2001-03-22 | 06:31 p.m.

Come crush me. I'm not hurt at all, and I'm playing with fire - so I'm not ready to give up just yet. I'm not going to retreat into dust when everyone around me sleeps. I'm feeling too misguided and I'm not taking time to hold the hands of those who know this path. No, see, because I can't take another painful blow. Friends come and go, yes I'm apparently supposed to know this. But that doesn't coincide with my life at all. More like they come and I go.

And why won't someone cut off my wing's? Why must I do it myself? It's hard enough to do the best for myself everyday. I find that I fall into the old steps everytime, and I measure my thoughts with sacred stupid steps. And they never fucking work.And I do my best to try and justify why things happen, why things are said and done. I keep picking myself off the ground and I never seem to stop to look around. If I did maybe then I would see the one's who are ready to knock me back down again and again.

And it's so very fucking hard right now. I'm silent all day. Hwo unpleasant is that? When I get home I'm even more silent because I don't want to say what's in my head at home because frankly it would scare the fuck out of anyone. And so I stay silent. Silence is not golden. It's pure fucking torture. And I've only been like this for 3 day's and I'm at my wit's end already. Imagine how people who stay weeks and months in silence feel. I think they must go mad. No one can stay silent with themselves for that long - I certainly can't.

I keep writing and writing more and more now. And not on here. In my paper journal. And I'm wondering when I die and when this journal falls open and some prying eyes look at these pages they are going to look at them with shock and horror. Granted I also shouldn't write everything down in that black book. It's got bad, it's got good, it's got everything inside of me mashed into horizontal black lines on yellowed paper. And I have to begin to wonder where is the grace and nobility in writing things down when it's only my opinions and when I can't say the same words to people's face's.

I hate myself. I think I've concluded that. And if someone asks me I will say 'no I don't' till I'm blue in that face. But the truth of the matter is that I really do. Kwazyboy once made that staemtn aloud in a crowded room. I wanted to kill him for pronouncing it to the surrounding crowd. I let it fester inside of me. It fueled me enough to tell him later that I thought he acted like a dick. He apologized. I still haven't forgotten it.

And it's those little things. i remember everything. Even when I get so mind blowing drunk you would of thought I had alcohol poisoning. I never forget. And maybe that's my problem. I can't let go. I can't be free because my opinion doesn't matter shit. It's what other's think. And that's fucked up. And people have told me that when you "mature" you learn to choose your pain and let other shit go. But that's wrong because I consider myself responsible - yes a bit of a dumbass also, but still responsible. And doesn't that mean I'm mature? Besides I think that's bollocks. How can one person consider another mature? Who is to say you are and you aren't? Granted this also enlightens my point why I wish all those people who tell me that I will learn when I;m older should just take a long walk off a short pier.

Life is not easy at all. Why do some people make it seem so easy? My mom tells me if I have hope and faith I will relax more. How can I tell her that I have no clue who I am and why it's become so hard to breathe now a days. How it doesn't flow for me anymore. How I want to stop and get off this partying bus. How I want to just walk alone and yet also have friends come pick me up in a convertible with the music blasting.

But good friends. Friends willing to love me unconditionally. Friends who don't want to fuck me over. But I have to open my eyes because that doesn't exsist. Really it doesn't. And it probably never will. So I'm going to close my eyes and walk. And walk. And walk. And hope that one day I can open my eyes and turn around and someone will be there smilling and holding out their hand so I can grab onto it and run to where the magic is in the making. Run to where I know I won't have to do my best, because I will already be my best. And I won't get betrayed and knocked down because that person or person's will love me for me. Someone, loving me more than anyone I've ever known. Loving me more

than anyone I've ever heard of. Loving me more, than

I deserve. Giving me more than I am capable of returning, but I will try. And I will know this and I will smile and I will hold onto that hand even tighter.

Because after all, we all want something in this life.`



p r e v i o u s // n e x t