Thursday, May 23, 2013


All of the sudden I forgot that I was breathing.
I forgot that I was living and feeling okay.
Maybe I just didn't realize that's what stable meant at least I didn't until now.
Now when it's beyond too late and everything has crumbled to nothing on my fingertips.
I keep finding myself wondering what if what if.
And in that question there is such a profound sense of romance; a disgusting amount of want.
What if this is the last time they ever see me?
Will this be the last drawing I ever make?
If I succeed will he hate me?
All of these wicked little questions probing and prodding feelings I haven't recognized in over a year.
It feels like such a long time.
Considering my history with subject of suicide this shouldn't feel like a shock.
I should have gotten used to the random onsets of impulsive behaviors.
Fantasizing about my own death is nothing new by any means.
It's just not common for me anymore.
I am not happy and I don't think I properly understand that feeling but for a moment; a precious few seconds, I got a taste of pure blissful neutral.
Not actively suicidal- not actively recovering.
A little limbo of not-quite-almost-sick-but-no-where-near-well.
And with all things considered it wasn't nearly as pleasant as healthy would seem to have been.
But comparatively I think I would rather go back to that.
I wished for this though so I guess now is the time to shut the fuck up and reap what I have sown.
But maybe I forgot what constant agony felt like.
Maybe I thought it wouldn't hurt quite so much this time and I would get used to- maybe eventually appreciate the misery.
But who can see any kind of beauty in their own torment?
How could this possibly provide any kind of enjoyment?
There is no justification in mental illness.
There is no glamour or glory.
Nothing comes from this.
I wish I could say that my suffrage brought out the best in me.
That perhaps it made me more kind or creative.
If I could spin my martyrdom into majestic works of art then I probably wouldn't be so repulsively bitter.
I can't turn pain into poetry or stitch patchwork paintings with my scarred flesh.
I have smoked away a pack of cigarettes in less than four days.
I picked up my old habit of grinding out my frustrations into my skin with every cigarette I light.
I keep trying to find some semblance of apathy or maybe just a moment of peaceful stability but nothing.
It all feels so empty and I'm getting tired of counting the friends I don't have and the people who stopped caring.
I've run out of hands and honestly I'd rather find the numerical value of my pill stash.
At least that feels a little more gratifying.

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Pretty much the only reason I haven't tried to kill myself yet is because I haven't finished school.
I feel like I owe it to my mother to at least graduate first.

Monday, May 20, 2013

I went to prom

So I figure before I tell you all how fucked up things got I'll upload pictures from prom.
Lets not talk about how much weight I gained20fuckingpoundshahahkillme.

Sam, Me, Ben

Hunter, Rachel, Juanita, Caleb, Sammi, Rebecca, Me, Amber
Hunter, Rachel, Juanita, Caleb, Sammi, Rebecca, Me, Amber

Rebecca, Me, Amber

Rachel and Hunter looked so fucking cute

Rebecca and Sammi are the prettiest

Amber and fatfat Me

Who let the whale wear a dress now that's the question

Sam is great

I love my brothers a lot okay

Sammi, Rebecca, Rachel, Hunter, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber

Rachel, Hunter, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber 
Rebecca, Sammi, Rachel, Hunter, Erin, WeJustDon'tKnow, Caleb, Juanita, Me, Amber

Rebecca, Sammi, Rachel, Hunter, Erin, PrettySureHisNameStartsWithN??, Caleb, Juanita, Mutest e, Amber

SomeDude, Caleb, Juanita, Ew, Amber

So Hunter is the cutest cutie and so are the rest of my adorable friendswhoInevertalktohahahahfuck. Okay yes now that's over we won't ever talk about it againImisshavingfriendsandbeingabletohangoutwithpeoplewithoutbeingafuckeduppieceofshitwowdone.