Inside the lies.

I feel like I can speak of nothing. There are so few things that can be said that aren’t incriminating to me at this moment, at least in my real life. Perhaps I am paranoid; it wouldn’t be the first time. I can’t go to therapy, because again, that would be far too revealing. No one can know that I have problems, as that is my dirty little secret and no one elses.

I feel the feelings of a liar; my intentions are to manipulate
Tear down without consent
Darken other souls, and never repent

Psychology is like a mine field. Just one mistep and one of my precious limbs will be severed off, if not my entire being. I feel strange about all of it, sitting in my quiet little place. She already knows my name too well. I will never speak of myself; that is what I have vowed. No matter how close it hits to home I CANNOT and WILL NOT say a word. I won’t bear my soul as some do, acting as though class is a purging ground and solution to all of the problems they were too stupid to understand without assistance. Fools. Ignorant bystanders of their own lives is what they are. I won’t be one of them. Not now, not ever. I won’t tell her that she’s wrong, and all these crackpot theories as to why people do what they do…were made by people who had never been there themselves. I have been there, I could give the answers. But I won’t. They don’t deserve to have a “why” to something so far beyond their comprehension. I give it to them and they will twist it, corrupting it and exploiting it for their own selfish endeavors. Then they will use it against me, as they always do. That I will not have.

What bothers me is that I feel exposed, as though my skull has been torn open and my brain is right there for all to see and ridicule. But it hasn’t been, I feed my own paranoia. It’s my own fault really, these feelings, I never should have asked so many questions. Maybe again I am paranoid. I can’t tell anymore. Everyone thinks I’m so certain, that self-esteem exists in me. I guess I have been a good liar, far better than I ever thought. I have them all fooled, and maybe…

Maybe I even have myself fooled to an extent. I don’t have to think about pretending anymore…it’s now automatic. The smile comes without struggle, the laughter, unhinged. The carefully gaurded words, all drenched with symbolism…they come out of my mouth with hardly a thought. It’s all a game to me, the lying game. I am not depressed. I am sure of myself. I love college. Life is a beautiful thing worth cherishing. I did not consider holding a gun to my head yesterday. I am capable of crying. I am not depressed.

But the truth is: I am a mechanical sheep in a flock of flesh and blood…and the world is too blind to even notice.    

Enigma

Want and need don’t seem to be so far apart
Drenched in sweat, torn of heart
Dilemma one day, insignificance the next
I’m desperate to convert feelings to text
Secrets that must never be told
I refuse to allow them to break my hold
It’s the world, it’s this place
My mind blocks it off with haste
Cut off, condemned…
Even with time I will never mend

Oddities and contradictions.

It was sort of a strange day for me. A lot of weird people were running about, very fun to stare at. Usually I’m the one getting stared at, but today I was in the mood to return the favor.

The day started off alright, though I was a bit groggy. As I was making my way up the steps I pass this guy wearing a D.A.R.E. shirt, and sort of stop for a second to just…well…stare. I really didn’t know it was possible to smoke a cigarette and wear a D.A.R.E. shirt at the same time. I seem to remember our D.A.R.E. instructor in the fifth grade telling us what a danger smoking is. Hmm. Maybe he missed that class. Not really giving it too much thought, I decided to go up and mill around on the lawn a ways up the path. That’s when I realize that I’m getting looked at funny. I’m stopped on the side of the walkway, and finally take the time to look down. Oh yeah, I wore a suit today. And…my backpack has Invader Zim on it (a cartoon character). Yes, bit of a strange combination…but I hadn’t thought about that during the morning, and even if I had I probably wouldn’t have changed anyway.

Finally I get to my boring class, and naturally carry the entire group as I always do. So there’s this guy. I’ve talked to him a few times, seems nice. Anyway, I knew he was tall…or at least, I thought I did. That is until I go out into the hall and somehow end up walking behind him, only to realize that he’s tall as fuck. I mean extremely tall. It’s only accentuated by the fact the he’s like a beanpole. Very lanky. At 5′ 6″ I damn well must seem like a midget. He’s got to be 6′ 5″ maybe taller. I know, I don’t get out much and there are probably people a lot taller, but my scope of human interaction is quite small, and to me, that equals tall as fuck. I guess I never noticed how tall he is because I always see him while he’s sitting down, and the few times I’ve seen him standing up I wasn’t close enough to really get the full impact of his tallness. Haha. I’m very jealous.

One more item on my list—the very short girls. It seems to be a trend. In fact, in psychology our teacher has us sort ourselves out tallest to shortest, and me, even at my diminutive height (it seems that way to me anyway…) was like the fourth tallest girl (by the way there are only about 5 boys in class out of the 30, so that’s a pretty good stat). I noticed it even before that little experiment, because it seems like when I stand out in the hall I’m towering over everyone. Well the girls, anyway. Most of them seem to run about 5′-5′ 2″. Strange. There are some taller girls though, but for some reason not in the classes I took this quarter.

Yes, a non-depressive entry! I think that may be a first. Too bad I never have anything interesting to talk about; I’m boring myself.      

Instinct tells me….

Why is it when I’m in the woods I forget that anything is wrong? It’s as though I’ve stepped out of this Hell and into some sort of sanctuary. A place where worries about homework or family life slip into some dark corner of my mind, forgotten, uncared for. It suddenly all doesn’t matter in light of my own insignificance.

I am a speck, one meaningless, unimportant object. I am not a beautiful and unique snowflake, but just another human whose decided to ruin nature with its presence. If I speak, it would destroy the moment. Human voices should never be heard in such a place, it would be desecration. But yet speak they do, and I hear them on their quads on their dirt bikes shouting at one another, killing everything that is impotant to me, drowning it in harsh tones, in ignorance.

The woods whisper that I deserve to die. That were I to venture into such a place without my bottle of water without my pathetic little energy bar, my life would slowly wither away. I don’t want to believe that, I won’t believe that. But I know that is what it means. The slow bending of those spindly trees, the wind blowing all of my hair into my face. The hot sun, the clouds that cover it, protecting me from the burn. The world speaks to me, yet it doesn’t have to say a word. I know I am unwelcome, that just walking into such a place should be considered a crime against everything that is naturally beautiful, perfect. Chaos.

And that’s what it is, chaos. There are no rules. This is why I am not thrown out of the forest for desecrating it, because such crimes are allowed. Crime and beauty, peace and war, they exist together in this place, for everything goes. Animals murder, steal, and it is permitted. Victims and perpetrators, all trying to exist in the same plane, and killing or running away to do so. Reminds me of something…but that something is a copy, a fake. It was never meant to be real…yet for some reason we made it reality. We tried to make a safer, generic copy of nature…but you cannot replicate something so inherently perfect in every way. Animals will always have the rage…there is no breeding it out of them. The world will never be safe, for Nature purges that which irritates her….

The unexpected…and NOT unwelcome?!?

Don’t you just loathe when someone from your past all of a sudden decides to make contact after you’d already decided you were going to pretend they had died? It’s a terrible thing, it really is. It makes you feel partially shitty, partially furious, partially conceited (for not caring about them during that time period), and mostly it’s just plain disruptive to life in general. I felt like I got hit by an earthquake that shattered me to the core.

The foundation was set; formerly wet concrete hardened to stone. And then someone had to go and fucking be nice to me. I had it all confirmed that the world is full of assholes that will backstab you and drop you after years of friendship. I sound ungreatful, and really perhaps I am. I feel like she ruined my philosophy. It made me angry, and strangely…made me feel less insignificant. I can’t believe someone actually remembered that I exist. Maybe I needed this…yes…yes…maybe I needed it. I was too far off in “I hate the world” ville that I forgot that there are people in the world that might not completely have disregarded the friendship I extended to them.

You see, I was always the friend that went out of the way to do things for my “friends”. I’d spend hours on things I would make for them, only to be ignored more often than even slightly appreciated. I do have many reasons to be hateful and vengeful.

My friend sent me 7 CDs she made for me, and spent the time to draw on every cover. She even handwrote the names of the songs and the artists (it’s mildly pathetic how that impressed me). Then to add the cherry to the ice cream, she had one of her friends (who I also know) make me a ring in a jewlery class she is taking. It’s a grim reaper holding a scythe, quite cool actually.

I had only recently tossed her friendship aside. She was actually the only person I was planning on staying in contact with. But after several ignored emails (this went on for months), I decided to throw her to the wolves and forget about her, thinking that she had succumbed to the allure of highschool boyfriends and track team and accidentally (on purpose) forgotten about me.

She tried really hard, so I will forgive her. Mostly only because I feel like a piece of shit now and feel obligated to reply to the three page letter and newspaper clippings she sent me. It’s only obligation that pulls any sort of emotion out of me…that damnable loyalty of mine. Curse it. I smiled all damn day like a fucking idiot. She sent me three songs that I’m positively obsessed with (I had been watching the videos to them on YouTube for quite awhile), so I will have to hold back the vicious wolf that wants to tear her to bits and pieces, swallow my pride, and pretend like I never pretended she didn’t exist.

It’s entries like this that make me realize just how horrible and cruel I am. The spectrum of it is astounding.

Hate never stops; it lives forever in dark souls

I’m just going to say it, I don’t care.

I try not to be pessimistic, I really do. Yes, if some daring person went back and read my older entries it would be quite the condradiction, but that is my secret. This place is the purging ground. This is the place where bad, harmful thoughts come to rest…or at least the ones I’m willing to discuss publicly (even the anonymity isn’t enough to “breach” the brain, so to speak). This is a small ripple on the surface of a deep, cool pond. Sometimes I don’t even know what’s at the bottom. But it doesn’t matter; those are things that cannot be fought, they come with time, not rage. In life I view myself as a realist. I see what is, not some petty painted picture designed to keep the pill-popping wives and their executive husbands sane. I don’t need sanity to justify my existence, I simply am. But here…here there is nothing but anger.

Sanity and insanity have no place in my head. Life has become my carefully constructed lie. I feign what I don’t feel. I build up personas, I wear my masks. And for what? For acceptance? Or is it my defence mechanism? My shield that protects me from some unknown horror? Am I scared of being what I am here in real life?

I hate pretending to care. I hate getting up every morning when there is no reason to back the action even slightly. I hate that I don’t have the smallest inclination to finish my homework that’s due tomorrow. I hate the fact that it’s 11:40 and if I don’t go to bed soon I’ll be groggy all day tomorrow…I hate that my fucking life is bullshit, and that it never seems to want to end. I hate that when I close my eyes the horrors are sometimes worse than when I’m awake. I hate that I can’t do what I want to do…that I always hold back. I hate that all I think about is death, sex, and consuming large quanitities of chocolate (which by the way is NEVER in the cupboard..instead I just long for chocolate and grab it by the handful on the rare occasions I am actually in a store). What I hate the most is that I can’t stop being numb, I can’t make it go away. I haven’t had a day without some problem in my head in so long that I’m beginning to wonder if I ever really did feel normal.

Perhaps it was all a dream, a fantasy that somehow managed to crawl out of my decayed mind and into a pleasant daydream.  

In the end, judgement dies.

It’s 12:49 at night, and I’ve decided that the poem that is eating at my brain needs to be expelled…promptly—even if it sucks.

Drifting

I know I’m too far gone…
The seeking of Darkness instead of light
Black and undifferentiated,
The absence of color, the desecration of light
Both Chaos and Peace
Harmonious, yet at war
Only in my sacred place is blindness a gift
Shut out the corruption
Forget that they exist
Breathe in the nothingness, swim in the void
I’ll ignore the screams that tell me to go back
It doesn’t matter anyway…
It’s too late…
The Darkness has already taken me.

Too tired to care.

You’d think being a teenager I’d be able to feel quite well after 7-8 hours of sleep. Not the case. I’ve been paying more attention to my sleep schedule in a futile attempt to figure out what’s wrong with me, and to perhaps figure out what the minimum amount of sleep I can go with is.  The whole thing has been rather sickening; now I realize that there may be something wrong. Whatever it is it can’t be normal.

I go to school on Tuesdays and Thursdays. In correlation with this, I take naps on those days. I’m getting about 7 or 8 hours of sleep those nights, yet I feel exhausted. And that’s not the bad part, the bad part is that even on the days where I sleep in, I wake up and walk around like the living dead. How much sleep am I getting at those times? 12 HOURS, USUALLY MORE . The only reason I get out of bed is because I either have to do homework or I have some strange urge to go outside (and unfortunately I can only go outside during the day…). If I could I would sleep until 4 or 5 in the afternoon. It’s getting to the point where my sleep is interrupting my life. My parents talk about getting up and going somewhere at 6:00 am or 7:00 and I won’t even consider it because I know that halfway through the day I’ll stop functioning. What’s sad is that I don’t think anyone gets it; they think I’m just a teenager and I want to sleep in. I’d give anything to wake up and feel like I actually slept…. It just won’t stop, and it seems to perpetually worsen.

At night I’m the most tired, but it’s the only quiet time I have to myself, so I refuse to sleep anymore than I already am. I’m not even going to bed late. The latest I stay up is 3:00, but generally I’m in bed by 1:00, which means that I’m asleep just as much as I’m awake, sometimes more. It’s pathetic…I’m like this battery that never gets fully charged.

And what’s funny, is that I’ve come to realize that the only reason I do ever get to sleep is because I wear myself out to the point of collapse. I pace (on average) 5-6 hours a night until my legs start to cramp and I have to lie down and sleep because I can’t stand up anymore without pain. Those nights I don’t pace? No sleep. It takes hours to relax and get my mind to stop racing.

I look at myself sometimes and wonder why I continue to put up with this, especially after all this fucking time. 4 years of this shit. Haha, and guess what? It’s never going to end.

The true freedom

Laugh at my insanity:
The tangled hair, the monotonous clothes
Eyes dulled by reality, yet excited by the idea of fantasy
Look at me and see my doppelganger of normality
My game, my lie, my reason why
The truth:
There’s nothing here but animal
All rage, rage, rage
Depressed and staring through the bars of my cage
Not from an institution, not from a prison
The bars are simply an expression
This beast loves its transgression
You have your locks and keys and bars and wire….
All intimidation, but never a real answer
You forget:
My freedom lies not in my body…
Freedom is of the mind.