7:35 p.m. - 2005-11-27
I'm running away. Seeking refuge in my thoughts.
Skipping down memory lane. Are you crazy? I repeat, are you crazy? You have to get out of here. Run for your life. Before you end up trapped. You'll end up trapped. Like her. And him. And us. Friends. Trapped. It's just so simple.
She used to write me notes and fold them into animals. I never wanted to unfold them. "If you don't open it, you'll never know," she'd taunt.
He always used to yell my name down hallways, across fields, it didn't matter, as long as I heard.
We always had a specific meeting place. We always knew that meet in five minutes held a special meaning.
He used to show up on sundays and wednesdays. We'd eat macaroni and cheese and play basketball. He always won.
She used to sing to me when I was sad. And hug me when I was cold.
Stop stealing their ideas! That's what I wanted to say.
Long responses, short hair, long lashes. I regret to inform you that we were recently informed that nobody cares. Your presence is no longer requested. Please disappear. Please stop plagueing our existance. Please do yourself a favor and fail to face your fears, so you can cease to be truly original and fade away.
This isn't about self hate. There is a world of people who know more about the world then self harm.
I can't stand this. I just want to stop being part of these circles. I have this image in my mind of a girl, spinning in circles, with headphones on. Going to school, to work, doing homework, dancing, recreating a life where solitude is not feared.
Weekends have never been so lonely. My bed has never been so comforting. And music has never said the words better. Just tired. I'm just tired. I just have better things to do. And if I want them to blame me, they will.
The lights are getting low now, the bad lighting will give you the impression that I'm a good actress, fit for this drama I'm hip hopping around. It's all a play on words against your illiteracy. We're painting you the fool in the mural of our lives. This is not art. We are not a museum. It's unfortunate, but we age and change and we don't have magical glass cases to lay down in and simply be watched as we remain beautiful and priceless. We get old and we die and that is our true value.
My mother told me this story once about a butterfly, well, a caterpiller at this point, who was in his cocoon trying to free itself and become what we all know is a butterfly. The caterpiller was struggling and an old man, who happened to be watching, felt sympathetic. The man wanted to help the caterpiller so he took a pair of scissors and cut the butterfly free. To the man's horror the butterfly was not fully formed having been sent into the world too soon, it had deformed wings. You see, while the man thought he was helping, the butterfly actually needed that extra time in the cocoon to fully form and the struggle would strengthen its wings. As a result of the man's compassion, the butterfly would never be able to fly. You see, the struggle is worth it.
I feel weak and don't want to fight anymore. I'm tired. More tired then I have ever been, which is saying something. I wish to sleep for a very long time and this is not emotional, strictly physical. I realize my complaints are stupid and unneccesary, but no one is forcing anyone to read this.
You know, we weren't made to be together forever. I was looking through old pictures with my mom and she was so happy and she looked ridiculous, because that was the style and she just...she looked like she was smiling because she meant it. This weekend she's smiled a lot and she's hugged me alot and it's made me feel special a lot. I've spent a lot of time alone this weekend, too. A lot of time locked up in my room aching. sleeping, thinking, just laying there and breathing, at peace.
I've been thinking a lot about what a friend is and trying to decide who my real friends are. I don't trust so many of them. That's terrible, I know, but I can't help feeling like she took them. An accusation that someone should slap me for, they make their own decisions. She forces them into nothing.
It's impossible to explain "more" to anyone. Ask Oliver Twist, he never would have brought it up if he hadn't drawn the short straw. The thing is, all he ever wanted was someone who cared, whether it be Dodger or that rich family he ended up with. It matters so little.
It's not about not belonging, it's not even about wanting to belong, it's about finding someplace to fit. The glove that curves and protrudes and matches your figure perfectly. All we've ever wanted is fleeting.
Conversation, like self esteem, is fleeting, cheap and clearly spent. We are the almighty dollar. Play on words, Mister Hulk, I'm sure you know the meaning. I'll be Todd, I'll be Pamela, I'll be anyone as long as I can reinvent what you insisted on defining. Don't define me.
Hands reaching out, crawling along the back, sneaking up allys, allies with your allys, hiding from the cops. This is what it's about. You're never wanted around. Listen to what I'm saying. Your smile is screaming fake posture. Compose your composure. Oh so vogue. You were never made for magazines. Your personality is wide with animation and vibrant values. Give this a second thought. Friendships are meant for milk aprons. Milk carton kids. I just want to find you. Bloodshot eyes, basically shut. Cheers, mate, I need a good night's sleep and I'm not above a self induced coma. I'll be lying awake while your sleeping. I'll be lying. I'm lying. My makeup smudges. I'm blaming you for my tears, but the fault is mine. I left friendship in New York. I stopped measuring. I stopped taking pictures. I stopped making promises. Because you told me to. Because I let you.
This was quick and messy, like a last minute valentine. You know, you're never supposed to sign your own name on a valentine. I forget who said that. Anyway, this probably isn't goodbye, but it's certainly not see you later.
Decidely disappearing deliberatly.
This is what happens to those who don't belong.
