We have only ourselves to blame…and the stupid people, don’t forget them….

I think I’m supposed to be happy right now. It’s hard to tell anymore. What people call improvement is clearly a matter of perspective….

Call me a kill joy, but I think it’s pretty fucking pathetic that I only drove once (for about ten minutes) since the last time I took my driving test, and yet somehow everybody suddenly believed ‘oh, it can drive now!’. Yes, I passed. But upon hearing what I just told you, doesn’t it make you frown just the tiniest bit? It’s sort of sad really. All I did was drive around the block about ten times before I took the test and remembered the spots where I messed up, and viola!

I have to say though, my tester person this time went pretty easy on me compared to the last one. He was quite nice, actually. When I finished, he didn’t tell me whether or not I passed, but immedaitely asked me how I thought I did, and what I thought I hadn’t done as well on…. The man was damn sadistic….waited like…two minutes to tell me. He keeps going on about how I need to observe more, which is true, I didn’t observe well (too nervous), and he’s drawing on the paper and scaring the shit out of me…. The all of a sudden, he just writes “passed”. Flare for the dramatic? Yeah, not exactly a good thing to test on a suicidal person…. And I drove a little slow. Went 20 instead of 25 because there were school zones everywhere and I was being paranoid. But I didn’t fuck up any lane changes, so yay, I suppose. Technically, I think I was right on the brink of failing, but he told me he knew I was really nervous. Well, at least everyone in the world isn’t completely blind and apathetic yet. Makes me feel vaguely hopeful. Fuck, doesn’t that sound optimistic?

I don’t plan on driving again any time soon, except maybe to go to the store to spend money I don’t have. Ha.

It’s the idiots’ fault, the morons who made all of this shit up. I blame it on them. All these stupid things we have to ‘test’ people, whether it be a test to graduate, a driving test, a placement test, what the fuck does it really show us? Nothing. Nothing but somebody facing their fears and getting the fuck over it while being lying and sycophantic the entire way. It isn’t us. Just like it isn’t us when we take a personality test for a job, just like when we act polite but aren’t sincere, just like when we pretend to care, but don’t. Hmm. It’s something to think about.

Glad it’s all over though. I don’t know if I could have made it through that bullshit another time; I was on my last limb there. Over. Done with. Gone. I’m sure when I wake up tomorrow I’ll at least feel a partial weight lifted. I’ve got a lot of things to do, but that’s one thing I can mark off the list. I’m unfortunately too numb at present to really jump for joy or get excited, which is…infuriating. Just know that I would if I could.

Why try?

I kind of realize now that there isn’t much that truly matters. When you try to think of things that are important, I’m sure most can come up with quite the list. But in the end, it is all in vain. It’s for a life that doesn’t matter in a world that makes no difference. It will all eventually end, as things inevitably do. So why try? That seems to be all I ask myself anymore.

I think I am a pleasure seeker. Basically, I search for things that provide even the most fleeting of stimulation. I believe that is why I have a tendency to center my pathetic life around anything that can make me feel as though I am somehow still breathing, still here. Maybe that’s why the bad, the negative, can hurt so much at times, because it is so damn amplified to me. It feels to be overwhelming, when I know there are plenty of others who have it worse. But there is a difference, a monumental one. They want to live, regardless. They still believe in hope and things getting better. Maybe it is as those hated ones say it is: a matter of perspective.

Is it a perspective? Do I imagine every time I go into the world all of the scathing looks, the rudeness, the complete disregard of my life as anything of value? Do I imagine that apathy toward myself? Do I imagine the fact that there has only been one person in my life who has never turned their back on me? No, I don’t imagine it. It happened. I was there. And instead of being a fool and skirting aside the real issues like a fucking coward, I’m doing my best to face them down. Because unlike the so-called optimists and pessimists, I am not afraid. I do not care.

I accept that this is hell. I accept that I am meant to be alone. I accept the fact that people may read this and not give the slightest flying fuck. But it makes no difference. I am all I see here. I am all there will ever be. And the day I die, still as hateful and lost as I am now, I will still not be afraid. I will not. Because in the end it makes not the slightest bit of fucking difference. This world, my life, was over before it ever again. My mistakes will fade, I will fade.

And as I have said, it will make not the slightest bit of fucking difference.

Things aren’t as pretty on the inside.

I’ve always wondered what there would be were I to be cut open, gutted like a fish. Would I be filled with a disgusting sludge like an oil slick? Would they be able to tell, right now, doing scans of my brain, that there is something fundamental missing from my being?

If you ever look at the brain scans of serial killers, they usually have something in common: little frontal lobe activity. Anything that goes on, tends to be toward the back of the brain, and in very small amounts, where as in a normal person, mostly the front is lit up like a damn Christmas tree.

Sometimes I wonder if that damn scan would just be black, nothing. I feel as though there is nothing to read, nothing to see. I’m dead already so there shouldn’t be any activity.

It has been so bad lately, that numbness. So damn consuming. I hate to say it, but I’m forgetting how to feel. I am literally so used to not feeling anything that when I get a flicker of something in reminder, I am shocked. I have to stop what I’m doing and evaluate the pang of whatever it was that managed to breach the surface of this frozen black lake.

Am I so far gone? Am I so fucked up? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt happiness, and the idea of finding that by interacting with others sounds not only foreign, but ridiculous. It is being around others that has made me what I am, that and my own inclination to be alone. I know it is my fault; unlike most I am perfectly willing to accept that all the problems in my life are generally caused by me, by making bad decisions or by befriending people when I already knew it was useless.

Why do people always say it will be okay? Is that supposed to be placating? It feels more to me as though they have lost hope and have nothing to say but “it will improve”. And what if it doesn’t? Because you know what? I found myself saying that I don’t know how many posts ago (could have been the last one, for all I know) “it can’t get any worse”. Gee. How nice would that be? It is getting worse. I’m stagnant. I’m an emotionless waste of nothingness that doesn’t care, can’t care, even though I try again and again.

If this is what life is, why live it? What is there here besides living out of sheer fucking loyalty to the people around you? Why should I live for them? How is it selfish to want to leave to not only improve my own life, but in the long run, theirs as well? Sucide isn’t selfish. The ones who are selfish are the pieces of fucking shit who stand there and tell you it is because secretly they want you to stay for their sake. Not only that, but the idea of suicide makes them positively cringe. I’m sorry you’re a squeemish coward, I’m also sorry that you’re too fucking stupid to understand my reasoning, or even take the time to listen to it. The fault is your own in that respect.

Whatever. What does it matter? Maybe it’s good that I’m completely forgetting what feeling something is like. I can’t even fucking write about feeling anymore, even in my stories, because all I do is sit back in my chair and roll my eyes! I keep thinking, “why is this character feeling anything, why does it matter? Who cares… They’re just emotionally stunted children who need to grow the fuck up.”

Is there point to feeling anything? I don’t think so. Isn’t it feelings that causes some of the world’s biggest problems? Sure, feeling can make people brave and fucking stupidly empathetic, but what the fuck do I care? It’s all the same to me. I’m adjusting. If I live to be a lot older, by then I’ll likely just accept all of this for what it is: primal. There is nothing to be felt in being an animal, nothing to hold one back. You simply are. And out of all of this hell, perhaps that is what I need: to shed my ideals and just take whatever happens as it comes. Failure and success would mean nothing; they would feel one and the same because in the end I would keep trying no matter what the outcome. Isn’t that what this is about? Trying until there is nothing left?

The road to nowhere leads to me….

I’ve been surprisingly busy lately—mostly writing. I’m vaguely enjoying it, though at times I get irritated, because I realize that in the end it’s all useless.

I’ve applied for a few more jobs, no replies, which is to be expected. I’d like to get a job by Christmas, but that might not happen, unfortunately. I was hoping I could get my first check before then, so that maybe I could give my parents something for Christmas. I don’t even care what I do at this point; I’ve applied for various jobs that have little to do with one another.

Lately I’ve been considering joining up with the Marines or the Navy or something. It’s what I first considered when I turned 16 and graduated; I knew I could leave right then if I wanted to. I just don’t know if I’m cut out for it, as I get depressed so damn easily, and am pretty much always in such a low mood. I don’t want to live with a bunch of people or have to deal with them on a constant basis. I hate being ordered around and told what to do, and honestly I have no idea what I would do in that sort of environment. I would either revert back into myself or lash out, depending on how much it impacts me. The last thing I need is to get into trouble. But I figure my chances for death would at least be a hell of a lot higher than they are now. Maybe it would be enough for me to finally get pushed over the edge and do something about it instead of bitching and whining all of the time. I guess all I’ve been thinking about recently are the best ways to die or put myself at a higher risk.

I don’t know, and I don’t really care. I’ll keep applying for jobs and see what happens. If nothing, then I suppose I’ll just take it from there, then decide what it is I want to do with this wasted piece of life.

It’s only after you’ve lost everything that you’re free to do anything.

I get tired of being like this, sick of the constant change. One minute I feel none of it, the next, all I feel is the sorrow, the pain. It’s as though every good emotion has been cut off, abandoning me to all of the darker feelings.

I applied for a few jobs. Much to my surprise, the online applications didn’t ask about transportation or anything like that, which was nice. I’m guessing all of that comes if you actually get called for an interview. I don’t know if I will; I’m not going to get my hopes up or anything. I realize that I could apply to ten different places and never get a response. It was a bit depressing when I noticed that I could check the box listed ‘holidays’ and ‘weekends’ without a backward glance. I really do have no life whatsoever. I don’t care if I don’t get to be home on Christmas, or if I don’t get to have my weekends free. I don’t care if I work part time of full time…. I don’t care if I make almost no money…. What does it matter to someone who feels as though life is nothing? It doesn’t matter, apparently.

I like the “housekeeping” job I applied for (to clean and do other junk in Macy’s). It probably pays shit though. Oh well, better than nothing, right? People’s lives are so highly valued it’s positively inspiring. Hours of our lives go for mere dollars…. Haha. I don’t care either. Goody goody. Something to make me hate the world more, something to bring some emotion to the surface. I just want to be out of this house for hours, if possible.

My dad left for a week for work, so I’m here with my mom. It sucks because I get virtually no time to myself now. She sleeps in the livingroom when he’s gone too, which means I can’t even get up to get a fucking glass of water without her dog barking at me and waking her. I want to tell her to go sleep in her fucking room, but I know she’ll ask why. Why? Because my room is just across from the livingroom. You’re out there lurking, all the time. It makes me feel repressed or something. You’re nosy. You freak out when I lock my door. You ever think that maybe I just want to be left alone? That maybe I stay up late for a reason? But whatever…. No one cares, so why should I?

I’m just tired, I guess. It makes me more bitter than usual. My fanfiction crap is going well; I’ve got about 60 something reviews on one of the things I’m working on. I’ve sort of acknowledged to myself that writing is what I enjoy, and that maybe getting published could be a means of making extra income if I play my cards right. Don’t know if I could, but there isn’t exactly anything to lose, now is there? I’d just have to get around to finishing my damn novel, which will take quite awhile. Though considering I’ve been tossing out a good 4000 words a day, maybe it won’t be as difficult as I originally predicted. It’s just a matter of getting motivated. I can write thousands of words right now because I know that people are actually interested in reading it, I’m not just typing for myself. That’s the problem with my book: no one has liked it. It doesn’t matter, I suppose. I mean, when have I stopped and actually given a flying fuck about what anyone said/thought about me? My writing should really be the same way. I just have to believe in it…somehow.

I feel like I’ve hit the ultimate low after failing that driving test for the second time. It’s as though I can’t beanymore of a failure…. Once you go to the darkest, murkiest point, you can’t fall any further; the only way to go is technically upwards (watch me eat my words later…). Fuck it, fuck it all. I don’t care anymore. Failure? Success? What am I always saying about human ideals? That they are biased and stupid…. That they don’t mean anything to a monster like me. That each little piece of morality of life ideals…is a motherfucking lie. Human creations, thus tainted. Fucked. Imperfect. Void. Biased beyond all conceivable belief, therefore completely irrelevant to my own existence.

They can push it on my all they want, try to impose it, but it makes no difference. In the end I am the one that chooses, not them. I am not required to participate in this world; it is a construct, a human reproduction of nature that is doomed to fail because it tries for organization and understanding in a world that requires and accepts neither. This is the world, this is chaos. Human ideals don’t work here. And you watch these stupid dumbfucks take another few thousand years of doom and destruction to figure this all out—that’s if  they ever do….

I’m going to place a bet that they go extinct before any such miracle should occur.

All In Vain

It is only in tainted soil that dark seeds may grow
On that steady diet of hatred, malice, and pain….
Seedling fights through dirt, stifled, harmed
Growth always stunted, always twisted….
Through perseverance evil takes its toll
Then life breaks the surface, into blinding sun
Only to discover….
Its work is never done

The threat looms on, the survival
Striving, hating, pushing
Forcing when all chance is gone…
Fighting forever more,
Dying pleasantly in vain
Accepting for once,
That living is but pain.

I realize that my poetry sucks, hence the label “horrible poetry”. I’m not much of a poet, but it’s nice to get this crap out of my head for awhile. I don’t know where this came from, maybe just from the fact that life is so pointless and such a struggle, yet people still go through with it for reasons that to me seem so completely useless. Love nothing, believe in no one. You are all alone. That is truth.

History Repeats

Failed the test again. It was sort of ironically evil too, because the lady had barely written on her paper at all, so I figured I’d probably passed. I did well on everything this time, but I missed a weird turning lane, twice apparently. Honestly, didn’t know it was a turning lane… I’ve never been to the town I took my test in. But this time I didn’t mess up on anything else. I found out too that the kid who went right before me, the reason he failed before was also that fucking invisible turning lane, which makes me feel a bit better.

The lady commented that if I did get my license she would be a little worried, which pissed me off and made me want to reach across and strangle her. But I kept my calm and smiled my happy (but actually), sadistic smile. She thinks I “need more practice” because I’m too “unsure of myself”. Yeah, well, if you had social anxiety, got shoved into a car with a person you barely knew, then were observed the entire time by that stranger, while meanwhile driving around in a completely unfamiliar area… how the fuck would you feel? You fucking people are lucky I can pull off numb instead of being a wreck of nervousness like I feel on the inside. And believe me, that nervousness…people wouldn’t be able to handle that sort of uncertainty. I’ve been driving since I turned 15. I know how to fucking drive by now, believe me. This is why I get road rage, because I can actually use my blinker and change lanes without cutting anybody off, which to people in this state is something strange and new.

What do I care? I’m sick of this bullshit anyway. I’ll probably fail again when I take my next test. If I fail five times I have to wait a year. Isn’t that lovely? Its like “let’s make this impossible, so that any suicidal deranged teens taking the test can kill themselves before it’s all over”.

In better news…. I ended up going shopping afterward. It took me about fifteen minutes to brush off the crying this time, which means I’m getting over it about 75% quicker. Or just becoming more numb…depending upon how you want to look at it. So I bought some left over Halloween stuff, which I might take pictures of later. Went out to lunch. Then we went over to the Goodwill for awhile because I was trying to find a candlabra for the black candles I bought. I ended up messing around with this leather trenchcoat I found, caught between wanting to buy it, yet hating how much it cost.

I finally tried it on, and much to my surprise, because I’ve lost weight, it fit nicely. A few of the buttons had fallen off, but were being sold with the jacket. What was funny was that there was nothing else wrong with it, no tears in the leather or anything, just the buttons that needed to be reattached. It’s about down to past my knees, kind of this rusty red color, which was really funny because I was wearing a shorter “leather” (it’s fake, and machine washable) jacket that was just about the exact same color. I’ve always wanted to get a really long leather trenchcoat, probably since I was about seven or eight years old, but I’ve never been able to afford one of the ones that I wanted because they always ran at about $600, which is far too much for me. I don’t know, I just can’t see spending that much on a coat.

Anyway, I was depressed and couldn’t help myself, and decided that $50 wasn’t too terrible for a coat that had nothing wrong with it (its tag on the liner said it was from Norstrom, so I knew whoever bought it first payed a lot for it). I knew I wouldn’t be able to find one like it again, so I just gave in for once, even though I’m pretty much void of cash.

Maybe it was karma, or maybe I just focus too much on money, whichever it was, when I got to the checkout and the woman rang it up, it only cost me $25. That at least made me smile a little.

I went home and spent two hours cleaning it. Used leathercleaners and such because I know I can’t afford (or my parents can’t afford) for me to take it and get it dry cleaned. Anyway, it’s all clean and pretty now. I even cleaned the satin liner, and much to my surprise found that someone had written their initials inside one of the spaces between the leather and the liner (it was only tacked, not sewn). Wonder who ‘RY’ is? Kind of odd initials.

I could probably take the letters off pretty easily, but I don’t think I will. I may just add my own initials inside, next to the other ones. I think I like the fact that it has a history.

A life walking backwards, never forwards….

Why is it that nothing seems to get better? I wait, wait, wait some more, yet it just gets worse and worse. Each change I make is a step backwards, never forwards as it had looked upon first glance. So many damn mistakes that I just can’t fix, so broken that the pieces no longer fit….

I won’t lie; it hurts to be this way, at least during the times I feel it. I’ve lost myself in writing, but it doesn’t matter, because it changes nothing, improves nothing…. When I stop typing I’m back to my life. It doesn’t just disappear or fade away, it’s always there, like a perpetual nightmare haunting me. I want out. There are only a handleful of words that bring feeling from me:

Suicide.
Death.
Useless.
Hateful.
Numb.
Destructive.
End.
Finish.
Anger.
Wrath
And my absolute favorite, Martyr.

There is not one word that can describe this hell in its entirety; it takes many. But it is a black hole of nothingness that is bringing me down, killing me. And in the end…I don’t want to be saved. I want anything but to be saved. I want to die, and I want everyone to shut the fuck up and just let me do it. I want the voices to stop, I want the loyalty to die out. I want everyone, for one brief instant, to realize that I am the liar. I am the fake human being that was pretending all this time, feigning emotions I didn’t have, smiling when there wasn’t a fucking goddamned thing in this shit hole to smile about.

Most of all, what I want…out of everything, out of all of this bullshit…. Is just to stop. To end. To be over. There was never anything here to begin with, and I live on for false purposes because I can’t sever that monster that wants to rape it all and break it piece by piece…. I want to fall. I want a bullet in the head more than I want breakfast.

Yet I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that I’ll wake up alive tommorrow, still breathing, still hating it. Still going on as the perfect liar…so fucking perfect that no one even knows.

Welcome to the Netherworld: Here only the soulless survive…

I feel like I’ve been dropped into another world all together, some extra-special level of hell I haven’t really encountered before. It’s like I’ve been moved to such a high level that I can actually see the sky, some sort of hope, yet it is but torture. Torture to be condemned to see, but not to have. Look, but don’t touch…. Watch those people, but never have that life. Never have anything, never want the life you were given….

Do they see? Are they blind? I haven’t bothered to smile lately, which my dad comments on, but I don’t care…I am so sick of pretending, so sick of being the liar that wants nothing but to be free…. I don’t care about anyone, their hopes, their dreams, I would be just as happy to see them burn, just as blank and emotionless and listless as ever, watching those funeral pyres alight from the fuel of flesh…. Burn burn burn. Burn and never return….

So I’ve been writing, day in, day out. I get up and I write, I eat once, halfheartedly,then I return to the computer to write some more. If I’m lucky it isn’t raining and I get to go for a walk, then I come back home, and go straight back to the computer. Hours and hours staring at a computer screen. I get so disoriented sometimes that I have to stop for ten minutes and walk away, because I can’t edit what I’ve written; the words aren’t being processed correctly because my mind is too tired.

I’ve attached myself to a character, and now I’m living his life through, because I don’t want my own…. Blank and numb, that’s what he is. Emotion underneath that he can’t connect to, people he can’t bring himself to care for…. Welcome to the pit of nothingness. This is life, this is what it means to be nothing. Since I am nothing, I suppose it only makes sense that I care for nothing.

My next driver’s test is Friday. If I fail again, I don’t know what I’ll do about it. Getting a job is my only option, and driving is a requirement. I live in the middle of nowhere, so I have to have a license to get to town…or else I’ll have to go with my mom or dad every single day.

Fuck, I hate myself more than anything. All the praise in the world can’t mend my damaged self-esteem or rotten personality. It just gets worse and worse, and I still can’t figure out what holds me back. What is so fucking important that I have to stay?

I’m still loyal to my parents, I think. They would be better off without me further draining the lack of funds…. But they would hate me for leaving, for running away from them instead of waiting it out. But I know they don’t feel what I feel, so what would it matter if they hated me? They don’t get it, it’s their problem if they don’t get why, right? Fuck, I don’t know anymore, and I don’t care. Let people hate me, but I will do whatever it is I feel I must, whether that means living or ending a little sooner than anyone intended. It’s my life, my choice, and that doesn’t belong to anyone but me.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jinKMAuWFoQ 

Universal is evil. They don’t allow embedding.

I’ve never seen the video to “Long Hard Road Out of Hell” before. I was watching it for the first time last night, and sort of had a mixed reaction, somewhere between being vaguely disturbed, aroused, and intrigued. At the end, when you find out that the ‘girl’ is actually a guy when Manson lifts the guy’s shirt up…. Totally surprised me. I don’t know why I didn’t see that coming. At first I didn’t get the video, but when I watched it the second time, I sort of got the jist of it, I think. It’s just like the lyrics, when you think about it. Mixed ideas of what is beauty, both the typical and the odd. Mixed ideas of what is male or female, and coming to the realization that they are basically the same damn thing anyway, just society has biases that it likes to impose on everyone. “To be this young is oh so scary”, is sort of the part about confusion. Then the part where he is on the couch, naked, it’s funny and strange intentionally, because when ever people look back at their youth they feel foolish, or weird, when at the time it felt perfectly fine. Then the “it’s a long hard road out of hell” line, means getting out of it, going past the whole awkward youth stage. He just…never got over it, which I think is the point of the song and the video. He’s still doing ’strange’, and somehow he’s made it perfectly okay, for himself at least…haha.

I keep thinking I’m always going to be in the so-called “awkward” stage, where I always question what I do, where I’m always shy about it. I never feel ‘right’ either in a mental or physical sense, which is something we’re supposed to get over as we age, supposedly, according to society. Right now people think I’m just a typical thoughtless angsty teen, too selfish and young to understand adult things. Ha. If I live to be thirty, still as much a of a bitch as I am now, what will people have to say? Maybe I want to be awkward, maybe it is in this, this understanding and hatred of everything around me that I find my own little slice of fucked-up sanity.