i can't remember much of the past three years

A Guest in St. Francis

I arrived a little past midnight. My coordination was shot, my mouth was dry, my neck was buried in between my shoulders, and my mind was light years away. My eyes were stuck to the floor and I refused to speak. All I wanted to do was go to sleep and wake up in my room, in my house and with the feeling that everything was all a dream. Instead, here I was; nodding yes and shrugging "I don't know" to every question I was asked.

I don't remember enough to give a vivid description of the man that was asking me what I took and why I took them and how many I had taken, but I can tell you that he seemed genuinely concerned about my being there.

"Jesus, look at her arm. Take a picture." He acted as if these chicken scratches were the worst he had ever seen.

As he gave me pamphlets to read and worksheets to sign, his voice became distant. I became focused on the sea of white that surrounded me. The doors, walls, tables, tiles, everything reeked with the color. I hated it.

"Stand up and let's get a picture." I looked at him with discomfort. "It's for our records." I never saw the picture, but I smiled. I don't know why I did either. There was nothing to smile about, really. I made an idiot out of myself in front of so many people and I was humiliated. I was ashamed. I didn't try hard enough.

I picked up the pile of papers and pamphlets and wobbled towards my room. This was the first night in a long time I slept comfortably. I didn't think at all, I just slept.

I woke up the next day with a sense of loss. I didn't get out of my assigned bed and I didn't eat anything. I felt like throwing up and the idea of shoving food down my mouth forced me to curl up into a ball. I guess another reason why I didn't leave my room was because I was scared I was going to be asked why I was there. I didn't want anyone to know what I had done and I didn't want to talk to anyone because I knew that whatever urged me to do what I did wasn't that big of a deal. I felt like the new kid in school and plus, I looked horrible. My hair was fading from a lavish blue to puke green, it was messy and long. My lips were purple with blue hues, my face was extremely pale and my eyes were empty.

I don't know what else to say.

Everything is so clear.

When did everyone become blind?

Okay.

I don't know what I'm feeling or why. What I do know is that I'm weak. I am weak.

I deserve death

sharp

i

have sought refuge in the night

dark, painless

effortless

i'll paint the walls with red tonight

It has been a month since I last tried to overdose on my medication. What pains me now is that I still feel like dying. I don't know how to explain myself. I just want to disappear.

God, if you're out there, please understand that what I have been planning has nothing to do with wanting to teach anyone a lesson. I am not trying to stir up anything or make people think that I'm out for attention, sympathy, or pity. I have been spared far greater emotions and I don't need to see them now. You've seen me struggle day in and day out so whatever it is that has been brewing in my mind should come as no surprise.

The disease that has been eating away at me has broken down the wall of hopes and dreams that once kept me together and there is such little time left to try and fix it. I have slaved myself with distractions that have now become my worst enemies. It's like this all the time and I have yet to see anything that has any glimmer of change. I am a firm believer in the idea that in order for things to go your way, you ought to fight for them because things don't just happen. I have drowned myself in optimism for what seems like a lifetime. The rewards have been scarce and the victory has become futile.

There are a few things I have kept from the people who know me and those things will never see the light. I have lost so many battles and I am sure it is time for me to stop trying to work towards a rematch. I've nowhere to stand.

People have told me that there is a plan for everyone and that it's up to us to find it. What they don't realize is that there are some people who never really had a fair shot at a future. Some people are just not meant for this. I have been reassured numerous times that I am one of those people. There are so many things picking at my seams.

There is no point in trying to deny the voices inside my head. They have been there from the beginning and neglecting their words of wisdom would be cruel.

God, give me the courage I need to make my promises a reality. You know where to find me.

Sincerely,

Leslie

Tonight the sky has no stars.

The nights are beginning to resemble those I thought I left behind. My eyes are burning but I refuse to cry. I'm not hurting, but I feel like everything is at a loss. I'm too proud to call my doctors because I thought I was over this. How can I explain that I'm not happy without sounding so desperate and lonely? My chest feels like it's on fire. I'm disgusted with myself.

i hurry but get nowhere

i've got a set of bridges to burn and a river to drown.
there's a memory waiting to dance and a feeling to call.
the lines are glistening and hearts are cold.
my conscious is home and has locked the door.

worthless answers to nervous questions is the best you can give.

i feel like my old self today

amen

"A plain cream betrayal, hides behind these walls

Distantly voices of referring phone calls,

The nurses seem to say, behind noise-proof glass,

This kid thinks he's different, why should I ask

I almost stood up and walked to the door

But a promise to mother kept my feet on the floor

The hallway was scattered with irrelevant pictures

And cupboards of cures that they swear by like scripture

"Ahead to the left" she said with a smile

I thought to myself, this hallway's a mile

I looked for a desk, but saw couches and chairs

And she sat looking at me with the blankest of stares

"So how would you say the problems started?"

I looked to the sky as if deeply departed

What an obvious start to an embarrassing tale

Of a life that I loved and couldn't curtail

A family that loved me, an art that I loved

A time that I simply had too much of

"Are you drinking a lot? Are you sleeping OK?

It seems like these things could have come into play"

Of course I was anxious to tell her the truth

This had become my family's telephone booth

If I broke down here, what would that mean

Was I not as strong as my father had been?

But I think I can fight this all on my own

With a handful of happiness that never was shown

We talked about writing, we talked about fame,

We talked about why they all called me insane

She talked about being the one that was great

I didn't know much about that, that wasn't my fate

The only truth that ever came out of this mouth

Was a phrase that seems true only after you shout

"I guess I just can't handle the pressure,

I wish I had taken a walk for the summer"

The time winded down and we finished the session

My eyes had been fixed on the clock, it was pleasant,

I left to the waiting room, men waiting for wives

I thought of my friends and their interesting lives

And I stood at the door, the session was done

And I thought to myself, what have I become?

I walked out slowly and careful not to cause a big scene

I knew others would be waiting here long after me

Now when I think I had it all on my own

Is now when I realize, I'm really alone."

Partington, Joshua. "The Doctor's Waiting Room". Revolution on Canvas, Volume One. Rich Balling. Orange: Ad Astra, 2004. 82-83.

this is by far, one of the best poems i have ever come across. it's funny really, i stumbled upon this after a very long, first day of therapy. 

glitter

here's to a new set of eyes!

despite being tired and vaguely unresponsive, my heart cant help but to glow.

the sun laughed with me today and the moon will do the same.

hope, i won you.

the eyes of the beast are red and glowing

This isn't a recap of the year, or what i expect for the next. I wouldn't call it a rant either... it's more like a much needed talk.

i hate bringing up things that makes it seem that i need attention. if anything i hate talking about what's going on with my life. this is something that i have practiced since i was young and being asked to let that go is like betraying who i am. if anything bothers me, i brush it off. lately, due to my therapists request, i have been "bitching" and "complaining" like crazy. i don't chose to be miserable. i really don't. but when people tell me that i need to wake up and smell the roses, i feel like letting my fists do the talking. i have days when i wake up and go "this is going to be a good day, i can feel it" but i have those "fuck you, i don't need you" days, too. again, i don't force myself to feel like a worthless piece of shit. despite my trying, it seems nearly impossible to turn my frown upside down. so, fuck me for being a complete,  whiny, annoying, bitch sometimes but telling me to get over it wouldn't make me feel any better. saying that, i understand that there are people far worse than me. but at the same times, i don't understand how bad i am or could potentially get. i knew there were risks when i decided to go ahead and receive medication for my anxiety/depression, and the first few weeks were hard to get by but as soon as i got used to waking up and taking the damn pill, it was like, the greatest invention ever. I have denied myself to be controlled by that quarter-inch of plastic. i even ditched my meeting with my psychiatrist today. i have fallen to the same pattern again. this damn pattern has been followed religiously for the past two years but i hate the idea that i have to be dependent on a drug to make myself want to be alive. i fear that when you read this that you'll get the idea that I'm exaggerating, that it can't be that bad. i have a sunken feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever i think about what people may think about me.

this year has consisted of too much sleep, isolation, medication, therapy, trying to revive my friendships, and plenty of good times.

next year is as hazy as any other.

i am as optimistic as i am pessimistic. 

im going to ask something of you. if you read this, tell me what you think. i would rather know what you really feel than not know. if its going to be harsh, say it. if its understanding, say it. just talk!

I DONT WANT TO FEEL LIKE IM TALKING TO A FUCKING WALL AGAIN!

Dear Diary,

By now I believe you know the darkest of my secrets many of which lie behind the series of somewhat-unintentional fuck you's i gladly engraved on your skin. Despite your welcoming lines and your beautiful, white page glow, you've failed at giving me a voice. The head above my shoulders isn't a solid one, but rather a head thats been covered up in slew of darkenss. this conversation isn't one to dwell in my unforgiving hate for the world, this conversation is meant to finally say what i've been repeating my whole, unsuccessful and shameless life; I AM A SPEC OF DUST. i'm nothing more than the crumbs on your shirt that you so elegantly sweep off with your graceful hand. i'm nothing more than the dirt between your finger and your nail. i'm not a graceful dancers or a singer with a soul, i am everything that has been and never will be.
i have plans for the future and stories for many tomorrows.
stay tuned, diary.


forever yours,
______________

p.s. dont attempt to drown me in the beauty i have ignored.

three cheers for shit years

if i could go back to the day we decided to become friends, i would. not to embrace the feeling and savor the moment but to keep it from ever happening. i never understood what people meant when they said that friends come and go but after countless, sleepless nights and several, uncontrollable tears, i believe i know what it means.
i hate myself for not being able to let everything go and i hate that you don't give a fuck.
all the plans we had after high school meant the world to me; i couldn't wait to get out of here and live with a person i've known for almost six years. thinking about it all know, i should've known better than to trust a couple of teenagers.

i'm not the greatest friend, but if you needed me, I WAS THERE.
when you threw me under the bus and made me feel like shit, i swallowed my pride and took the first step towards a reconciliation. and i can't be that person anymore.

i really hope i never see you again. not for my sake, but for yours.

good riddance.

who's to say today is your day?

i've said that my heart feels heavy and every time i do, it seems like i gain 50 pounds more. my mind seems like its falling into the darkest, deepest well and the shivers going down my spine are getting to be such a burden. i'm ashamed to admit that i almost gave up.
i managed to trace my veins again.
my only regret is that i didn't do much damage.

i can't imagine what more i can say to make people realize that what is eating me up inside is getting to be a much greater struggle than ever before.
attention isn't what i want.
i want to be happy, calm, alive instead of ....this.

i am no longer really here

my eyes almost feel as heavy as my shoulders. i'm slaving the days away but have gained so little.
dr. urge and his accomplices are trying to convince me that i'm just growing old.

what do you do when everything you knew means nothing to the people you care about?

yesterday i figured it out.
i'm on my own.

my goodbyes are overdue.

I've got too much time in my hands.

I want to write a book. Problem is that I don't know how I would start it or what it would be about. I kinda had an idea that I should just write whatever random thing came up but knowing me, that wont go very well. I don't want it to be too random either, you know?
I wouldn't write it to be a famous author, or to get paid... I just want to have something that'll last longer than I ever will.

I also want to make a film. Hahaha, yeah, I know. But, just like the book idea, I don't really have a direction.

Plus, money is an issue.

What the fuck?!

I've been dreaming up some crazy, weird shit the last two days (I haven't slept since yesterday, fyi).

The first night I dreamt about being in a Christmas cake making competition and I ended up getting lost in my friend's kitchen. Soon after that, I was in some sort of plaza being chased by a man. I hop in a car and start to drive around like a freaking maniac. Superheroes start to chase me in their own separate cars. To clarify, I'm not too sure what superheroes they were but they were dressed the part, so, yeah. I then decide that the only way to get rid off them is to crash into them and so I proceed to do just that.

The second night I dreamt about, well, I'm not going to go into full detail about the first part of my dream cause it really makes me sick but I will say this: it involves incest, child abuse, insults, and me violently beating up my mother. After that ends, I'm in a classroom working on some math problems. The classroom then turns into a battlefield and we're fighting off a monster. From there, I end up crossing the street with a friend from school. We go into a building where I meet up with old friends and continue to fight off monsters. I then end up in a small neighborhood where I see a girl having sex with a guy in their car while her dad is out looking for her. I enter their house and pretend I'm asleep as her dad makes his way into the girl's room screaming at us that we "better be in bed or so help me god." He leaves, I jump the window and I pull out my cigarettes. There's a problem with my ciggs and I get blazing mad. My little brother is there with me and we run back inside.

There's a lot I left out and I know it but I cannot remember what that is.
I should've written about this earlier.

i wanna take a ride on your cancer stick

I had a dream that I found hundreds of cigarette boxes in my house.
This has been going on for days.


Hook me up?

S N O W B A L L .

I have made a living off of keeping things from others. When I don't, I feel like I'm sacrificing a huge part of myself.

I am not terribly sad but I'm not uncontrollably happy. I'd like to say that I'm somewhat in between but I'm not too sure where I am.