm forcing on myself to be different. but i don't want it. i don't want to feel like i don't know what i am, like there's something wrong with me. i'm just
It's such a shit feeling when an artist you admire dies. It's this weird state of mourning, where you didn't really know the person, but at the same time, you did. You knew their art, their music, you knew what they were like on the other side of a camera lens, you've fallen asleep to their voice.
And now they're just... gone. It's hard to comprehend how real it is, because for me the change isn't discernible or immediate.
But fuck does it hurt anyway. I haven't stopped listening to his music since I heard, and I keep crying at random times. It's unfair, so goddamn unfair that he could help me and so many others to pull through, but we couldn't do the same for him.
My reflection is cast on the closing elevator door
Looking worn out but, even like this
The reason why I still blink my eyes and breathe
Is it for me or am I chased?
Tell me honestly, you're feeling so lonely
Tell me honestly, you know you can't go on like this
How long have you been alone?
It's awkward to meet my own eyes in the mirror
For me, for me, for me
Rest in peace Jonghyun. Your music has and will continue to help and inspire me, you seemed like a wonderful person, and I'm so fucking sorry you had to go through so much pain. The world has lost a great musician; your memory will live on.
Onwards, I suppose, for the rest of us.
Moods: that weird state of mourning
It's five thirty AM and I haven't slept. I've been thinking about too many things recently, I feel like all I've done for the past month is think. It's so loud, this weirdly boisterous silence in my head.
Mom, all I want is to come see you again. Maybe I'll feel like less of a failure, as a person, as a daughter, if I can visit you without having a fucking panic attack. Because that's what happened isn't it? I managed to talk to your grave for a grand total of maybe two minutes, like you could hear me, before I couldn't breathe. And it had been so long since I'd cried like that, so fucking long. Two years. Since that day I came home from school to the shitty apartment that you took your last breath in and just screamed at your pictures for hours because I knew dad would come back late from work that day. Two and a half years. And I've only come to your grave once, because it was my 18th birthday and I couldn't not come.
The corner of my memory
A brown piano settled on one side
In the corner of my childhood house
A brown piano settled on one side
I remember that moment
Way taller than my height
The brown piano that guided me
Even though I was gone for a long time
You accepted me
Without you there’s nothing
After the dawn, two of us
We welcomed the morning together
Don’t let go of my hand forever, I won’t let go of you again either
I watched a live performance of First Love during my all nighter, and for some reason it made me extremely emotional. There's just something to the passion of the song, the way the instruments rise and fall. I don't know. Give it a listen, it's... unique.
I guess I'm feeling some type of way. I think it should be happy; but, well, shit. Nothing's ever that simple is it?
Apocalyptica (AKA awesome Cello dudes from Finland) are on a tour for the 20th anniversary of their Plays Metallica by Four Cellos album, and I saw them at one of their shows last night with my sister. The album was their debut, a collection of Metallica covers, if the name isn't a dead giveaway for that part. The show was fucking awesome. Maybe that's why I feel so guilty about being too messed up right now to feel that concert afterglow in full effect. Or maybe it's because I'm lying to my sister about how I feel, but can you blame me? I took her to the concert as her birthday gift, who the fuck am I to ruin her night with whatever the fuck this is?
I know what this is, it's me putting too much stock into my dreams, and not in a premonition type of way. I can't really explain it, but the last time I had a dream about someone I love dying, it was my sister, and immediately after I woke up I went over to her and I held her for like two hours until I calmed the fuck down. Can't really do that this time, seeing as the person is nowhere near me.
I'm scared. The dream was different this time. When it was my sister, her death was an accident. She was going to school and she got hit by a car or some shit. But in my dream this time, Sunshine's death wasn't an accident. She killed herself, and it fucking terrifies me because I know she's really fucking depressed and therapy and her pills haven't been helping much lately. I know because I'm the one that talks to her every other day when she can't sleep and feels like she can't breathe, and all I fucking want is to be next to her so I can fucking hold her and know she's still breathing and not doing anything stupid but I can't. I can't because we're literally fucking oceans apart, and what the fuck kind of friend am I when I can't do shit? I'm not saying I expect myself to cure her depression, no. That's some movie bullshit, I know firsthand it doesn't work like that. But I would very much like to be able to hug her when she says she wants to, to have her see me or hear me in person, because for some goddamn reason Sunshine loves me and I'm one of her best friends.
It kills me that I'm making her sad. I know it's not my fault, that I can't really help the fact that my family had to move to America and that I'm not back home anymore, but there's no getting rid of this guilt. I don't know how I would forgive myself if she does something to herself. I don't know how I would forgive her.
Oh right. This entry had a song to go with it. One by Metallica, as covered by Apocalyptica twenty years ago. No lyrics because Apocalyptica are usually just instrumental, but I've found that the way they play it manages to convey the message anyway. I did almost break out into sobs when they played it last night, so there's that. Enjoy if you decide to listen (it's linked to the name, in case you didn't notice it).
It's a very common occurrence for me to go surfing through old blog posts and stuff I've written that I've forgotten about; that's what I was doing literally a minute ago before I came to post this. I was looking through old entries on this blog, reminiscing about old times and shit I thought and wrote, and I realized how much I used to make music based entries. Like I would name the entry after a song I was really into at the moment and thought other people might enjoy as well, and would recap some of the lyrics in the entry with a link to listen to the song. I guess I'm gonna try to pick that back up right now, give it a go and see how I feel about it now.
I've been listening to like three things recently: Queen, Kpop, and Dieterich Buxtehude's complete organ works. Because I'm consistent in my musical tastes. Heh.
But a song that's been really stuck on me recently is Spring Day by a kpop boyband, BTS. It's about missing a friend, which I can relate too all too well. I'm gonna post some lyrics translations, since the original is in Korean. If you wanna check out the song, the youtube video I linked on the name has captions and they're the english subs.
You know it all
You’re my best friend
The morning will come again
Because no darkness,
No season can last forever
Cherry blossoms are blooming
The winter is ending
I miss you
If I wait a little longer
If I stay up a few more nights
I’ll go see you, I’ll go pick you up
Past the end of this cold winter
Until the spring comes again
Until the flowers bloom again
Stay there a little longer
It both calms and saddens me. But hopefully I'll be seeing my friends again soon, ironically in the winter. Don't think the actual weather would matter though, not as long they're there.
Fuck I'm so sappy.
Someday far faraway in my past, I was a child. Not a child in terms of age, that's something I still carry with me. No; child as in innocent, in so many different ways. A child hasn't been touched or tainted, by skin or by thought. A child is free, to roam without fear and sleep without nightmares that carry something more. A child hasn't lost anything significant, hasn't worked to gain something, hasn't felt despair, love, longing, lust...
I miss it. God, I miss it. So much, too much. I miss the days when my head wasn't full and my chest wasn't empty. I didn't long for the touch of someone I can't have, not the way I want to, anyway.
It's funny. Nothing has changed and yet everything has. It's hard to admit your feelings to yourself but once you do you can't take them back. No matter how much I want to, I can't take it back.
I'll tell her everything, piece by piece, year after year. I always knew I would. Even when we weren't even friends yet, I knew she was special. There was something in the way she held herself; she knew who she was and she felt no shame in it. I fell in love with the idea of her before I fell in love with her as a person, but it was always her, it will always be her. I will tell her everything because I can't not. I don't have it in me to deny her. My sister... she doesn't understand. It's not her fault, I haven't told her how I feel about our friend, and I never will, but she assumes that it's because I favor the other. "You didn't read this book when I recommended it to you twenty times yet all she had to say was she really liked it and you bought it in 3 minutes." The bitterness hurts, but I'll take it. It's better than letting them know how much this hurts. Everything else that hurts I will share one day, because she makes me want to tell her.
But not this. I can see it now, the rejection, but that isn't what stops me. I know her; fuck I know her so well, and I know she'd feel bad. Guilty. She doesn't deserve this, she doesn't deserve me and my fucking haywire emotions, she deserved better, so much better, and even if she felt the same way I couldn't do that to her. We're in different continents for crying out loud; it would never work, not long term.
But that's what I want. Her, long term. I wish I didn't, I wish these feelings would go away, but they don't. It's been five fucking years, and I haven't even seen her for like the last half of that; I've changed, and so has she. We've grown and fallen apart as friends and back together -because we always fall back together- but my heart hasn't changed.
I tell her I love her every time we talk and it feels like a lie, because when she says it she means "you're my best friend" but when I say it I mean "you're the love of my life."
Maybe I'm wrong. I'm still... young. Not a child, but young. Inexperienced and new. Maybe she's not "the one." Maybe she'll be one of many. But something tells me that if anything was going to change it already would have.
I hope I'm wrong.
P.S. fuck how did this even happen this was supposed to be a meld of fiction and my own frustrations but it ended up being a confessional. I shouldn't be surprised. When it comes to my brain, everything always somehow leads back to her these days.
I sit on my knees and I grasp at the flesh of my palms. My nails sink into the soft mold of skin and meat, no pain. I am swelling, filling up with warm, pounding blood, plump as the ripest plum, ready to burst and paint the intricate fur of the rug underneath with the juice in my veins. At the same time, my pudgy body is sinking, melting into a puddle of human goo, indistinguishable. My nails are growing at an alarming rate, weaving through my palms and into my arms and beyond, building their own root system throughout me. I wonder if they will eventually come back out and repeat until I am so wrapped up in myself that I just lose. The fur underneath tickles my legs and rubs against the coarse hair that grows there. Could I be made into a rug? All my hair, taken along when I am skinned, and carefully cleaned and processed and softened and colored and preened. Someone else sits on the rug that is me.
I am soft. Oh so soft on the outside; I cannot be touched without being ruined, but on the inside grows diamonds. My diamond heart reaching up for my diamond brain but never reaching. Magma flowing through my hollow veins and coating it all. Growing thinner in skin and thicker inside. What am I? Dead? Alive? A human? A rug? The sitter? The seat? Plum? Diamond?
I am me, and me means nothing because it is all the words you attach to it. I have too many words attached to me, I don’t know which ones are real anymore. Who am I? Everything I ever wanted? All I never wanted?
I am null, because I am both. Invalid.
Disquietude Before the Storm
Regret of the spilled words washes over in waves; choking; suffocating. The thoughts I can never retract from my pen and the unease dipping into my soul. Waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the halcyon to crash and descend into nothingness.
Like wind it came, enveloped, blew away. Tightening arms around the vanishing love, shivering from fervency. Plead and wail whilst the world hails down, down, down. Down to the earth that takes all, yet gives none.
Like wind it came, brought leaves: love, life, appeasement; it blew away, so did the leaves. Grasping at the rueful void, endeavoring to hold on. Scream and scratch whilst the latch traps, traps, traps. Trapped in the obsidian that kills all, and leaves none.
You never know, constantly left in agony, wondering when happiness will return to you, and some days, it arrives like the wind, euphorically rushing through before it abandons and you fall, feeble and fragile.
Is this death?
My bones melt,
I drop away from myself,
choking air sticks to my soul,
my life dissolves in oxygen,
and my thoughts off and empty.
Is dreaming death?
I hide myself in clouds,
body still visible and cold,
my entire being vibrates,
the excitement of one answer
makes me restless and breathless.
Is hiding death?
The door sings for me,
slow and sweet,
I cannot go back anymore,
nor do I want to, to a life
meaningless and full of phantom pain.
Is heaven death?
It is standing in front,
on the other side of the door, smile
upon its lips. First friend,
then grandfather, and last
Is she death?
She does not open the door for me,
staring at the body I have no longer,
at the thoughts that fell from my pockets,
but she has not words for me,
emitting only hatred.
Is pain death?
She whispers something that does not reach
me, I near the glass
of the door, hand moves on its own and on this
door it sits, and in that second her words
come: “You are not welcome here.”
I fall from the sky and die,
then arise and in an abandoned road
I think life is death.
Moods: suffering from a migraine since like 4 AM and now it's like 12 AM and I have to read a thing for AP Lit what is life
Kind, smiling eyes, bestowing happiness on blackness
of soul and mind. Basking in your light once more, just
as if you were never gone; here now, here forever.
Hold my hand and I am home, free from the evil
of the void; the emptiness that grows and grows.
Eyes burn and I do not know why; why
do I cry? Why do you cry?
How is this happy, for I was once
positive it would never arrive. Yet here you
stand with me, playing of flowers
of flowerpots and dew that glistens
Trembling, trembling, trembling. Shaking
awake in despair, distraught and disheveled,
wailing into the empty night sky that pours
from inside the void you have left me. Nothing
to hold in comfort but the memory of
the dead I dream of at night.
How is this happy, for I was once
positively so, and then I lost
I, a lone drop, amongst other lone drops.
Together, without each other, without self, without color.
Without speech and without happy, just water.
I, a lone drop, abandon other drops.
Abandon an empty house, without home,
without wall and without road, just air.
I, a lone drop, fall towards other drops.
Together, drops that are not drops,
loneliness that isn't alone, just sea.
I, a lone drop, no longer alone and no longer a drop.
Not counting today, and I am not, there is exactly four days left of November and NANOWRIMO. For those who don't know, which is apparently most people, NANOWRIMO is the abbreviation of National Novel Writing Month, AKA November. There's a site that basically organizes this whole thing where you write a 50,000 words (min) novel in a month. The point is to just write everyday and get it out of the way, even if it's crap. Editing and all that magic can happen later.
It's also something we do for our creative writing class. Now thankfully, my creative writing teacher is not evil, so she doesn't require us to hit the full word count, she just wants weekly progress. That's it. But for me, this isn't about the class, not really. It's about something I started about six years ago, when I was a wee lass of 11 years. I am currently still technically a wee lass, but less, I should hope. Not the point.
I started this novel when I was eleven, and I wrote like 8000 words for it before I realized my writing was shit and I liked the idea too much to ruin it with my crap writing skills. So what I did was put it aside, with the intention to get back to it after I upped my writing skillz. That didn't really happen. So when last year, the first year I took creative writing, Mrs. Cutter -aka my writing teacher aka the love of my life she's amazing- told us about NANOWRIMO I thought that was the perfect opportunity to pick this story back up. Trouble was, I wasn't, and am not, a fast writer. I was still in the beginning stages of letting go of my borderline obsessive need for perfection before moving on. A big problem for writing, as it made me edit while I was writing and slowed me down a ton.
So I started it back up, didn't finish. I wrote about 18,000 words, and five thousand of it was crossed out because I realized it contradicted either something that had happened or was going to happen. Now this year, I've picked it back up again, and my personal goal for NANOWRIMO was to finish this story. And I have, almost. Now, however, the problem lies in the fact that about 13,000 of my word count is in another document from last year. Yikes.
I'm trying to add more stuff into the story, but there's only so much I can do after the plot has taken it's course. I've added more description and extra scenes here and there, but ultimately, I know what I have to do. Start the sequel. And fuck, motherfucker, I am not ready for that. I have nothing planned out for how that's going to go, vs the first one which I spent six years working and developing in terms of plot. This is going to be completely new territory, and that's pretty scary.
I should really stop now, as this is really just my way of procrastinating from writing. Like that dance break and food break and drawing break that I took over the past three hours that I was supposed to be writing. Also, I've been listening to the same six fucking songs from Queen since like three days ago on repeat. Halp.
Moods: THAT'S WHY THEY CALL ME MISTER FAHRENHEIT I'M TRAVELING AT THE SPEED OF LIGHT I WANNA MAKE A SUPERSONIC MAN OUTTA OF YOU + crying on the inside because my dad just left for Iran and he's gonna be there for three weeks for business stuff and that means no parents for three weeks which is kind of nice but also NO + is it obvious I'm high af on caffeine
Literally everyday something tells me to go register to vote. A teacher, a school announcement, a classmate, an ad on the internet, etc.
When it's a person I can explain, tedious it may be. It gets frustrating after a while. No, I can't register to vote. No I can't register to vote when I turn 18. I won't be able to vote in this election, or the next one. Oh why you ask? Simple. I'm not a US Citizen.
I mean, I live here, but apparently some people don't realize living somewhere and being a citizen of that country are different things. I only recently got a green card man, I can't vote for like another five years minimum, and that's if I don't go on any out of country vacations.
It's really scary to know you have zero control over what happens to the place you live in. And not just because of your age. It's scary that my dad can't vote, my sister can't vote. So excuse me if I get angry when someone says "Oh I don't care". Right, sure. You were born here, you belong here. It's your country, and you don't give a crap what happens? Not even that, you fail to recognize that people like me depend on people like you. We can't vote man, but we have to bear the consequences of your votes. For fucks sake, if you can vote, go do it. Exercise that goddamn right because I can't, my family can't. And I wouldn't expect you to understand. You, every single person that has said they won't vote because they don't care. I fault you for your selfishness, but if it were me in your shoes, I don't know for sure that I would care. So here's a PSA I guess. There's people like me and my family. We're here, we're gonna stay here. But we have no voting rights, not yet. If you do, go take advantage of it.
This is a snippet of one of the many random ass things I'm working on. I felt like sharing this, so here it is. Enjoy, I guess.
She had not seen the sun, the real sun, for years. Her eyes hurt from the sudden burst of light, but she embraced the pain. She basked in the sunlight, coughing from the ash and dust and effort of it all. A shot fired.
Lexi turned to the source of the sound, whipping out her gun. She had three bullets left, that was more than enough to deal with whoever had lost their mind. An old man stood alone, pointing a gun at the rest of the prisoners. “Drop the gun,” she commanded. There was no time for playing nice, not anymore. “Drop the gun or I will shoot you in the head.” The old man turned to look at her slightly. His hands shook with the weight of the metal. “I understand that any person you’ve seen for however many years has been hurting you, but they’ve been hurting us too. Now, if you want to live, then drop the gun.” He didn’t respond, and Lexi pulled the safety on her gun back. Another shot rang out across the desert.
The old man fell to the ground, blood pouring out of the gaping hole in his head and pooling in the sand. His brain matter was splashed underneath him, and one of the prisoners began retching at the sight. Lexi contemplated making a snarky comment, but the day had taken a more tiring turn than she had expected and her mind just wasn’t up to the task.
Moods: tired because it's like 1 AM on a school night and I'm dumb because I won't sleep but also I have insomnia so it's not my fault and dear fucking god someone just kill me what is life
There are things we don't like about the people we love, things we have always known. Things that aren't on the forefront and therefore, we can pretend that they're not an issue when in fact, they're pretty big issues. I love my father. He is amazing, he works so hard for me and my sister, and he's given up so much for us. There are things I hate about him.
Like how he said 'insane', made weird googly faces and laughed like it was a joke, like it was funny. Like how he refused to listen to me afterwards because I was being disrespectful to him and suddenly it's my fault that I am angry at him for basically making fun of me. He doesn't understand, of course. Every time I've tried to tell him it's been dismissed under my age, and I think he doesn't want to understand, because then it would mean I'm hurting. But I am hurting, and this doesn't help.
It's moments like these where I wonder, how would he differ if he could understand? Would he say these things if he knew his own daughter hallucinates sometimes? That she wants to cut her skin until there's no skin left, and sometimes she does? That she has panic attacks and bangs herself against the closet wall until she bruises? Would he still look in me in the eye and laugh?
There are things I hate about the people I love, and my father's inability to listen is one of them.
Moods: crying and stressed because I have my pre calculus final tomorrow and this just happened
i dream of her Smile
He tries to fill the gap
shE tries to fill the gap
it will never be the Same
i Lack something
in my hEart
i think something achEs
Please come back
she Should never have left
hanging unto her wordS
she shIelds me
she tells me when it’s oXen free
Fire in my veins
i liE to myself
i liE to everyone else
They can never know
i write her in my liNes
Dreaming of her
thinking of hEr
and she’s theRe
Moods: Panic! At The Disco AF
Blue of the light
Light of my life
Life of the weak
The weak of the damned
Damned I will be
Be the one to cry
Cry for lost hope
Hope I would die
Die in your arms
In you arms I can fly
Fly away to a dream
A dream of being happy
Happy like a bird
A bird of prey
Prey off the lost
Lost all day
All day I fantasize
Fantasize a scene
A scene where you're here
Here with me
With me you belong
Belong to the lost
Lost in the deep
The deep, dark, cold sea
Moods : Dreamfall and Dreamfall Chapters OST
Eyes focused like a laser
Sun drips down your back,
Stale air rushed through your lungs
And you sing of the life you lack
Maybe the sky loved you
With the distance of the world
Maybe you've just lost all hope
Of finding a real hold
You run through cracked pavement
Wood splinters in your feet
You run away from the life
That made you toss and turn in your sheet
Are you running from someone, Blackbird?
Or are they running from you?
I know how sad you are,
But you scare me too.
PS: I just took a quick look through my old entries and wow was I cringe worthy. Not gonna delete the posts though, character development IS important.
Moods: Tired AF cuz it's near the end of the school, when teachers decide to slowly drive you insane via lack of sleep. Shout out to my Physics teacher who goes out of his way to not give us work because everyone else does.
It is again that time when I look at the last time I posted something and think 'holy shit I should post something.'
I mean, it's not like I have to, or if I don't people will think I died or something. Loads of people become inactive.
But I don't want to be one of those people. Not on this site anyway. I've never been super active on social media and stuff like that, but my activity rate has gone down dramatically since my mom passed away. It just made everything seem trivial.
And they are, even this site. But this site stands by it's name. It's a community, and I remember the fun I used to have here. The people I talked to, the friends I had. I don't want to lose that, even though I already kind of have.
I try to be more active. I come on the site everyday, but everytime I go to post something I just freeze. I got nothing. It's frustrating, but I want to try to work through it. I was never that active to begin with, but I don't want to be forgotten, or forget, if that makes any sense.
I wandered through the scorching desert, wondering where the hell I was going. I had been with a small group of people. Our goal was to get across the desert with what we had in our packs, but one by one they died off. The heat had been too much for them. It was picking out the weak. The heat was a strong thing, feeding on the weak. It consumes you, leaving your corpse to the creatures. I had somehow survived, living off of the little water I had left. I knew I was going to die, but the question was when? At night there was nowhere to go except run from the beasts. I slept during the day with clothes lain over me so my body wouldn't burn. I trekked through the hot sand. Even during the middle of the night, the sand scorched my feet. A low growl erupted from behind me and my body froze. I turned slightly, only seeing part of the black creature and took off running. There was no way I was going to be able to outrun the the beast this time. It had sneaked up on me this time. Usually I'm careful enough to listen, not this time. I ran, my bloody feet pounding into the hot sand. I could hear the creature gaining on me and I knew it was over. It plunged its claws deep into my back and I screamed, falling face-first into the sand as the creature dragged me back.
Gotta Zayn - Kaylyn/Chris
When I hit puberty, I hated life.
My body went from awkward to chubby. Breasts that were too big, legs that were too fat, stomach rolls that I wanted to cut with a knife. You see, no one ever told me I could be pretty because if you’re not skinny then you’re fat and if you’re fat then you’re worthless.
I felt worthless.
I go to a friend’s house; she says that I look round.
A guy comments on my ass, and I lose my appetite.
My dad says he’s worried about me becoming obese at the rate I’m going.
There was always too much blood.
They put me in a cage since I can remember, made my body the only safe place, then made me hate it. My skin is my home but now it feels as grotesque as I look and I need to get out so I cut, but when I cut I’m an attention seeking whore.
I wanted to die.
I had a friend, she was skinny. Every once in a while, she would look at me and say she wanted her figure to be more like mine. I didn’t understand. She was skinny, and skinny was pretty. She didn’t agree. She thought she was bony, her breasts too small, her thigh gap too big.
I didn’t understand.
No matter how you are, no matter how I am, they will always find flaw. You must be skinny to be loved but not you, you’re too skinny. Not you, your boobs are too small. Not you, we can’t see your ribs yet. Not you, you have stretch marks. Not you, your ass is too big. Not you, not you, not you, never you.
The world and their opinions.
My guy friends are awesome. I never had guy friends before, well, I wasn’t allowed to. It’s so interesting to talk to guys who treat me as person, as an equal. They aren’t robots, nor are they scum. I tell them that I like their honesty, that I like that they’re just normal guys with normal personalities and normal bodies. They don’t like that.
I didn’t understand.
They’re so different around others. It’s like they shut down, or shut me out. They say different things, hold themselves different ways. For them, skinny isn’t pretty. Skinny is weak. Women are weak and they must be superior because if they aren’t superior then they are a pansy, then they aren’t a real man, then they’re worthless.
The world and their opinions.
From the moment you’re born, you’re fed something. You learn things you don’t realize, have teachers you don’t know. You learn the world view, the popular opinion. Boys, buff, control, desensitized. Girls, skinny, submissive, emotional.
You’re taught to hate yourself, to feel uncomfortable in your own skin, to be ashamed of who you are. You try so desperately to fit into the frame that they have made for you, to be that picture of perfection, but you can’t. You’re too big, your personality so much more than they make it out to be. They want you to be one thing, while you are made up of all the things that they can’t even dream of.
Your body is beautiful no matter what, because in the end, beauty is in the eye of the beholder. It is a privilege to witness your grace, and I promise you that even if you can’t believe it, at least one person will see that; why not let that be you?
Skinny, thin, chubby, fat, too little, too big, they’re all just words. It doesn’t matter if you’re skinny or not, it doesn’t matter how muscular you are. Skinny and buff may mean pretty to them but you, who you are, that is what means pretty to us. The beauty that they look for is temporary, the one you have is permanent; never let that go.
I’m almost done with puberty, and for now, I think I understand life.
So I'm alive. Shocker, right?
I've barely visited this site in the past year, I've been quite busy with life and all that shit. I'm actually in class right now. Creative writing to be exact. I've finished writing the assignmebt we were doing so I am currently free. Weeeeee
I am so unbelievably tired. The day after a concert is never fun. But the concert went really well. I was so nervous because we hadn't had much time to learn our music, and it was such a big production. We sang Händel's Messiah, and we sounded pretty good. The orchestra sounded completely fabulous. There's this part in obe of the Messiah choruses, For Unto Us a Child Is Born, that sounded so majestic. So I'm really happy about how the concert went. So, so tired though.
My friend got accepted into her dream college! Fuck yeah, you go Linda! I can't believe she's almost 18. She's so tiny and cute , how the hell is she older than me?
Ok, bell's about to ring. Toodles.
Been busy as fuck. SOl's and finals are coming up, and yesterday was mother's day, and shit's just been shit I guess.
I don't write much these days. If I do it's to, for, or about my mom. Seems my mind just can't help but go back to that. I think that's normal.
I've been feeling off lately. Especially if I'm not doing something that takes over my mind completely. I can't let myself think, 'cause when I think I go places I don't want to go.
I've been trying to slowly ease into writing again. It's going well, I haven't hit any major problems yet. I thought I'd do this post to help, with all that.
Goddamnit I can't stop coughing blech. I think I'm catching a cold. Or my allergies have just started up. Yay
So I think that may be it for now. I have a lot of fun in English, Chorus, History and Chemistry; which is to a large part due to the teachers which I really like. I'm actually glad I switched schools now. This place suits me better, and the teachers I have are fantastic so....
I think that's it for now. I'm pretty sure I can't write anymore at the moment.