Good-Bye, Good-Bye

I'm getting the hang of it, I think.

There are a few jolts, a little jitters every once in a while, but I think I'm going quite well.

It's not terribly difficult to shut down. I just make people laugh more. Become a little more crass, a little more cruel, but no one seems to notice. Indifference is an artform, especially when feigning the opposite.

Of course, I did open a little to Michelle today. When she asked about the Me and Melissa fall out. Ever have anyone ask you some thing just so they could tell their story? I think that was kinda-sorta what she wanted to do, but I wouldn't let her. This was bad of me. When I'm proper I will withhold my stories and only listen to theirs.

She's grown a lot since she was a freshman. I mean, leaps and bounds a lot. I just...I think I'll use the guise of 'friends her own age' to nudge her back a bit. I don't want to leave her completely, I give myself far too much credit in her evolution to do that. I want to make sure I don't set her back though. I want to see my girl spread wings and fly, though I know she's not quite ready yet. It's strange to think I'll never see her again after this year. I don't plan to at least. "God, isn't that horrible?" I think as a write it. But, I know, it is.

I had to poor my nostalgia/sentimentalism somewhere else when I saw that screenname. Forgive my rambling.

I was thinking the other day, when all is said and done I will use this place only infrequently. Hopefully, I won't have the leanings towards love and life or desperate and death. I'll just be. So this conduct becomes rather unbecoming.

Thank you, for all of this so far, thank you.

Lead Foot

Next time step away from the goddamn line.

"I love you."

God damnit, child, do I have to beat your stupidity out of you?

"A little over a year."

God damnit.

Step the fuck awaaaaaaay.

It's not hard.


(In psych, Harsh did the Freedom Writers line thing and asked those who've said "I love you" in a romantic relationship to step to it, than asked how long the relationships were.)

A Madman Mumbling Mantras -or- My Myopic Martyr

It's all right: I'm a coward.

I could never actually hurt myself.

The razor goes against my skin and I can't even contemplate sliding it sideways. It's a mental block. I drag the dull penknife serrated edge only ever lightly against my skin, never daring the tip or the pressure. I've only cowardice. Duh. These things will never pass quite like this.

I'm a bottle of pills and vodka girl. Not that I am really that particular about the alcohol. Maybe scotch, maybe brandy. It's not like I'm well versed in the matter. Still, what's that but falling asleep and never waking up? Painless, soulless, cowardly. And exhale.

School's around again. It's easier, I think. No one close is really in any of my classes. Largely it's just acquaintances, light friends, people who I would spend years with and we'd never know each other. It works. Of course, it's hard to brush off the incessant asking. "What are you doing this weekend?" Well, mate, I'm burrowing deeply into myself and destroying the person I find there. No, I don't have time for lazer tag.

People know now, outside the little circle, that me and Melissa aren't friends any longer. "I thought you guys were BFF's!" exclaims Arlenne, "Well," I begin with a grin, "Apparently not." There were a lot of "Why?"'s, I waved them off with the perfunctory, "We were going different directions, so I told her I didn't really want to be friends any more. Not gonna lie, I was rude at first, but I aplogized and now we're on friendly terms." Amicable. My word of the day. Hah.

Mmmm. Intoxication. My drug of choice emotionlessness. Float and bumble and grin through life. This addiction doesn't have to hurt anyone.

I'm extremely weary. Part of me really wants to talk to Ben, but I know better than that. He's an illusion too, darling, and don't you forget it again! He's still my hero. Because he's himself in selfish, stubborn, obnoxious, and boundlessly loving ways. How can he be so troubled and be so loving? Not caring, but loving. You can see in his face how openly he just loves people or even hates them and it leads to this ultimate love of life I can hardly explain. And that part's not the illusion. Maybe an interpretation, but not an illusion.

It's a slow death.

I still feel so full.

And I'm bailing out the water as fast as I can.

But the boat's still full and floating.

Won't anyone be my jagged rocks? My ice burg?

Destroy me.

Ominous

I wonder sometimes if I'll make it.

To graduation. To college. To twenty-one.

I'm pretty fucked up, aren't I?

I dropped my second best friend without a second glance. I relived it in a retelling and relished it. Jess expected me to be broken up about, for it to hurt, but it didn't. It's a release.

I'm losing myself in fantasy again. It seems more dangerous now, though I did it when I was a little younger as well. Make up a pretend life out of a favorite book or show. And then just imagine it. Create the nuances and intricacies. Ignore for a short time that there is another world crushing you from the outside. Pressure. Pressure. Pressure.

It will be nice, I think, when all this mess is gone again. I'm being weak now. Emotional. Letting it leak out from a crack I haven't patched up. The doubt, the self loathing, the certainty that what I'm trying to do will destroy me. "Why would anyone practice self destruction?" I'm enamored again with a line from a song. Let me burn myself out on the inside, leave a hollow, crackling shell. No use in liveliness anymore. No use for wholeness. Fragment me, baby.

I garb myself with figments. Inhale them, inject them, snort them. Give me a shot straight to the brain to lose it all. I don't need a physical drug, an outside poison. I'm doing fine right here. I'll burn hope and bury guilt. They've no place now.


And the weakness I don't want to suppress just for this moment.

Oh, how I wanted those words to go back to him. But then, he'd call out of guilt. And I'd alleviate it immediately. It's not his fault. Only my own. I've done more than play the fool this time, I became it. It is my fault for feeling so much, when I know that that is not my role in life. So, bittersweet, rest easy. None of this mess is yours. Not that I should believe for a second you gave a damn. It will be easier to immerse myself in the belief that you secretly were disgusted by me. I can almost taste your disdain when I think enough. It's sweet, but I'm gagging on it. Bleh.

How close I feel to the edge right now. Like I could put a hand up and feel the thin, fragile, beating wall that seperates me from the deep drop of eternity.

I wonder what it would be to me to push through it, to push through and to plummet in to nothingness. It sounds appealing. But do I want the nothingness or the audience? This is important.

I don't want to be a 'cry for attention,' but I'm pretty sure that's what I'll be wanting. Catch me! Carry me!

It's

I'm

disgusting.

And I need to cope with the fact that I just really want to hurt myself right now.

"Why on earth would anyone practice self destruction?"

I don't know. But it seems part of me wants to find out.

How

ominous.

Emotional Cauterization Is Intoxication.

Yes, that's that.

I don't believe I'm regretting it. I don't feel guilt. Or sorrow. Or anything really.

This was the way I was supposed to be, then. Emotional cauterization is intoxication.

It will take a little time, I assume, to fit back in to the groove, but I've taken my first two major steps.

Bring on the facade.

I knew I had to learn to moniter my emotions better. Perhaps this is better on the whole.




Too late, I'm gone, and I'm never coming back.

A Metaphor For A Metaphor

It really isn't a wound.

It's a fucking cancer.

Eating me from the inside out. My livelihood.

And no bandaid is going to fix it.

It'll kill me slowly as it spreads out and consumes everything that I am.

You can't stitch up cancer.

Cancer doesn't simply heal.

And you gave it to me.

The beast will devour me, and all this time you thought, "I've just wounded her. It'll heal."

It doesn't simply heal.

It simply weakens,

tortures,

and kills.