Do you know what this blog is? No, it's not some kind of journal. When I was young and stupid, I used to cut... Not because I was 'emo' or whatever the fuck you want to call it. But because it really was a method of getting rid of emotional pain by way of physical pain. Every time I sliced my skin open, it was as if all my woes bled out of my skin and, for the moment, all was well. That what this blog is. I'm bleeding out all of my raw, senseless emotion. When I write, for that moment everything is ok because I was able to release some of it. But it's still there and it lingers like some kind of demon clutching my neck. But this blog, this blog is everything I feel, everything I think, everything I am is in this blog. It helps.
I can say whatever the fuck I want to say here because this is my place. This is my place where judgement does not exist. I can be who I am and not worry what other people are thinking about me. I don't think there is a human being I can treat as such. Who would want to? Who would want to lug my load of shit with me? Why should I put someone through that. I'm just a pussy anyway. When it comes down to it, my life has been heaven and high water (...) compared to the lives of others who have it much worse than I do. And they certainly handle it better than I do. But the things I... I don't deserve to live. I believe that so much that the idea of not waking up tomorrow is rather appealing. I remember in AP Chemistry when I was doing a lab with Barium Nitrate. Do you know what this is? Even now the substance sounds so lovely. But do you know what it is? It's a fatal chemical. A drop on the tip of your tongue could kill you. Why does that sound so beautiful to me? And I was staring at it, I really was because I wanted to try it so badly. I stood there, and I was reading the words over and over and over again. Barium Nitrate. Barium Nitrate. I remember it so clearly. It was looking so pretty in that massive beaker and I thought, all I have to do is walk over there and touch it. My teacher said the effects would be instant. All I had to do was just touch it and put my finger to my tongue and that would be it. So what if everyone in that classroom would have witnessed it. I would be too dead to care. I wanted to so badly, you really have no idea. But I didn't. I think about dying too much, too often. And every time I do, I tell him that he is welcome. You take my life, you do it, because I want you to. I really am frightened that I may commit suicide. I'm just... I can't live with who I am, I'm so sick. I'm so horrible.
You know why I write here? Being that this is all public? Do you know why I sometimes fake reluctance when people ask for the link to my blog? Do you know why I even give the link to people sometimes? Because I want them to see. I want someone to see. I want someone to give a damn. I want someone to miss me when I'm gone. I want someone to care so bad. Can't anybody see that I'm crying out for someone? Can't anybody hear me. Does anyone even care? I feel like I'm screaming into the darkness but there is no one there but myself and my demons. I am selfish. I am selfish. Selfish. I should not be alive, I should not. Why was I created? I can't even relate to anyone in my family, none of them know me, I am so different from any of them. No one gives a fuck. No one asks questions and I want them to ask so badly even though I know I'll lie. They'll ask me what's the worst thing that's ever happened to me and I lie. They ask me if I'm doing alright and I lie. I gave the link to my blog to 4 people. Maybe some of them read one post. But they won't come back because they know I'm insane and they don't give a fuck. They don't give a damn about my teenage angst because that's all it is: teenage angst, right? I'll get over it. RIGHT!? They won't read it though I want them to so bad.
You know what this blog is? It makes up for the lies I tell. People always ask me, how are you doing? How are you? What are you up to? And I'll lie and say I'm fine and I smile and I make up some shit because I don't want them to know that I'm planning my death or my funeral. That I still want to starve. That... I can't say it, I can't. But I smile and I say all is well when really I'm screaming, begging for your attention, begging you to see, really look! I'm begging you to stay, I'm begging you to dig deeper, I'm begging you to pull me out. But you look at me and you say, well that's good to here, I'm doing just fine as well. And you know what? You could be lying to. Why do we hide? Why?
DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS BLOG IS? It's my failing attempt to fix this. This? This hope for death, this bundle of pain, really. I try to be happy. Sometimes, I almost am. But people are cruel and so am I. So happiness is always, always short lived. But for now, I am here so I have to try at least and so I do try. But I still feel like I will be happy in life or I will die early on. The latter seems to be winning. No one will ever know this. No one will ever know the things I've done and the things I've been through, neither will anyone care. I will die clutching my secrets to my heart.
This is one of the very first songs I listened to when I 'converted' to the alternative/rock genre. I was going through something and this helped. It still helps.
posted by loreal @ 1:45 AM