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.